by Penny Wylder
The movie starts out with an explosion, and only gets louder from there. Turns out it’s one of those comedy-action movies, but not a funny one. After the fourth joke falls flat, Zayne takes to whispering better versions of the lines in my ear. I have to fight cracking up and turning heads across the theater—although, admittedly, there aren’t even too many heads to turn.
“Not your thing, huh?” I ask him with a smirk as he makes fun of the sixth line in a row.
“Are you kidding? I love shitty movies. The worse the better.”
We trade favorite un-recommendations for the next few scenes, but by then, it’s become clear that this movie is just ridiculous.
“Not even MST3k could save this,” I mutter, and Zayne lights up, squeezing my leg.
“You watch that too? I loved that show.”
“Wow, nerd.” I smirk at him.
“You’re one to talk,” he counters.
“Me? I am innately cool.”
“Don’t you work in a publishing house? Pretty sure all publishers have to be nerds. It’s in the job requirement right?”
“Only book nerds though. Not TV show nerds.” I roll my eyes.
“Is that worse?”
“You tell me,” I counter. “You’re the nerd expert here.”
“Tell me, Clove.” His fingers track up my thigh, moving slowly, like he’s turned his hand into a spider and he’s crawling it up the rain spout. His fingers dance closer and closer to my hips. “Would a nerd be able to make you come as many times as I made you scream my name last weekend?”
I can feel my cheeks flush in the dark of the theater. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t really tested nerd versus non-nerd’s abilities in the bedroom.”
“I see. So I haven’t fucked you enough times yet, is what I’m hearing.”
I swallow hard. “Well. That’s one way of interpreting that.”
His hand slides along the crease of my thigh, right where it meets my hip. His fingers delve between my legs, pressing hard against the tight fabric of my pencil skirt. I wore this skirt specifically to avoid any sexual attention, but right now, it’s taking all of my self restraint not to tear it off. “I like my interpretation.” He leans in to brush his lips against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “It gives me a good excuse to fuck you again.”
With that, he pushes up the arm of the seat between us. I barely have time to react before he’s grabbing me with both hands, his fingers clamped around my hipbones. He pulls me across the seats and settles me in his lap. I can already feel the hard press of his cock against my ass, through the fabric of his jeans and my tight skirt.
“We’re in public,” I hiss over my shoulder.
“Do you think any of these people are going to notice?” Zayne gestures around us. The other three people in the theater do look pretty distracted. They’re far away, and their eyes are fixed on the screen. But if one of them turned around now, they’d see me sitting far above the seats, exposed, obvious.
“What if they hear?” I whisper, wriggling against him. But I don’t move off of him. It feels too good, his hard cock digging into my ass, his warm, strong arms still wrapped around my waist.
“You’ll just have to be quiet,” Zayne murmurs against the back of my neck, his nose grazing the soft skin there. “Think you can do that for me, dirty girl? Think you can be quiet while I fuck you until you come?”
I tense and cast another nervous glance around the theater. Can I? Normally I’d say yes, but given the orgasms Zayne has given me recently, I’m not so sure anymore…
“I can try,” I murmur.
He smirks and catches my earlobe between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make me inhale sharply. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”
He runs both hands up my thighs now, and catches underneath my skirt to pull it with him. He inches the skirt up, up, until my panties are exposed. He keeps going, hiking the skirt around my waist, out of the way, and then drops his hands back down to trace the edges of my lacy thong.
“This is very naughty underwear, Ms. Walker. Entirely inappropriate for being out in public.”
A shiver races down my spine at the sound of his voice, low and sexy as hell. I lean back against him and his chest vibrates against my back when he speaks.
“I’m going to have to relieve you of it.”
“What a shame,” I manage to breathe. Then I arch my hips enough to allow him access to hook his fingers through my thong and tug it down. He pulls it all the way down to my knees and leaves it dangling there, as his hands slide back up to my thighs. He traces the edges of my pussy, along my mound, down my thighs, not quite touching me yet. All the while I can feel his cock digging into my ass, straining against the clasp of his jeans.
He arches his back, and I lean down against him, circling my hips, grinding myself shamelessly against his thick cock.
“Hungry for me?” he asks. My belly tightens.
“Always.”
He dips one finger between my legs and traces my pussy lips lightly. “Mm, I can tell.” He pushes gently against my lips until they part, and his finger slides between them, along my slit. “I love how wet you get for me, Clove.”
“You always make me wet.” I glance over my shoulder at him and circle my hips again for emphasis. “Just like I always make you hard.”
“As a rock,” he agrees.
I reach beneath me to fumble for his pants clasp. Find the button of his jeans and start to undo it without looking.
He catches my wrist with his other hand. “Ah ah. That’s my job.” He nods forward. “You focus on not giving us away,” he says, and with a start, I realize I’ve forgotten where we are. That we’re in public, just a few feet away from other people.
I face front again and suck in a deep breath, trying to concentrate. That gets harder when I feel him unzip his jeans and push them down his legs, his boxers going too, until I can feel his smooth, steel-hard cock bare against my ass.
“Zayne… Is this a good idea?” I whisper.
