Two to Tango (Erotic Romance)

by Strong, Mimi

  “That’s right. Pucker up.”

  I licked my lips again and held them up, waiting.

  The chair scraped against the floor, and something touched me between the legs. I flinched, expecting food, but relaxed as soon as I realized it was warm lips against my pussy. He kissed me with a closed mouth, slow and lingering. I could feel the hot breath coming out of his nostrils.

  I opened my eyes, but all I could see was the shirt covering my face.

  Still between my legs, his lips parted from the chaste kiss and his tongue scooped into me.

  It was too intense, too much, and I brought my heels up to the table to push myself away. He grabbed me around the waist and held me still as he bore down on me, his tongue hard and unyielding.

  Pleasure blossomed and spread through my body in waves, numbing me to the sensations that were overwhelming. I let my legs fall open like a butterfly’s wings.

  He caught my clit between his upper lip and tongue, squeezing it and then tickling.

  I started to hyperventilate, rocking my hips in rhythm.

  The apartment buzzer sounded.

  His lips jerked away from me, leaving me pulsing and desperate.

  “What the fuck was that?” he asked.

  The buzzer of the intercom sounded again.

  “My pussy has an early warning system,” I said.

  Stunned silence.

  “That was the intercom,” I explained. “Someone’s at the door downstairs.”

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  His tone was accusatory. I sat up and tugged away the shirt-blindfold, which wasn’t even tied.

  “What the fuck do you mean by that?” I asked.

  “If I go answer that intercom, am I going to be unhappy?”

  Spitting my words out with sarcasm, I said, “You don’t have to be. It’s just my afternoon whoring client. Maybe I can get him to upgrade him to a three-way and he can fuck you right in that anal retentive, tight little asshole of yours.”

  Charlie grabbed his shirt from my hands and quickly pulled it on.

  The buzzer sounded again—a long, angry-sounding buzz.

  “That wasn’t called for,” he said. “If you have a boyfriend or a sugar daddy, just have the decency to tell me.”

  “Do you think I’d live like this if I had a sugar daddy?”

  “I’m going to answer the intercom.”

  “Fine by me.”

  He crossed over to the door and swore for a moment at the buttons before pressing the correct one. “Hello?”

  “Charlie?”

  He shot me a surprised look, and then turned away from me.

  “It’s Duncan,” the voice said. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “What made you think I was here?”

  “This is where I left you last night, and I’m basically Dr. House and Sherlock Holmes rolled up into one better-looking package. You know that. Buzz me up. I gotta talk to you.”

  Hearing Duncan’s voice brought back hazy memories of the night before. “No!” I yelled across the apartment. “He said this was a trashy apartment. He can’t come in here. Fuck that guy.”

  “Is that her?” he asked.

  Damn, he must have heard me through the intercom.

  “Don’t make it worse,” Charlie warned.

  “Who are you talking to?” I demanded. “Him, or me?”

  “Sweetheart,” the guy said, his voice crackling over the ancient speakers. “I didn’t say the apartment was trashy, I said that you—”

  I didn’t hear the rest, because Charlie wisely pulled his thumb off the intercom button.

  He turned back to face me again, and started laughing.

  I was sitting on the table, debating hopping across the room to tell his friend off myself, but the distance was too far, and his friend wasn’t worth it.

  “You can stop laughing any time,” I said. “Your friend is your stupid friend. That’s not my business.”

  Charlie covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry, but it’s just difficult to be mad at a naked girl with mustard on her tits.”

  “I don’t…” I looked down. There was bright yellow mustard all over the front of me. He must have squirted on way more than he licked off. “You fucker.”

  The intercom buzzed again. That Duncan guy wasn’t letting up.

  Charlie said, “Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up while I deal with my friend?”

  Shaking my head, I gathered up my clothes and hopped into the bathroom for a washcloth, then into my bedroom. I shut the door and locked it.

