Playing the Pauses

by Michelle Hazen

  “Put those pretty heels up on the table for me,” he murmurs. My shoes click against the tabletop as he folds my knees up, stroking his broad palms over the boundary between stocking and skin until I sense the border with shocking clarity.

  He catches my hand and slips my fingers into his mouth. A shaky breath escapes me as he rolls the rough side of his tongue across my fingertips, sucking them deeper. My hips curl upward and I think dazedly that there’s no way he can fuck me on this table because we’ll tip it over. Except I’m just at the right level, my legs wide apart and if he wants control of this, God he can have it. He can have anything he wants.

  He thumbs my panties aside and moves my hand down, pressing my wet fingers against smooth, warm skin. I whimper, my eyelids fluttering down.

  “Let me watch,” he says. “And you show me something you like.”

  He traps my hand hard between my legs, grinding my swollen clit up against my slick fingers, as if I needed any more incentive when I’m already desperate for more. When he lets me go, I don’t hesitate. I rub my fingers low, getting them even wetter, and then slide them up, being deliberately rough because I know it’ll get to him. His breath hisses out from between his teeth and he fists himself, stroking up and down while the intensity of his gaze follows every flick and glide of my fingertips.

  My back arches a little as I get close. I whimper, not ready to be finished, but without the willpower to take it any slower. Danny makes a harsh noise and drops to his knees, yanking me toward the edge of the table. I don’t know how we’re not falling over, but he’s jerking my panties farther aside and then his tongue is joining my fingers, and when I try to pull away to give him more room he holds my hand in place. I writhe, my knee hooking over his shoulder as his tongue steals in between my fingers, teasing them as much as the sensitive layers beneath. He pins my hand down and pushes his tongue hard beneath it to hit my clit, and the sound that escapes me is close to a scream.

  The table tilts and I’m lost to the wordless clench and retreat of orgasm. Danny’s tongue is gone, but his fingers soothe me with just enough pressure to keep me going while his chest presses down against mine, hard and scorching hot. I gasp until my vision starts to steady on the ceiling above me. He eases back, and the table straightens as it becomes clear that he was the only thing keeping our weight from toppling it entirely.

  He kisses my forehead, brushing my hair back. Sensation bolts through me, deep and so frighteningly vivid it leaves my head whirling and my hands grasping emptily.

  It’s a damn good thing Danny has never kissed my mouth. I’m not sure I’d survive it.

  “You okay?” he rumbles.

  I nod. At least, I think I do.

  “More?” he asks, and my inner muscles clamp down in instant response. I wrap my leg around his waist and try to drag him closer while a silent chuckle ripples up through him. “One second,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.

  I lift my tired head enough to see him move a chair across the room so it faces the tall mirror beside the dresser, and images flood into my mind of all the possibilities that move could indicate. He goes to the box of condoms I left beside the bed and tosses them over onto the dresser.

  When he returns, he strips my twisted panties down my legs and lifts me into his arms. I want to tease him about carrying me everywhere as if I’m a little wisp of a girl like Jera, but my mouth is too dry. All I manage is a swallow.

  Danny sits down in the chair and turns me on his lap so I face the mirror, intent eyes holding my hazy ones. He hooks my stocking-clad knees to the outside of his and draws them apart, his cock thrusting up between my thighs. His fingertips find me, moving gentle and slow now. I melt back against his chest, my eyes fluttering as he nuzzles kisses in behind my ear, a single finger entering my body. In the mirror, his tattooed wrist flexes between my spread legs, pumping slowly in and out as his hidden finger curls, exploring all the places where I’m the most sensitive.

  I roll my hips against his hand, wanting more. Instead, he takes it away. The smooth skin of his cock rubs between my legs and my eyes fly open, then droop as I watch him in the mirror. He pulls the hood of my clit back with his thumb, then fists himself and taps the head of his cock against me. Pleasure crackles out from the single point of percussion and he does it again, wringing a moan out of me. Every impact starbursts sensation through my lower belly and I reach back, my nails digging into his shoulders as I strain closer to an orgasm he won’t quite let me have.

