Real Man

by A. S. Green

  Steven and his new wife stop in their tracks and stare at me. Maeve looks disapproving. The bathroom door is slow to close, and Steven’s eyes are fixed on the destruction we left behind. He looks at Michael, then back to me. “You... Um... Dinner is about to start.”

  For some reason this makes me laugh. I don’t even care when Michael gives Steven a very satisfied wink and a bro-slap on the shoulder.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael

  Claire seems to know where our table is. I follow her through the dining room, winding our way around dozens of tables covered in white linen. Each table has a placard held upright by a silver stem; each placard has a table number written in fancy lettering.

  Ultimately we come to Table One, which is front and center. She takes a seat close to the small set of stairs that lead up to the stage and the podium. I take the seat beside her.

  “Wow,” I say. “You must have made a huge donation to get the head table.”

  “Not exactly,” she says, looking embarrassed.

  I kick myself for having called attention to the difference between us—especially when we’re both still riding the high of our bathroom hookup. Still, the thought is never far from my mind. She knows nothing of what it means to get dirty, or how to do without. How could someone so perfect be such a mismatch? Disney never made a movie about the Princess and the Gear Head.

  Our table starts to fill. First, a couple that Claire introduces as “Justice Palmer, and her husband.” Then two more couples, both of them gray-haired. Not all of the men in the room are in tuxedos, but the three at our table are. I don’t think they’re rentals, either.

  We exchange the normal small talk, then the salads are served. The conversation is all about the charity, the law, recent cases... Nothing about sports or cars or anything I can contribute to. I finish my dinner before anyone else is halfway done.

  Claire is quiet, too, though I think it has more to do with me than the topics of conversation. She’s fidgety. Maybe she’s noticing my silence. Maybe she’s realizing how out of place I am at this gala of hers. Maybe she’s thinking about all the reasons why we don’t work. Can’t work. Will never work.

  I do well enough with my classic car restorations to afford whatever I feel like doing, whenever I feel like doing it, but I will never earn enough to live in a lakeside palace, or drive a new Mercedes, or drink champagne on the regular, or do any of the high-class things she’s used to.

  So much for being an arrogant prick. The guys back at the garage would laugh their asses off if they knew how much I was questioning my—

  “Stop it,” Claire whispers, leaning in. “You’re making me nervous.”

  I drape my arm around the back of her chair and turn my mouth toward her ear. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking,” she whispers back. Her lips are still swollen from my kisses.

  I look at that mouth for a second, then say, “You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re bossy.”

  She glances at the others at our table, but when she sees they’re not listening, she gives me a wicked grin. “Yeah?”

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  “Then hold that thought, Mr. Sexy. I can be very demanding.” The way she says it sends an electric shock straight to my cock. It’s worse than I feared. I am completely out of my league with this woman, and our bank accounts are just the start of it.

  * * *

  As desserts are served, an older woman in a navy, floor-length gown moves across the small stage to the podium, and we all look up. She smiles and says, “Good evening,” into the microphone. She has a small stack of index cards in her hands.

  “Welcome to The Green Light Foundation’s annual gala. It is one of the highlights of our year. We hope it is also one of yours. We are eternally grateful for your donations, for celebrating the work of the foundation, and for your enthusiasm for all the items in our silent auction. There is still one hour before the auction closes, so after the award presentation, be sure to check that no one has outbid you on your favorite items.”

  She clears her throat and Claire shifts in her chair. I put my arm around her shoulders but she leans forward, away from me.

  “As you know,” the woman says, “each year we award the Torchlight Award to a member of our community who exemplifies the mission statement of The Green Light Foundation. We are dedicated to service, to the protection of children, the support of families, and to making sure all citizens, no matter what their socio-economic background, have equal access to the legal system and social services.”

  I look around the room. It seems others are doing the same thing, wondering who the winner is.

  “The recipient receives this handsome plaque.” She holds it up for everyone to see. “And a check for five thousand dollars. This year is quite special because the recipient was once a child on our caseloads.

  “A child with no family, no support, and no personal resources other than her intelligence and bright wit. A child who took full advantage of all The Green Light Foundation had to offer, ultimately going to college on a full-ride academic scholarship and moving on to law school.

  “Graduating first in her law school class, our honoree was courted by all the big law firms in town, but rather than take a large six-figure salary, she paid it forward by taking a job with the public defender’s office, representing the youth in our community. She is more than just their attorney, she volunteers as an after-school tutor, and career counselor and mentor.

  “Some of her clients have contacted us with their testimonials. We don’t have time to read them all, but I wanted to read this one in particular: ‘No one has ever cared about what happens to me. For the longest time, I didn’t care what happened to me. But my attorney taught me that even though I’ve made mistakes, that I can rebound. That I can do something special. That I am special.’”

  People clap. It’s a nice testimonial. Claire even seems moved by it because there are tears at the corners of her eyes.