  After wiping down my breasts, I ran the cloth between my legs, muttering about all the boy-slobber that was down there. The washcloth felt nubby and enjoyable between my legs. I shuddered as I rubbed it back and forth. How rude of Duncan to show up before Charlie finished me off. I gave myself a few more strokes, then tossed the cloth onto my laundry heap. The boy would have to finish what he started. Soon.

  I hopped to my closet and started picking out a cute outfit for the day. It was a sunny day in May, so I chose a sundress and a summer-weight cardigan with pearl buttons. The cardigan was mostly so I didn’t get a sunburn on my shoulders if we went out, but also the sort of thing I suspected Charlie was into. He liked that combination of salty and sweet, of whore and pearls.

  My good mood evaporated when I heard voices in the apartment—two voices.

  Snarling, I opened the bedroom door.

  To my surprise, I saw a boyish young man with an innocent-looking face standing next to Charlie. He had long hair, but cut in layers, so it wouldn’t have gone in a ponytail. Last night he’d been so villainous, but today he looked like a perfectly nice guy.

  “You’re the stripper,” he said to me.

  And there went Duncan’s chance to make a good second impression.

  “You’re the serial panty sniffer.”

  His eyes twitched, but he didn’t give anything away.

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Duncan, meet Skye. Skye, this is my best friend, Duncan. He’s had a DUI, and you’ve been… well, I’m sure you two have a few things in common.”

  “Possession of narcotics,” I said. “Ages ago. I’ve done my community service and I promise, I’m a good girl now, just like I’m sure you’re a good boy.”

  Duncan glowered at me. “I’m not a panty sniffer.”

  “That’s too bad. I’d like you more if you were.”

  Duncan backed away toward the door. “Happy now?” he asked Charlie. “I met your friend. Let’s go to the thing.”

  “What thing?” I asked.

  Charlie had been shuffling closer to me, and stood equidistant between me and his friend, as if he was ready to stop a fist fight. He came the rest of the way over to me and looped my arm up over his shoulders.

  “Let me be your human crutch, and your tour guide,” he said.

  I gave him side-eye. “Where?”

  “Somewhere fun. You’ll have fun.”

  Duncan let out an exasperated breath. That settled it. Of course I’d go along if it annoyed Duncan.

  “Why is there a broken egg on the floor?” Duncan asked.

  I gave him my sweetest smile. “I laid that egg. Didn’t Charlie tell you? It’s one of my many talents.”

  He pointed his finger at me, his mouth twitching as he tried to resist being amused by me. “You’re fucking weird.”

  ~

  Charlie put me on his back to take me down the stairs, and then out to the car.

  Duncan’s car was even swankier than I’d remembered from the night before. It stood out among the other cars along the block, yet it also fit in, because there were two or three drug dealers who lived in the area, and they liked fancy cars.

  “Shotgun!” Duncan yelled, running for the passenger side front seat.

  Charlie looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes pleading for me to be cool.

  “Fine, I’ll sit in the back,” I said.

  “Or you could drive,” he offe
red.

  “Nooooo,” I breathed. “I’d probably crash Duncan’s nice car into a dumpster. Not by accident, either. I don’t know if I could resist the temptation.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Charlie said as he gently set me down on the sidewalk next to the car’s back door.

  “Look at him. He’s picking his nose.”

  Duncan lowered the window. “I heard that,” he said. “And I wasn’t picking, I was itching.”

  Charlie helped me into the back seat, putting his hand on top of my head, like a cop would.

  “Are you arresting me?” I asked.

  “Yes. You’re under arrest for attempting to incite a riot, with that short dress of yours and those criminal legs.” He ran his palms up and down the fronts of my legs. His chest rumbled with a low growl, which made me giggle.

  “Gross,” said Duncan from the front seat.

  Charlie leaned into the back of the car and kissed me, his hands groping me through my dress.

  We kissed until I couldn’t take the noise of Duncan complaining anymore and pushed Charlie off me and out of the car.