  “More?” he asks hoarsely.

  I just whimper. He leans forward, holding me steady with an arm around my waist as he snatches a condom from the box on the dresser. I take it away, ripping it open so I can squeeze his erection in my fist as I stroke the condom down onto him, not letting go as I lift up and guide him into place.

  Danny growls a breath through his teeth, flexing his hips to push into me. I wriggle, breathing hard as I try to take him. He feels huge from this angle, especially with my legs held so wide open.

  “Shh,” he soothes, drawing me back against his chest. He gives me tiny, gentle thrusts until everything starts to slide, and he finally buries himself in me with a muffled groan. My head falls back against his shoulder and he turns his head to kiss my temple. “Watch,” he demands, nudging my head with his chin until my eyes focus on the mirror again.

  My gaze drops from my trembling breasts to the place where he disappears inside me, and then I can’t look away; he withdraws, wet from my body and so inflexibly hard as his legs clench to drive in once again. With my eyes on him, he thrusts harder. I dig my nails into the sides of the chair, squeezing myself around his cock.

  His hands dip into the front of my corset, pushing it away to bare my breasts as his thumbs stroke soft circles around my nipples.

  “Do you like that?” he whispers in my ear, his legs stretching mine farther apart as he fucks me faster.

  “More,” I gasp, and he catches my nipple between his finger and thumb and pinches hard. I arch into his hands and his fingers are merciless now; the pain a clean shock amidst the heavy wash of pleasure. His whole body goes rigid beneath me when he starts to come, his cock slamming me into climax as he drives deep.

  Danny hugs me into his chest, keeping me from sliding off his lap as aftershocks rock through me, random muscles spasming here and there. He buries his face in my hair and inhales, his arms locked around me. I don’t protest because I need to hang on, too, just for a minute. Usually after a good orgasm I’m lazy and relaxed, but after I’ve been with Danny I’m unsteady, like I need to rake the splinters of myself back together and I’m not sure how to start.

  Fuck, I thought it would be different this time. More controlled, more deliberate. I thought I was ready.

  This time when he lifts me, he staggers a little. I clutch at his arms and he laughs, the sound a little breathless. “I’ve got you, I promise.” It’s only three steps to the bed, and he lays me down carefully, pulling a pillow over for me before he steps back. I catch his hand, fumbling through my hazy brain for words that will keep us from screwing up the way we did the last time we were together.

  He dips his head and kisses the inside of my wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to.”

  When he lets me go, I pull my still-tingling wrist close into my chest. My body rests in a boneless curl, my ears tracking the sounds of him cleaning up in the bathroom. His scent lingers on my skin, something spicy and smooth all at once, like cracked black pepper and freshly-cut redwood boards. Jesus, somebody needs to make him into a cologne.

  He comes back and climbs onto the bed behind me, the sounds stopping as he hesitates. “I never asked you...we got interrupted on the bus that one day before I could ask you how you like to finish.”

  I roll onto my back and shove at my wrecked hair, smiling up at him. “Danny O’Neil, you so fail. All the failing.”

  His eyes follow the languid sprawl of my limbs, lips lifting at the corners. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”r />
  “This was supposed to be about you.”

  His gaze drops and he crooks an arm up under his head, turning onto his side next to me. I wait to see if he’ll say anything, but instead he reaches over and smoothes a finger over the tattoo on the side of my hip, just beneath the lacy line of lingerie.

  “This is good.”

  “Thanks,” I clear my throat. “That means a lot, coming from you.” I’m glad for my black stockings, because I’m weirdly embarrassed for Danny to see my other tattoo, the one on my ankle. It’s seven years old: the name of the first band I ever worked for, drawn in ever so slightly crooked. It looks cheap and that scared me off ink for a long time. The tattoo he’s admiring now is one I got only a year ago. It’s a wadded piece of sheet music whose crumpled folds form the jagged petals of a flower. I shift a little so he can see it better. “Tours started out as my consolation prize when I turned out to suck as a musician.”

