by Katia Rose
“I’m, uh, in Sherbrooke Station,” I offer, as they size me up.
One of them shrugs and waves Kay through. He’s probably a childhood friend of JP’s.
Kay steps through the door, and I notice she’s gotten dressed up. Her brown eyes spark behind her glasses, lined with makeup that makes them look darker than usual. A pair of tight black pants made of something that shimmers in the bar lights come all the way up to her waist and show off more of her shape than I can handle. I’m thankful all she’s got tucked into them is a plain grey t-shirt under her jacket. If I had any more of her body to contend with, I’d be suggesting we head for the nearest back alley right now.
I lean in towards her ear. “You wear those pants for me?”
She makes a face. “You wish.”
I lead her towards the bar and catch the look she gives me when people move out of the way for us. I shrug like I’m helpless to stop it—which I pretty much am— and order us two beers in French so bad the bartender doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s laughing at me.
Kay slaps a bill onto the bar before I can even get my wallet out.
“It’s on me,” she asserts. “You got me in here.”
I have a feeling she’s not the kind of girl you argue with about stuff like this and just thank her.
We try and fail to find somewhere empty to stand, ending up pretty much in the middle of the floor, with people pressed so close against us we can barely lift up our beers. That doesn’t seem to stop me from feeling like we’re the only ones in the room. It might be forced proximity, but the fact that her chest is just inches from colliding with mine is making it hard to think straight.
She shouts something over the noise and I shake my head, unable to make the words out. She rocks forwards onto her toes, bringing us even closer together as she repeats herself.
“Where’s everyone else?”
I shrug. “Somewhere!”
She asks another question that I once again can’t make out. We both just end up laughing. Someone knocks against my back and I stumble forwards into her, just as she raises her pint to take a sip. Half the beer sloshes down my shirt and her hand flies to her mouth, eyes opening wide. I watch as she goes from shocked to amused, and when I see the smile stretching behind her hand I can’t take it anymore.
I have to kiss her.
In a matter of seconds, I’ve tapped on the shoulder of the guy next to me, passed him me and Kay’s drinks as he stares in complete confusion, and reached out to grab hold of her hips and pull them between mine.
Everything else fades as I hover a breath away from her mouth, waiting to see if she wants this as much as I do. All I’m aware of is the space between us. Then she closes it, and every thread of restraint I’ve been holding onto snaps. I dig my hands into the small of her back, parting her lips with my tongue as the gasp she makes threatens to bring me to my knees.
Someone lurches into me again before stumbling away and I’m reminded that there are way too many people here. Now that this is finally happening, I’m not going to risk letting her go again. I pull away and grab her hand, spinning us around and pushing through the crowd until we get to the back of the room.
Bathrooms. There have to be bathrooms.
I spot them, along with the long lines stretching out of both.
Damn. New plan.
The swinging doors to the kitchen are tucked away in an alcove to our left. I pull her through them.
“Matt!” she shouts, audible now that we’re away from the main sources of all the noise. “Matt, what the hell? We’re in the kitchen!”
“Shh!” I caution, starting to laugh in spite of myself.
They stopped serving food a long time ago, and so far the room stuffed with prep tables and appliances seems empty, all the lights shut off except for a single fluorescent tube over one of the windows. I drop her hand and step forwards to scout things out.
“Matt!” She’s whisper-yelling now, sounding like she’s in a state between enraged and amused. “What are you doing?”
I turn back to face her. “This.”
In the next moment, I have her in my arms. Her squeal of surprise quickly turns into a moan as I palm the slippery fabric stretched over her ass. I squeeze harder when she lifts her arms to wrap them around my neck.
“God,” I pant, as I back her up against what I think is a fridge. I’ve stopped paying attention to our surroundings. “I want you so fucking bad, Kay.”