  “This is exactly what the foundation is all about,” the woman says into the microphone. “This year’s honoree has all the riches of the world because she is rich in heart. And that is why this year’s winner of the Torchlight award is Ms... Claire... Sweeney.”

  What?

  The woman at the podium glances down at Claire, who stands slowly. She smooths her dress with her hands and moves toward the stairs while I stare, open mouthed, as if seeing her for the very first time. A child with no family, no support, and no personal resources... A child who paid it forward...

  When Claire gets to the podium, Mrs. Walker hands her a check and the plaque. They pose for a picture, then Claire leans into the microphone while gripping the podium for support.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Walker.” She clears her throat and looks at me, then out at the crowd. “And thank you to everyone responsible for putting on such a lovely evening. Beats beer and pizza in front of the tube.”

  She laughs, looking a little embarrassed, then she clears her throat. “When Mrs. Walker called me last week to tell me I had been selected, I was quite overwhelmed and actually a little confused. So many of you sitting out there have done as much, if not more, than I have.”

  It’s just a hunch, but I have a hard time believing that’s true. When I glance around the room, my hunch is confirmed by the smiles and good-natured chuckles as a few people shake their heads in denial.

  “I started out with very little in life. After my parents died, I had barely anything more than a suitcase. I want to thank those who have given me all the wonderful opportunities that have made my career and tonight possible: the foundation, of course, and all the hard-working attorneys and staff at the PD’s office. Our compassionate bench and their clerks who keep the system running so smoothly. And finally, thank you to one certain knight in shining armor who rescued me today on the side
of the road and made sure this Cinderella got to the ball on time.”

  Claire blows me a kiss and I feel it deep in my gut. Then she turns to Mrs. Walker, and gives her a hug. From my vantage point, I see Claire slip the check back into the old woman’s hand. Mrs. Walker glances down at it in surprise, then gives Claire a look of both thanks and pride.

  Chapter Ten

  Claire

  I don’t look at Michael when I get back to my seat, but I can feel his eyes on me. Everyone’s eyes are on me. This is the part I’ve been dreading all week. I close my own eyes to give myself a moment’s reprieve from all the congratulations and hand shaking that is sure to come my way.

  As honored as I am by the award, I didn’t seek it out. The spotlight was never my goal, and now that Mrs. Walker is moving into her final remarks, all I really want to do is get away from the crowd.

  “Hey,” says a low voice in my ear. Michael has pulled his chair in close. “You doing okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Mrs. Walker has stopped talking and the room erupts in applause.

  “Can you get me out of here?” I ask as I keep my eyes on my napkin. I seem to have twisted the life out of it.

  I hazard a glance at his beautiful face, and I am so glad I did. In so many ways he is still a stranger, but everything about him is warm and comforting and supportive. He takes my hand in his and strokes his thumb over my knuckles.

  “You should probably greet your fans. I think there are a lot of people who’d like to say hello. You should soak up the attention.”

  “You’re the only one whose attention I’m interested in.”

  His eyes flash, so I guess my meaning is clear. “Then we’ll make our way straight through the crowd. You’ll feel my hand on your back the whole way. Shake hands as you go. Accept their congratulations. And then, when we get to the end, make a dash for the front desk. I still need to check in.”

  Michael

  As we rise from our seats, there’s an immediate crush of people; first the couples at our table, then the rest of the room seems to collapse around us. I keep a slight but constant pressure on Claire’s back as she accepts congratulations and thank-yous, moving steadily through the throng, until we’ve reached the outer edge near the concierge.

  A minute later, we’re riding the elevator up to the twentieth floor. As soon as the door slides open, she’s walking backward down the hall, tearing at my tie before we’ve even reached the room. The buttons on my shirt are undone before we’re inside and I’ve turned the lock.

  “Thank you,” she says, peppering my face and neck with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t think I could have survived all of that without you.”

  I shuck my jacket onto the floor and yank my shirttails out of my pants. “Oh, I’m sure your cousin, boy-Jacob, or even ‘geriatric man’ could have got you through that crowd of rabid fans just as quickly as I did.”

  She shoots me a brief but curious look that’s quickly replaced by a sly smile that grabs me by the balls. “But none of them could have relaxed me so well beforehand.”

  This reminder pulls a groan out of me. “Definitely not.”

  “And I don’t want to see any of them naked.” She pulls my shirt off my shoulders then undoes my pants. Once she’s got me naked in front of her, she takes a small step back to admire her work.

  If I wasn’t hard before, that awestruck look on her face finishes me off. “Glad to hear that, Princess.”

  Her gaze flicks up from my engorged cock to my eyes. “If you didn’t pick up on that speech Mrs. Walker gave, I’ve never been much of a princess.”

  I step forward so my chest grazes hers. Her nipples harden through the fabric of her dress. “You’ll always be a princess to me.”

  She drags the back of her hand down my chest and over my abs, turning her hand to cup my side.

