Midtown Masters

by Cara McKenna

He laughed. “I like that about you too—that you joke around, even naked on a bed.”

  “I told you, sex is hilarious. I hate when people make it into some grand performance, like they’re up for an Oscar.”

  “I find that strange, when you and Meyer are good enough to win yourselves a statue or two.”

  “We have fun,” she said. “Before that camera starts rolling, and after, we’re busting each other’s balls, without fail.”

  He went still. He hadn’t been moving much to begin with, but now he seemed frozen in the moment. Finally, he said, “I’m jealous of what you two have.”

  “Chemistry?”

  “And history. A rapport. A bond, and yes, all that chemistry. I think if I found all that with someone, I wouldn’t ever be able to let them go.”

  She shivered, touched by that in some subtle, deep place. “We have a lot, yes. But a monogamous, long-term, committed thing just isn’t for us. It might be for me, I’m not sure. But not for him. And even if he was up for that, he wouldn’t be the one I chose.”

  John blinked, looking surprised. “No?”

  She shook her head. “I need someone a little more accessible. Someone whose heart you can touch—really reach. I know he cares about me, even loves me, as a friend, but I need someone who’ll tell me that. Someone softer.”

  “Oh.”

  “If I was going to choose somebody to try for the long haul with, I’d need someone who’ll let me in, and Meyer won’t. He can’t. I’d want someone who’d hold me through the night long after the sweat dried. Someone who’d remember my birthday and ask me how my day was.” I’d pick someone like you.

  “Those sound like very good things to want,” he said after a pause.

  “Give me that on top of all the really good sex, and I just might give happily ever after a shot.” She was speaking rhetorically, but she couldn’t help but catch herself, and feel that she was issuing that challenge directly to John.

  “Right now,” he said, tone suddenly light and playful, “on this overcast Sunday morning, a half hour before we need to vacate this lovely room, I can offer you fumbling, mediocre, unpracticed, but highly enthusiastic sex. Will that do for now?”

  She grinned up at him. “That’ll do very well indeed.”

  “What can I do to get you ready?” That simple question alone told her he was well on his way to becoming a good lover.

  “I don’t need much. But maybe what you did on Friday night? Touch me that way?”

  “Of course.” As he moved to kneel between her legs he said, “Pointers and refreshers welcome.”

  “Absolutely.” She threaded her fingers through his hair as he leaned in, resting on one arm, the other hand coming close. Reflexively, she remembered the way John had held Meyer’s head last night, and arousal shot like lightning down the length of her body, sizzling.

  He stroked her sex with the knuckle of one finger, from her clit down her lips and back up, one slow, taunting graze after another, painting the pleasure over her nerves in thickening brush strokes.

  “That. Keep doing that.” She hadn’t taught him this, and it wasn’t a move of Meyer’s. “Where’d you learn this?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just making stuff up. It’s good?”

  “Perfect. Never stop. Ever. Until we’re dead.”

  He chuckled softly. “You taught me the pressure.”

  “I’m a very good teacher.” Whether he laughed at that joke, she didn’t know—she was lost in the sensation, head mashed hard into the pillow, fingers tightening in his hair. She caught herself, loosening her grip. Fine for a recreational masochist like Meyer, perhaps not so much John. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s exciting when you do that. It makes me feel like I’m turning you on.”

  “You are.” She paused, debated, then spoke the words that ached to be said. “Try using your mouth, and you’ll taste how much you’re turning me on.”

  His turn to pause. “I’ll try. I’d love to try.”

  “Good.”

  “Instructions, please.”

  She smiled to herself. “Just do what you are with your knuckles, only with your lips, or tongue.”

  He dropped lower, seeming to consider the position a moment.

  “You can stretch out, and slide your hands under me,” she said, “or I could sit at the edge of the bed, if you’d rather be kneeling.”

  “I think this is okay.”

  “Here.” She reached for a spare pillow and propped it under her butt. “Better?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “So just like you were,” she said, and she slid a hand low to trace her clit and seam with the pads of two fingers. They dragged, damp skin against dry fingertips, and she anticipated the shift when it would be John’s slick tongue on her flesh, her mouth all but watering.

  He took her hand, moved it gently to her thigh. As she stroked his hair, she studied his face from this angle, memorizing it.

  He dipped his face close, shoulder blades flexing, and there it was—the first slippery lap. Her toes curled, giving credence to that old cliché.

  “John.” He liked hearing his name, so she’d relish giving him that.

  He did it again, again, precise and uniform strokes of his tongue.

  “Don’t be afraid to get messy,” she said. “I don’t mind a bit of nose.”

  A soft, tiny laugh warmed her lips as she felt just that—the sweet little bump of his nose against her clit. “Noted.”

  He gave her more. More of the same, then he seemed to explore, his tongue delving a little deeper between her labia. She didn’t think he could make her come from this, not the first time, but it was beyond erotic, knowing she was the first one he’d tasted, this way. The first one he’d smelled, this way. The first one he’s trusted, this way. That was perhaps the greatest intimacy of all.