12 You Might Be || Autograf
KAY
He’s everywhere, his hands fisting my hair, knee pressing between my thighs. He practically shoves me up against the fridge and tugs my head back, attacking my mouth as his chest pins me in place. Any worries about us being recognized in the bar faded as soon as his lips met mine. I can hardly think anymore, but my body takes over for me. My finger hooks around his belt loop and draws him closer, until there’s nothing between us but fabric and heat.
He’s a demanding kisser, working my mouth at a pace that forces me to keep up. I let myself get caught up in his rhythm, feeling a pulsing between my legs every time his tongue sweeps across my lips. When he sucks the bottom one between his teeth, I can’t help but cry out, pulling away to give myself a moment to breathe.
“Damn it, Pearson.” My voice is shaky, exhilarated, like I’ve just run a mile. “You’re good at this.”
His grip on my hair tightens. “Just ‘good?’”
The prickles of pain starting on my scalp should be telling me to take things down a notch, but instead they just make me want to see what will happen if I keep urging him on.
“You set the bar pretty high on that roof,” I tease, thrilled by the look of warning he gives me for my tone. “I didn’t know if you’d make the same impression without a dramatic backdrop and a soundtrack.”
He lets one hand drop from my hair to the base of my throat, and without any warning he leans hard into the leg that’s pressed between both of mine, his thigh grinding against the part of me that’s been aching for him all night. Even through our layers of clothing, the pressure is enough to draw a gasp from me.
“I think you’re going to provide the soundtrack tonight.” He leans close enough to hover his lips just above mine. I clamp my thighs around him as he keeps grinding into me, fingers stretching to softly circle my neck. “Go on, Kay. Moan for me.”
My eyelids feel heavy, muddled thoughts refusing to turn themselves into words for my tongue to wrap itself around. Every instinct I have is telling me to give into him now, to drop any illusion of control, but I’m not quite ready to let him take over yet.
I somehow manage to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who put you in charge?”
He laughs, a different one than any I’ve heard from him before. This one is dark, threatening, crackling with the static of danger. As I stare up into his narrowed eyes, a shiver runs through me. I hold my breath as he drags the pad of one thumb down my cheek, and then suddenly I’m being flipped over against the fridge as he pins both my arms above my head with one hand.
“I put me in charge,” he growls, just inches from my ear. “I have a habit of setting the pace.”
My body trembles, but I keep the shake out of my voice. “So do I.”
That laugh again. Everything in me tenses at the sound.
“I guess we’re in for a little competition tonight, then.”
His free hand brushes up my leg, skims over my ass, and then slides underneath my jacket. He brushes my shirt aside, and I feel it for the first time: his touch on the bare skin of my waist. It’s just a whisper, a shadow of what we both need, but in that single point of contact, I feel fire and ice and the surging swell of heartbeats hurling themselves towards the edge.
“Fuck, Matt. How the fuck do you do that?”
He doesn’t answer, just slides his hand up farther until he meets the band of my bra. I suck in a breath.
I’ve been picturing his hands on every inch of me nonstop since that night on the roo
f, twitching like an addict for a drug I’ve never even tried. His fingertips are needle points teasing my desperate veins. I can’t hold back anymore, can’t keep clutching the rules and repercussions to my chest, hoping they’ll protect me from giving in. I already have.
My skin screams out every time he touches me, begging for more and praying that he’ll stop, like he’s both the burn and the balm that soothes it. Under his influence, I’m reduced to the deep urges of my instincts, to the emotions rolling through me with more power and certainty than he should be able to demand from me so soon.
I trust him.
I fear him.
I need him.
“Come here.”
He flips me around again and pulls me over to one of the kitchen tables, lifting me up with an effortless flex of his arms and setting me down on its edge. He steps between my legs and I wrap them around him as he slides my jacket off my shoulders.
My lips find his neck. He groans as I bite and lick and suck my way down it. I flex my hips against him and he pulls me closer, the pressure between my legs building when I feel his hardness against me.