  He settles his head more closely against his bent arm, watching me instead of the picture on my hip. “Because sometimes the most beautiful things happen by accident.”

  I glance away, not sure how to hold his eyes when I’m not sure if he’s complimenting my tattoo idea, or something deeper. I roll onto my belly. “Help a girl out, would you?”

  He sits up and the tiny hooks begin to come loose under his agile fingers. I sigh when the hopelessly twisted lace starts to loosen.

  I prop my chin on my folded arms. “Can I ask you a question?”

  In response, he makes a single, quiet sound that I somehow know signals assent.

  “When you’re a guy, how do you not know what feels right? I mean, don’t you have an instant Feedback-O-Meter that comes standard with the package?”

  He chuckles, low and deep. “That was never the problem.”

  When he finishes with the hooks, he rubs the skin beneath, soothing the slight itch where the fastenings chafed. The clasps between my stockings and corset surrender to his quick fingers, and I toss the whole lacy, hook-ridden contraption off the bed. I leave my stockings on and pull the sheet up over me instead.

  “You’ve seen my tattoo, right?” Danny touches the whip inscribed on his arm.

  I arch a curious eyebrow.

  “I didn’t design it,” he says, stretching out on his side next to me and pulling a pillow over under his head. “It’s something I earned. Like a mark of rank, or expertise. I used to run in BDSM clubs a lot, and one of the things I became good at was applying a whip.”

  I shiver, and then laugh at my own reaction, rubbing the goosebumps that rose on my arms. “You’re making me wish I were more into pain play.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. It’s just that I can never let a man like Danny know exactly how much I yearn for whips like the one inked on his skin. Not if I want to keep him at a distance.

  He touches my cheek, very gently. “I’m not a sadist.”

  I go absolutely still and try to remember how to blink.

  “I’ve always been Dominant, but that must not be all I am.” He pauses. “I thought it was, and then a girl came to me wanting a flogger and rough sex. She loved it, would come two or three times before I even warmed up, but that’s not what she was there for.” He pauses and my skin prickles with sensation at the pictures in my head. “No matter how much fun she was having, she would use her safeword, every time. I’d stop immediately and as soon as I did, she’d crawl into my lap and cry like her skin was turning inside out. She always left completely fulfilled.” His eyes change, deepening until I feel like I may never be able to look away. “I’ve shot off thousands of times and I don’t care about orgasms anymore, or doing the craziest, kinkiest shit. I want the kind of satisfaction she found.”

  I reach out and run my fingers through his hair, aching for him, and totally at a loss for what to say. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch so I do it again, the strands startlingly soft as they slide beneath my palm.

  “After that, I started experimenting with all kinds of different things. It seemed that whatever the girl liked, I was suddenly into. It was a weird, unbalanced feeling. Like I’d been losing myself in sex for so long that it started to backfire. Now...” He opens his eyes. From this close, the color doesn’t seem quite as overwhelming as it usually does. “I’m just trying to feel things out, go with my gut for a change. It’s easier with you, because you don’t...” He stops and his eyes flick to the side.

  I tilt my head and reach out to poke him in the ribs. “What? Come on, don’t tease.”

  “You don't need me the way they did.”

  The weight of that thought settles into my stomach. Living with my mom is like that: I never quite feel like myself, because I'm too busy being what she requires. As risky as this thing with Danny is, I’m glad he came to me because I want to be able to set him free from those kinds of expectations. I think we got closer tonight, but we’re not there yet. He’s still too wrapped up in making sure I’m satisfied. As hot as that is, it’s confusing the real issue.

  I tuck a hand under my cheek, reaching out with the other to toy with his wide silver ring. “You've asked me how I like to close a scene, how I like to be cared for and treated after sex...”

  “Tell me.” Danny props himself up on an elbow.

  “How do you like to do it? Do you smoke? Cuddle? Watch reruns of Family Guy?” I quirk an eyebrow. “Want me to read you translations of obscure Russian poetry?”