  I pull her into my arms as much to hold her as to reach the zipper that runs down her back. Once undone, the dress falls from her body like the shedding of a skin, and she stands in front of me in a black corset and silver high-heeled sandals.

  Fuck. This woman. So fucking beautiful.

  “Can I keep seeing you?” It’s not a question I usually ask at this point in the evening, but I’ve got to know right now. I need to make this woman mine. For real. Not just for tonight.

  “Of course.”

  “How do you feel about roadhouses?” God, why am I still talking when we should be fucking?

  She steps closer and whispers in my ear as she palms me. “I have a running beer tab at PJ’s.”

  “Christ,” I say, responding to her words as much as the warmth of her hand as it wraps around my cock. I thrust into her hand. “You’re perfect.”

  “Show me how perfect, Michael.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. She gasps at how quickly I move. In half a second I have her pressed against yet another wall, then I drop to my knees in front of her. Worshipping her like the goddess that she is.

  All I want is to taste her again, to drink her in. I look up. Her creamy breasts are heaving over the top of her corset. Her eyes are locked with mine, waiting to see what I have planned for her. I spread her folds open and—damn!

  “Do you always get this wet, this fast?” I stroke my finger slowly through her core.

  Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and her words came out as barely more than a whisper. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?” I keep at her with my finger, and she arches her back against the wall. I kiss her inner thigh.

  “It’s been a two-year dry spell before you.”

  I kiss her other thigh, and she squirms as my ’stache tickles her skin. “A woman like you should never have a dry spell.”

  I mean for this to be all about her but as soon as my tongue swipes through her folds, a feral growl rips out of me. If the sweet taste of her wasn’t enough, it pulls up the memory of watching her come in my truck, how she dragged her wet fingertip across my lip. It was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced, and it causes me to dive in like a man starved.

  I suck, and lick, and taste, and fuck her with my tongue—I devour her—until her back arches and her fingers scrape at my scalp; air hisses through her teeth, and her hips rock against my mouth.

  I keep at her. I don’t let up. Not even when she’s saying she can’t take it anymore.

  “Don’t give up yet, Princess. I want you to come on my tongue.”

  I look up and her eyelids are fluttering. One of her hands is flattened against the wall, and her fingernails scratch at the textured wallpaper. She’s on the edge, and the sight of her is sheer heaven.

  My tongue finds her clit again. It’s swollen under her hood, and I circle it once while my hands dig into her thighs. She groans, and I draw out her pleasure. It’s as much for me as it is for her, and the scent of her in my nose—as it has been all night—is going to make me come right where I kneel.

  She’s panting. Her right hand finds the back of my head and holds me to her, as if I’d ever want to leave this sweetness. I keep at it, building friction, until she cries out and claws at my shoulders.

  “Come for me, Princess. Don’t hold back. Do it.”

  And she does.

  She screams as her release shatters through her body. It’s like surfing a tidal wave. Her hips jerk against my mouth, then her knees buckle. It’s all I can do to keep her upright while my own thoughts scatter at the sheer intensity of it all. Who knew someone else’s pleasure could rock my world so hard?

  I stand, as she slumps against the wall. Then I lift her limp and sated body into my arms. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  She circles her legs around me and I reach between us, gripping my cock and directing it into her slick, wet canal. Even as drenched as she is, I still feel her stretch over me, and I have to clench my
teeth against the sheer ecstasy of it.

  We say nothing, but gasp against each other’s mouths, letting the satisfaction of our joining sink in. The frantic pawing is over for now. I want to give her time to recover because—as soon as I get her into the bed—I mean to make her come again.

  She grins at me once her breathing settles, and I take that as my signal. She doesn’t lose an inch of me—even as I lay her on the bed—then I start to move, slowly sliding out. When the frustration of my absence shows on her face, I slide home again. God, so sweet.

  “Holy shit,” she says.

  “Fuck, yeah.” I pull out again, taking my time, until only my tip remains nestled in her tight, wet heat. I hold there, for as long as I can stand it, which isn’t long. I need to be inside her. Now.

  I thrust, closing my eyes to feel her along every inch of me. God. So good.

  “Baby.” Her fingers grip my biceps like she’s holding on for dear life.

  I angle up, and she flinches when I hit the same spot that made her come before. I pull back again, not wanting to get us there so quickly, but then I lose all control and slam into her, this time right up to the hilt. “Fuck!”

  “Yes.” She lifts her hips and digs her heels into my ass. “Fuck me. Make me yours.”

  All bets are off now. My hands anchor her hips to the mattress, holding her still so she can feel the full force of my merciless pounding. Her legs squeeze my sides, her muscles spasm as she draws me deeper, rocking into my thrusts, gasping against my mouth.

  I palm her breast, rolling the hard little nipple each time I fill her. Her juices are spilling out over my balls. Her obvious pleasure sends a blistering jolt of electricity right up my spine as I feel her muscles tighten, sucking me deeper, deeper into her body.

  “Michael!”