The noise and lights of the bar spill into the room as the doors swing open, and I whip my head towards them so fast I almost hurt my neck. I feel Matt tense up in surprise as two male servers step into the kitchen, laughing and whispering in French as one of them pulls out a flask.
They haven’t spotted us yet. We stay frozen in place as they pass the container back and forth a few times. I turn my head back to Matt and we blink at each other, deciding to wait things out. It only takes another moment before one of the servers spots us, eyes going wide as he taps his friend on the arm.
“Antoine, regarde!”
His friend puts the flask down on a shelf and waves at us. “Hein, nous vous voyons, là!”
Matt waves back. The server grins and gestures between me and Matt before making a hip thrusting motion.
“Ben, vas-y!”
I’m pretty sure that’s the French equivalent for ‘Get it on!”
Classy.
The two of them collapse into chest-clutching laughter, and I push Matt back so I can hop off the table. They hoot at us as we pass by them and out the kitchen door. As soon as we’re through, we both burst out laughing too.
“What?” Matt shouts over the music. “You didn’t want to give them a show?”
I stand on my toes to get closer to his ear. “The only person who’s getting a show from me tonight is you.”
I watch the hunger make its way into his features again, and then he’s pulling me through the crowd and out the front door. He flags one of the cabs loitering on the street down, and before I’m even sure what’s happening, we’re climbing into the back seat as I give the driver the address of my motel.
My knees start to knock together as we drive, lips pursed in a tight line as all my doubts about this come flooding in. Matt seems to sense what I’m feeling. He reaches a hand out and squeezes my knee, just as I open my mouth to tell him that maybe we should rethink this. The words get lodged in my throat, escaping only as a breathless little sigh when he starts to move higher up my leg.
I spend the rest of the ride concentrating on not jumping him in the backseat.
He takes my hand as we exit the cab. The gesture catches me off guard. It’s caring, almost sweet in its intimacy, and I know the thrill it fills me with is far more dangerous than just the anticipation of sex—an anticipation that’s growing to borderline life-threatening levels the closer we get to my room. I’m almost shaking as I fumble for my key card in my purse.
“Hey.” Matt takes my chin in his hand as I’m about to open the door to room 108. “Look at me.”
I lift my head up to face him.
“You know we don’t have to do this, right?” His voice is strained with concern. “I need to know you want this, Kay.”
For a moment, I consider sending him away. Just for one single moment.
Then I swipe the key card and grab a fistful of his shirt.
“Get in here, Pearson. ‘Want’ doesn’t even cover it.”
Somehow we find the bed in the darkness. I fall onto the mattress and fumble for the bedside light as Matt leans back to throw his jacket away. I’ve just managed to click the switch and cast us in a dim orange glow when he pounces on me, pinning me down on the comforter and laying himself between my legs.
“Wait, shoes!” I gasp. “We’ll wreck the bed.”
He chuckles. “You’re fucking right we’ll wreck the bed.”
He lets me wriggle away long enough for us to pull our socks and shoes off though, and then goes right back to holding my arms down as he trails his lips up my neck.
“Jesus fuck, Matt. I want you naked. I want you naked right now.”
His breath is hot on the skin just behind my ear. “I thought you said I was getting a show.” He rolls off me and stretches out on his back, folding his arms behind his head as he gives me a wolfish grin. “Go on, then.”
Fine. I can play that game.
I crawl my way over to him and straddle his lap, keeping myself up on both knees. His eyes follow my hands as I trail them up my stomach and over my shirt, grazing my breasts before running them through my hair. He pulls in a sharp breath when I toss my jacket aside and then grab the edge of my t-shirt, un-tucking it from the high waist of my pants and slowly inching it upwards until I’ve exposed the bottom of my black bra.
I pause and raise an eyebrow at him. “Enjoying the show?” He swallows and nods. I let my shirt fall down again. “Too bad it’s time for the intermission.”