  “I’m ready,” she said, and stroked the nape of his neck, ran her nails softly along his scalp.

  He pulled away. “I can keep going.”

  “You could, and it feels wonderful, but we’re short on time. And I want you too much to risk missing out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “C’mere.”

  He moved on hands and knees until he was braced above her. His arms were pale against her tanned ones, his cock hard and resting on her belly, seeming so patient. She grabbed the condom and stripped the wrapper, smiling up at him. “Any final words?”

  “Only ‘thank you,’ I suppose.”

  “No thanks necessary. This isn’t a favor, you know. I want this as bad as you do. In fact, I want this so much it’s hard to imagine you want it as bad as I do.”

  “Oh, I do. Trust me.”

  “Well, good. May I?” she asked, glancing between them to his waiting cock.

  “Yes.”

  She pinched the end and rolled it on in a couple of practiced strokes. She made it quick and smooth, remembering what he’d said last night, knowing the act was one he might be dreading. If it felt awkward she couldn’t tell. He was still stiff and ready as she let him go to hold his arms.

  He angled himself, found her lips, pressed. Not quite the right angle.

  “Try coming from a little lower,” she whispered.

  He did, slipping inside, smooth and easy.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Perfect. I’m ready. Go as deep as you want.”

  A little groan rushed from his lips as he pushed deeper, a wonderful sound she wanted to remember for the rest of her life. She splayed her fingers across his back, matching each of his slow thrusts with an encouraging tug.

  “Feel good?” she whispered.

  “Amazing. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  She laughed. “Get used to it. We might not have long, but let’s make the most of it.”

&
nbsp; “I’d love if you came.”

  “I bet I can. Find a pace that feels good, that you think you can maintain for a few minutes.”

  His motions felt smooth—perhaps not graceful or confident, but there was no jabbing, no twinges—and in time he settled into a steady rhythm. Had this been Meyer or any other experienced lover, she’d have requested it a little harder, a little rougher, all the better to get there. But there was no need. The fact that it was John was thrill enough to make up for all the friction in the world.

  She slipped her hand between them and rubbed her clit in small, tight, luxurious strokes, set to the tempo of John’s hips.

  Sometimes when she was with Meyer, as she wound herself up she imagined she was with someone else. Not always, but often, and she was sure he did the same. Lately, of course, it had been John she imagined was doing those things to her, unless the sex was especially kinky. Now she didn’t have to imagine. It was everything she’d hoped. Better, in fact. He was better than she’d guessed. A testament to how he’d undersold himself, likely, but it made for a pleasant surprise.

  It wouldn’t take much for her to come. She looked between them, where his cock slid in and out of her. She looked to his face, at those tense, parted lips and half-lidded eyes. At his body, slender and muscular and feeling strong. At every point where their two bodies met. She shut her eyes and let her fingers rush, wanting nothing but the sound of his breathing and the rustle of the covers.

  “I’m really close,” she murmured.

  “Really?”

  She nodded, smiling. Opened her eyes and found his blue ones there, waiting. “You make it easy. You’re the exact person I want this with, right now, and here you are.”

  She could see the impact those words had, could all but watch them spreading from his ears through his body. He was taking her a little faster, a little more messily. What she’d said was moving through him like a shot of liquor, making him rush and fumble. She loved it.

  The Suzy from Friday night probably wouldn’t have said those words to him. They seemed too earnest, too much. Too much to promise, when she couldn’t guess if he was hung up on her or not, and wouldn’t want to lead him on. Now, though. Now it didn’t matter, because whether he was taken with her or not, it couldn’t be half as taken as she was with him. If either of them was in danger of getting hurt, it was her. And she could handle it. It felt good, in fact. A little dangerous. Exhilarating.

  “I love your voice,” she told him. “Can I hear you? Words or just your breathing, anything.”

  “I’ll try.” For a minute or more he offered only the sound of his gasping, but then, “You feel amazing.”

  “So do you.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. I know I said so before, but it’s still true.”

  “My ear,” she said, reeling. “Talk right in my ear.”

  He brought his face to her cheek. “You’re so warm.”

  Her fingers curled, nails digging reflexively.

  He moaned, then caught his breath. “We should call the front desk and tell them we’re staying forever.”

  Suzy laughed. “Heck of a bill.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll barter the equity on my house for just another hour with you.”

  She was barely making sense of what he was saying, she was so close. All she needed was his voice, his warm breath, the steady push and bump of his body into hers. The excitement gathered, hot and tight and thrumming against her fingertips.

  “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

  “Suzy. Fuck, come, please.”

  Oh, that did it. Hearing him swear that way, so unlike his exceedingly civilized self. Swear and plea and order, all in one breath. The orgasm came to a head with those words echoing—a long, deep, bone-melting climax, all pleasure, no pain. She let him hear every second of it, moaning against his temple, and as she fell quiet, his body stilled.