  We started driving, and neither of them would tell me where we were going.

  We drove to an industrial part of the city and pulled into the parking lot of an auction house. According to the signage, there was an estate auction happening that day.

  “We’re going to an auction?” I asked. “That’s the big surprise?”

  Charlie looked over at his friend. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

  Duncan groaned and reached into his pocket, then handed me a business card.

  “You own an antiques store?” I asked, trying to reconcile the image of the shaggy-haired bro I saw before me with the idea of an antiques store owner.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said, sounding cranky.

  I reached forward, between the seats, and patted his shoulder. He flinched, as though he thought I was going to hit him.

  “Antiques are cool,” I said. “That’s a great business idea. I’m really happy for you.”

  Charlie turned off the car engine and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

  Duncan didn’t open his door right away, but turned around, watching me warily. “The key is being able to spot value, being able to tell trash from the real deal.”

  “Ouch,” I said, pulling my hand away from his shoulder. “And I’m the trash.”

  He brought his hand up to his forehead, rubbing his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean that. I was only talking about antiques. Ask Charlie. I’ve probably said that line a million times.”

  “Let’s just call a truce for today.”

  “I’m not a bad guy. I’m just looking out for my friend.”

  “And you’ll have him back to yourself in two days.”

  “What?”

  “Two days, and you two can go back to sucking each other’s dicks for all I care.”

  Just then, Charlie reached my door and opened it.

  “Isn’t that right?” I asked him.

  “Sure thing, sexy legs.” He leaned in and gave me another lingering kiss before helping me out of the car.

  The parking lot wasn’t paved, and recent rains had made it muddy. With my arm over Charlie’s beefy shoulders, I hopped along toward the doors of the auction house, picking around the soggiest areas in my strapped sandals.

  “Oh, princess,” Charlie said, shaking his head, and then he scooped me up in his arms.

  “Gross. Kill me now,” Duncan said under his breath.

  We went in through the doors of the auction house. The interior was well-lit, yet seemed dim compared to the sunny outdoors, and smelled musty.

  I breathed deeply as Charlie set me down on the bare concrete floor. “I love that smell,” I said. “Old stuff, in an old building.”

  “The smell of hidden treasure, waiting to be discovered,” Duncan said.

  Charlie smiled. “See? I knew you two had things in common. You both like stinky old things.”

  Duncan grumbled, already walking through a set of interior doors. He turned left and disappeared.

  Where was he going? I could see the auction room to the right, with tidy rows of folding chairs set out.

  Charlie saw me looking around and explained that we had to do all the looking and measuring before the auction, making notes of lot numbers we were going to bid on.

  I almost tripped over myself in excitement when I saw people walking by with paddles bearing numbers. Auction paddles were real? Not just props in movies?

  I asked Charlie if I could get one.

  He nodded toward the registration desk. “That depends. How much money did you bring?”

  “Eight dollars, mostly quarters.”

  He chuckled. “How about I get a paddle, and I let you hold it?”

  “I’d love to hold your paddle.”

  He smiled. “I’ll bet you would.”

  I gasped. “Can we bid up whatever Duncan’s bidding on and make him pay extra?”

  He gave me a stern look. “Young lady, do you want to wait in the car?”

  “I’ll be good,” I promised.

  “I’ll be good,” he repeated. “Something tells me you’ve told that particular fib more than once.”

  “Mostly when I’m making deals with God.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  “I haven’t been struck by lightning yet.”

  He shook his head. “Last month, on the golf course. In the thunderstorm. I was in mortal danger, wasn’t I?”

  “You almost died,” I whispered.

  “Maybe I did, and now I’m in heaven.”

  I stared at his gorgeous face for a few seconds, then smiled and whispered, mimicking Duncan, “Gross.”