His hands dig into my thighs so hard it hurts. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
I can’t get enough of the threat in his voice, of the surge of alarm I feel every time I test his limits. He keeps his hands on my legs as I go back to playing with my shirt, lifting it all the way up this time and tugging it over my head. I moan with him as I start to knead my breasts over my bra.
“God, I want to see you, Kay.”
I want him to see me too. I reach behind me and undo the clasp, drawing out the motion of sliding the straps down my shoulders as I hold the cups in place with one hand. Inch by inch, I let them fall away until I’m exposed to him. My need intensifies as the air hits my goose-bump-covered skin, stiffening my already hard nipples even more.
I lower myself onto him, rocking against his cock through his jeans as I brace a hand on his chest. He closes his eyes and inhales, and then he’s sliding his grip around to my ass, increasing the speed and pressure of my thrusts until we both moan every time I grind into him.
“Get these off,” he mutters, tugging on my pants to slide them down.
I do as he says, straightening up onto my knees again and undoing my zipper before undertaking the inevitable, extremely awkward shuffling-out-of-skin-tight-high-waisted-pants-while-on-a-bed manoeuvre. After what feels like several minutes, I look back at him and expect to see him laughing, but instead he’s staring at my black boy shorts like they’re the fabric that holds the universe together.
“On your back. Now.”
I don’t even have time to do it myself; he’s on top of me in an instant, hands reaching for any part of me they can find. I arch my back as he swirls his tongue over the swell of my chest, and cry out when he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking hard as he pinches the other.
I buck against him and he takes the hint, sliding a hand down to tease my inner thighs before cupping it between my legs. I hiss and push into his touch.
“You’re so wet already.”
“Touch me,” I beg, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s totally in control now. “Please.”
He rubs me over the black fabric with long, slow strokes that go from soft to hard and back again, until I’m writhing underneath him. When he finally pulls my underwear to the side and does the same to my bare skin, I know I won’t hold out much longer. I have to have him inside me.
“I want to see y-your...your co
ck,” I stutter, shivering as his fingers start to circle my clit.
“Sure you don’t want me to just keep going?”
“You’re going to make me come,” I tell him, “and I want to come on your cock.”
At that, he swears under his breath and gives me a few final strokes before moving to sit on the edge of the bed and lift his shirt over his head. The muscles of his back and arms ripple, and I feel like I could get off to just the sight of that alone.
I move to kneel behind him and trail my fingers over his shoulders, down his spine, along the sides of his ribs. He leans into me and starts to undo his jeans. I kiss his neck and watch as he shifts them down past his hips, until I can see the outline of his cock straining against a pair of navy boxers.
I reach around him, brushing the hot skin of his stomach and moving lower until I feel him twitching under my hand. I slip beneath the waistband of his boxers and take the length of him into my hand. He curses again, letting his head fall back onto my shoulder, eyes closed. I pump his cock until his breathing gets more and more ragged against my neck.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” he groans, thighs flexing as I pick up speed.
“Sure you don’t want me to just keep going?” I mock.
“You’re the one who wants to come on my cock.”
I jerk him faster. “Don’t act like you don’t want that too.”
He lets me keep going for a moment and then wraps a hand around mine to make me stop. “Condom. Now. Where is it?”
“I’ll get it.”
I hop off the bed and crouch down beside my bag. When I come back to the bed Matt’s still sitting on the edge, his boxers and jeans on the floor, one fist wrapped around his cock as he watches me. I swallow hard at the sight.
“Here.” I hand him the foil package and move to lie down on the bed.
“Wait.” He catches my arm. “I want you like this.”
He rips the package open and rolls the condom on, then glances between me and his lap. I suck in a breath and let my boy shorts fall to the ground before straddling him. His hard tip teases my entrance, and I reach between us to wrap one hand around the base of him, guiding him up and down my slit until we’re both covered in my wetness and desperate for him to thrust inside.