In response, he grips my hips and positions me above him. His cock lays along the length of my slit now, just between my lips. He’ll have to angle himself to thrust into me, but already I can feel him pulsing with lust, and my pussy tightening in response. Fuck. I can’t say no, not now. I want him too much. I always want him, no matter where we are, but here…
I cast another worried look around the theater. Fuck. We’re so exposed. If anyone looks back…
But there’s something hot about that. About being so exposed, so vulnerable. So close to other people in public…
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just got wetter,” Zayne murmurs in my ear.
I cast him a sharp glare over my shoulder. “Well someone is torturing me.”
“Torturing you, hmm? That sounds terrible.”
I swallow with difficulty. “Maybe.”
“I see. Is this terrible, then?” He pushes me up off his lap a little, angles his hips and reaches down with one hand to position himself, so the tip of his cock is between my pussy lips, poised at my entrance. One small thrust up and he’ll be inside me. Hell, if I just sit back against him, it’ll force him into me. I start to lean back, but he stops me, one hand around my waist, the other on my ass, suspending me above him.
“Very terrible,” I answer, my voice twisted with frustration.
“What’s so terrible about it exactly?”
“The teasing,” I hiss back almost immediately.
“Ah. So you don’t want me to fuck you right here in public, is that it?”
“I… That…” I clamp my mouth shut, annoyed. Because of course, now I want him to. Damn him.
“I could stop.” He eases back into his seat, drawing his cock away from me.
“No, don’t,” I gasp, almost too loud. Someone in the front row turns their head a little, glances over their shoulder. Not long enough to realize I’m out of my seat, sharing a seat with someone else. Just enough to express their
annoyance.
Shit.
I’m going to have to be a lot quieter.
“I take it you do want to be fucked right here, then. Like the dirty girl you are. With all these nice people watching…” He drags his cock along the length of my slit, back and forth, his head between my lips, so I can feel him getting wet and slick with my juices.
“Yes,” I breathe, making sure to keep my voice lower this time. Luckily the sound of this movie covers it mostly. There’s a lot of loud explosions happening on-screen. Which is good timing because Zayne chooses that moment to thrust his cock into my pussy. He pulls me down against him at the same time, pushing all the way inside me in one smooth thrust. I can’t help gasping, my body arching back against him as his thick cock strains against the walls of my pussy.
“Quiet, dirty girl,” he whispers in my ear. I reach down to grip the seats on either side of us, using them to brace myself as he pushes me up off his lap, slowly, letting me feel every inch of his cock inside me as he draws out of me once more. Then he pulls me back down again, hard, and this time I manage not to make a sound, even though my mouth falls open and my belly feels tight, my nerve endings sparking. All I can think about, all I can feel, is the thick length of his cock in my pussy, the way his hard shaft feels as he pushes me up again.
I start to rock with him, thrusting down as he pulls me onto him, and leaning up as he pushes me up again, finding our rhythm. My breath comes faster, my heart nearly beating out of my body, not just because of the way he fucks me, slow now, but building faster, faster. It’s also because I keep glancing around the theater, dim in the low light, but lit up every now and again by bright explosions from the cheesy action thriller playing on the screen. If anyone looked back over their shoulder, it would be obvious what we’re doing. If I make any sounds again…
But I manage to clamp my lips tight, hold in the cries that try to force their way out of me, as Zayne fucks me.
Just when we’ve found a rhythm, he slides his hand around my waist, his fingers inching between my thighs to stroke along my mound. He keeps up the pace, thrusting up into me, even as his fingers circle closer and closer to my clit.
“Fuck, Zayne,” I hiss between gritted teeth.
“What did I tell you?” he murmurs, his voice lost in my hair, as he buries his face against the back of my head, drawing me close against him. “You’ll have to stay very quiet… But I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
I twist against him, trying to ease up the pressure. But the pleasure is too much. He knows exactly where to touch me, exactly when and how. He presses his forefinger against my clit as he continues to fuck me, and the sensation makes my whole body jerk, an electric shock straight to my nerve endings.
At the same time, he flattens his other hand against my back, bending me forward. I grab the seats in front of me, hang onto them as he thrusts up into me. At this angle, his cock drags along my inner front wall, the tip pressing right across my G-spot, at the same time that he keeps fingering my clit. Spots cloud my vision, and I have to bite my lip to keep it shut, to silence the cry that threatens to escape at any second.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Can you come quietly for me, Clove?” Zayne’s voice is a whisper, a breath against the nape of my neck, which makes all the hair there stand on end.
In response, all I can manage is a faint moan, deep in my throat, where I try to keep it lodged as the pressure builds inside me toward a peak.
“That’s it,” he urges me on, and I sense him tensing too. His thrusts take on a wilder, less controlled speed, as he nears his edge too. “Come for me, Clove.”
I can’t help it. I cry out faintly, just at the same time that another deafening roar sounds from the screen, thankfully drowning me out, as my orgasm sweeps through me. My body shakes against Zayne, and he pins me against him, keeps thrusting into me, holding my hips down against his, as my pussy tightens convulsively. I keep my eyes open, but all I can see are kaleidoscope colors, the world seeming to fade away in the rush of electricity flooding my veins.