  Chapter 21

  Charlie

  I’ve probably been to a hundred auctions with Duncan. He drags me along every time I have a day off, flattering me by saying I have “an eye” for craftsmanship. The truth is, I have “an eye” for knowing when Duncan’s getting out of control, in the grips of auction fever. One elbow to the ribs, and he’ll drop his paddle and let someone else make the winning bid.

  I’ve told him, again and again, that he needs to jot down a price for every lot number and not go over it, but he has this system, where he adds on dollars early in the game because he thinks he’ll save them later, when the other bidders get fatigued. He also boosts numbers at the end, optimistically mis-remembering earlier bids as being low.

  His problem is his optimism. People who are always late to things suffer from the same optimism. With every trip they plan, they imagine hitting a run of green lights and no traffic.

  I prefer to be more balanced. Not pessimistic, but smart.

  That day at the auction house with Skye, though, I wasn’t being optimistic, or pessimistic, or smart. There was barely a thought in my head at all. When she held my hand, all I could think about was how smooth and soft her skin felt in mine. Her fingernails were perfect ovals at the top, and cut so short, there was no white visible. Why were her nails so short? They were shorter than mine.

  I lifted her hand to my lips and tried to bite the end of her thumbnail.

  She looked at me like I’d just grown a monster head.

  The auction had begun, and we were seated in a row two-thirds of the way back—Duncan’s “Winner Zone.”

  I leaned over and whispered, “Your nails are short. Do you ever grow them out? Or wear nail polish?”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she looked down at her hand, flattening it out over mine.

  After a moment, she leaned over and whispered, “Maybe I’m bisexual. Lesbians keep their nails short.” She held two fingers together and made a suggestive, thrusting motion. As if she hadn’t already been more than clear enough, she used her other hand to make a circle shape to receive the two fingers.

  I looked away, shaking my head. “I can’t take you anywhere,” I said under my breath.

  I shifted in my chair, a
familiar swelling happening again. We had some unfinished business from that morning, and my dick couldn’t stop thinking about her, naked and blindfolded on the table.

  “This is fun,” she whispered, nuzzling my ear. “I’ve never been to an auction before. Everyone looks so serious, like poker players.”

  “There’s that leather sofa you liked.”

  She puckered her lips in an ooh shape, watching the auctioneer’s assistants bring in a button-tufted vintage sofa. It looked like something from a stereotypical gentleman’s library, or a prop from a boudoir photographer’s studio.

  Her body jerked and she made a gasping noise. Duncan leaned forward and looked across me at Skye, giving her a grouchy look.

  She made the noise again, covering her mouth with her hand. “Hiccups,” she explained, fanning her face.

  The hiccups came when she was nervous, or so she’d told me before.

  I asked, “You want to bid on that sofa?”

  The auctioneer had already started the bidding, calling out for offers beginning at two hundred, then one-fifty.

  Skye shook her head, no.

  I asked, “You don’t want to bid, or you don’t want it?”

  She shuddered with another suppressed hiccup and pointed to her purse as explanation. Right. She only had a few dollars, mostly quarters.

  But she liked the sofa. I couldn’t get her to admit she liked me, but she liked the sofa, and the world wouldn’t be right until I got it for her. I raised my paddle, putting in a bid at one hundred.

  Duncan elbowed me. He wanted the sofa. I shrugged at him, keeping my poker face.

  Someone near the front of the audience coughed, and the auctioneer’s attention was drawn there, where two people quickly bid against each other in small increments, bringing the price up to five hundred.

  Calm as still waters, Duncan raised his paddle and signaled with his hand.

  The auctioneer said, “Six hundred, from the gentleman in blue, do I hear six fifty? Six twenty-five?”

  I raised my paddle. “Six fifty.”

  Duncan turned toward me, scowling.

  I raised my paddle again. “Seven hundred.”

  People around us tittered with amusement at me bidding up myself to spite my friend.

  Duncan shook his head, bowing out. The auctioneer called the bid amount and checked on each of the other bidders, moving on quickly after a nod or wave from each of them.