  He smiles at that last suggestion, but his eyes are pained. I’d bet the wages from an international tour that nobody has ever asked him that. Which means he probably has no idea.

  I sit up, clad only in black thigh-highs, and hold out my hand. “Okay. Let's find out.”

  Chapter 11: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

  Days later, memories still tickle the back of my mind: Danny’s hands, only separated from my skin by black lace. The more I try to concentrate on work, the more my mind wanders back to the heat of those moments. Especially since right now, “work” consists of jogging across the Walmart parking lot while loaded down with shopping bags. It’s not particularly dignified, but I guess if I wanted dignified, I should have gone to law school.

  Besides, if I let twelve people loose in the superstore to get their own snacks during this fueling stop, I might as well put our schedule to a firing squad.

  I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, rounding the truck stop island and mounting the stairs back into the bus. The engine fires as soon as Reggie hears me close the door.

  Ducking around the piñata hanging from the ceiling, I sing out, “Santa’s back! Was anybody good this year?”

  “For you, darlin’? I’ll be as naughty or nice as you want,” a voice calls from the rear of the bus.

  I brush off the crew’s knee-jerk flirting and make my way into the crowded lounge where Danny’s long denim-clad legs stretch into the aisle. Deliberately, I turn my back on them. Even the sight of his boots is enough to make my jeans feel a little too warm for the weather.

  The night he safed out, we never did figure out his aftercare preferences. Instead, we ended up with his head lying on my stomach, sharing a glass of bourbon while we talked about old albums by The Who. We’ve only had enough downtime for one more “experiment” since then, and it was an utter failure.

  Well, a failure in that he put me on my knees as soon as I got into the room and then fucked my mouth so fiercely I came even before he did. He had me on the bathroom counter, and then again slowly, in the shower. I left with every one of my needs fulfilled and the nagging feeling that Danny being a spectacular lover is going to make it impossible to figure out what keeps him from feeling satisfied.

  Tingles rake over my scalp at the memory, and I force a smile. “Produce department?” I rummage in my bag and distribute organic snacks to Jayna and Jera.

  “Oh my God, how did you know I was craving grapefruit?” Jera clutches the citrus to her chest. “Wizardress!”

  I wink and don’t tell her they were on sale. “I never give away my t
rade secrets.”

  “Well, wave your wand then, girl.” Clancy puts down his paperback. “Because I’m going on strike without a double bacon mushroom burger.”

  “My magic powers know all about your last cholesterol counts, old friend.” I hand over an apple and a canister of unsalted almonds.

  “Ooh, I feel a whole lot of celery coming your way, D.” Jera pokes Danny in the ribs, grinning as he rolls his eyes. “Try not to cry too loudly.”

  I toss Danny a bag of Funyuns, and his eyes lighten with appreciation as he catches it.

  “What the hell?” Clancy eyes the bag like he might just make a grab for it.

  “He’s twenty-three and burning about a billion calories per show.” I make my way up to the driver’s seat to drop off a Starbucks Double Shot and a smile to Reggie. “I’m not too worried about his cholesterol.”

  “We’ll see how long you stay pretty eating like that,” he grumbles.

  “Please, Clancy,” Danny says. “Tell me how to be pretty.”

  Jera giggles, and Jax catches my hand and tugs me into the seat next to him as I come back down the aisle. “Come on, you’re not even going to ask about the piñata?”

  I smirk as I hand off a pack of lean bison jerky, pleased to find Jax in a good mood and not glued to the latest ticket sale stats from Pollstar. “Well, there isn’t much to ask about a piñata except what’s inside, and I feel like that’s a question best answered with a stick.”

  The last item in the bag I keep for myself: a tiny Greek yogurt that’s going to leave my stomach whining for more. Unfortunately, no days off means no treadmill, and there’s no way my ego can take climbing into bed next to Danny’s lean body feeling...pudgy.

  Danny leans across the aisle toward me, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Little bird tells me that piñata might have something to do with Dalton’s collection.”