He comes soon after me, with a soft growl against my neck, and we both gasp again as his hot cum rushes deep into my pussy. He sinks back into the seat, but I keep going, keep rocking against him in a slow, steady motion, milking every last drop from him until we both collapse, panting, our legs slick with sweat, hearts pounding in our ears.
The movie plays on, as boring as ever, and almost on cue, one of the characters cracks a lifeless, dull joke. We both laugh, breathless, hearts racing, amazed at what we just got away with.
Now one of the other theater goers does turn around to glare in our direction, but I’m already sliding off Zayne’s lap, pulling my skirt down, savoring the hot burn in my pussy, the tight sensation, almost painful, yet a good kind of sore, where his cock was buried a moment ago.
“Fuck, that was hot,” he whispers into my hair, and I turn to catch him in a deep, slow kiss. I can taste sex in that kiss, in the air between us. When we break apart, we rest our foreheads against each other’s, and he cups his hands around my face on either side, as though shutting out the rest of the world. There’s nobody but us, nobody who matters besides the two of us.
“Clove…”
“Zayne.” I catch myself smiling like an idiot. I can’t help it. He always makes me this way. Giddy, almost insane with pleasure.
“Do you want to get out of here?” His eyes glint with mischief.
I let my hand trail down his neck, along his arms, until I’m gripping his wrists with both hands, his hands still cupping my face. “Fuck yes.”
We leave the theater, hands clasped, giggling like teenagers at yet another horribly cheesy line of dialogue. One of the old men sitting near the exit door hisses at us to “shush,” but that only sets us off into another bout of loud laughter, especially once the theater doors swing shut behind us and we’re safe in the lobby hallway.
“I cannot believe we just did that,” I gasp between laughs.
Zayne pulls me against him and plants a long, slow kiss on my lips. “You are fucking amazing. Have I told you that yet?”
“You might have mentioned it.” My eyes sparkle.
He lifts a single eyebrow, smirking. “If I have,” he says, “then I haven’t mentioned it nearly often enough. Because you are. Genuinely.”
I swallow around a sudden lump of emotion in my throat. “You are too,” I murmur, though it doesn’t feel like enough, doesn’t explain what I feel for him, not really.
That’s okay. We have time to say it. All the time in the world.
We emerge from the theater into the night, streetlights bright around us. That’s always a surreal experience in New York, the way that even late at night, on busy streets like this, it still looks like broad daylight. We wander along the street hand-in-hand, appreciating the storefronts we pass along our stroll. Zayne suggests ice cream, so we pop into a small shop for cones, which we enjoy as we continue our walk. Then we trade licks of one another’s cones, and burst into laughter again as we fail at holding the cones steady, and smear ice cream on each other’s noses.
Zayne cups my cheek, turns my face to his, and licks the ice cream straight off my nose without hesitation. I laugh and pull away, blushing. But whereas that would normally embarrass me on a date with any other guy, with Zayne it feels normal. Natural. I don’t care what anyone else who sees us might think about us, because we’re the only two whose opinions matter.
I can’t remember the last time I felt like that around someone. Maybe never.
“Where next?” he asks when we deposit our ice cream soaked napkins into the trash can.
“The park?” I suggest with a shrug. It’s still early enough that Central Park is full of activity, lights brightening paths, and couples strolling through in every direction, hands clasped.
“Maybe we can find a dark corner to sneak off into,” he agrees with a wink, and there’s that blush again. Damn him. My face is going to catch on fire if he makes me bl
ush anymore.
We head into the park, and breathe in the cool evening air, scented with flowers and freshly cut grass and the faint whiff of waffle cone trucks packing up for the night. We stick to a path with some pedestrian traffic, some couples, dog walkers, and us, meandering slowly through Central Park. Still, something gives me the chills, makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand up and a faint shiver run through me.
Zayne senses it and pulls me closer to his side. “Cold?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.” I let my head fall back and gaze at the stars above to distract myself from this odd chill. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s the real Zayne like, what makes him tick?”
He laughs. “I think you already know that.” His grip tightens around me, protective and possessive all at once. “You learned how to push my buttons far too quickly, Clove.”
I grin. “Maybe. But I don’t know all of them. I mean, what about your family, for instance? Are you guys close? Who are they?”
“They’re great. My dad’s an auto mechanic, my mom stayed at home with me until I was in high school, then went to work as a secretary in a law firm. They’ve been together since they were in college.”
“They sound nice.”
“They’re probably the other reason I hadn’t dated much before. I’m picky, because…” He hesitates, and now it’s my turn to squeeze my arm around him tighter, reassuring. “I want what they have. A real partner. Someone who matches me. You don’t find that just anywhere.”
I can feel a smile spreading across my face as I lean my head against his shoulder. “Oh trust me, I know.”
“When I dated my ex, I think it was just… I was lonely and sick of waiting for the right person. I thought I could make this girl into the right partner since she cared about me. So I thought. But she didn’t really care about me—not the real me. She just wanted to be with a guy, any guy, and she just projected who she wanted me to be on me.”