  “Oh my God,” she muttered, wasted. “That was so fucking good.”

  “Was it?”

  “I haven’t come like that in ages.” Not in weeks, surely, not with Meyer. He gave her blinding, lightning-hot climaxes, almost too intense to take. The last time she’d come like that she’d probably been in her bathtub. That was a bathtub orgasm, for sure.

  “You, now,” she said, rubbing the hard balls of his shoulders, catching her breath. She studied those arms, drank them up, every shape and line from the way they held him above her. “Do whatever you want. Whatever feels good. Anything you need from me, just say.”

  “I will.” He began to move again, starting slow but getting quicker, quicker, up to that delicious point that bordered frantic and clumsy. Eager.

  “Would you say my name?” he whispered.

  She slid her fingers into his hair and coaxed him to lower his head. She barely breathed it to start. “John.”

  She felt him shiver, felt his hips lose the beat. Marvelous.

  “John,” she said again, louder now. She stroked his back and spoke his name, again and again, trying to match her voice to his body as it grew more and more needy. In no time it was like he was another man, much rougher than before. He wasn’t pounding into her, but he wasn’t far off.

  “I like you like this,” she said.

  “Tell me if it’s too much.”

  “It won’t be. If it’s what feels good to you, it’s perfect.”

  “I’m close. Fuck, I’m close.”

  She held his hips, rode their motions. He looked beautiful in clothes but this body was such a glorious surprise. “I love how you feel. Strong and hungry.” She imagined this continuing—the two of them, this unlikely affair. She imagined him dominating her one day and felt the pleasure spark anew between her legs. No time to see it through to a second orgasm, though—John was about to hit his.

  “Take what you need, John.”

  A fresh moan, so she said his name again. Again, until he was a groaning, panting mess, until his body locked up tight, cock buried deep, climax pressing them tight together for one push, two, three.

  She felt his muscles soften and rode the waves of his breaths, listened to them crashing in the still, sunny room. Inside her she could feel his cock going soft, and she gently urged him off of her.

  “Best not to linger, with the condom,” she said as he flopped to the side.

  “Oh, of course. Shit, I forgot.” He sat up, disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned without it. She jerked and shrieked with surprise when he lay an icy hand across her belly.

  “Jesus, your hands are freezing!”

  He yanked it back. “Sorry. I washed them.”

  She giggled. “No, no, give them here.” They rolled onto their sides, and she took his two cold hands and stuffed them under her arms, wincing and writhing while he laughed and they waited for them to warm up.

  “Hot water, next time,” he promised.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  All she really cared about, though, was that there was a next time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Suzy and John were just tugging their clothes on when a knock came on the door—housekeeping. They begged for an extra five minutes, long enough for Suzy to gather her toiletries and John to pack up his charging laptop. They drove to Suzy’s favorite breakfast spot and lingered for ages over coffees and mimosas and toast crumbs, until the inevitable couldn’t be put off any longer.

  Suzy found a parking spot downtown and they walked two blocks to the Amtrak station, with a stop to procure caffeine.

  “How long is the ride?” she asked as they entered the waiting area.

  “Not quite eight hours.”

  “Yikes. The drive’s not nearly that long.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind. I’ve got a lot to think about, this trip. Normally I write and read, but I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll have too many
thoughts competing for my attention.”

  “And memories.”

  “Exactly.” He looked to the clock. “They’ll be boarding us, soon. I want to thank you, again. For everything. For the rides and the company and for lunch, and for all the things I won’t mention in the middle of a train station. Thank Meyer for me, as well.”

  “I will. And thank you, too. For the most pleasurable weekend in my recent memory.”

  They regarded each other for a long moment, then John said, “I think that was well put all around. Perhaps we should say good-bye now.”

  She nodded. “Good idea.” She handed him the umbrella she’d been carrying for him, and leaned up on tiptoes. His kiss was sweet and brief, and she found him smiling shyly when she dropped back on her heels. “Safe travels, John. Text if you get bored.” Or horny.

  “I may. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  He didn’t turn and walk toward the platform, so she laughed and took him by the elbow, swiveled him around in the right direction and gave him a little push to get him going. A quick flash of a smile over his shoulder, and he was off. She watched him disappear then walked back to her car, feeling at once heartbroken and buoyant. Sweet sorrow, indeed.

  She’d only just plopped her coffee into the cup holder when her phone buzzed with a silenced call. For three fumbling seconds she fantasized that it was John, calling to tell her he’d ripped up his ticket and was staying forever, but it turned out to be Meyer.

  “Hey, Mey.”

  “What are you up to? Are you naked?”

  She snorted. “No, I’m in my car. I just dropped John at the train station.”

  “And how was he?”

  “Very gracious. He said to thank you for—”

  “No, how was he?”

  “What, in bed?”

  “Surely you got around to fucking him at some point? Tell me you did.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And? You’re holding back. Was he that bad?”

  “No, he was good! I mean, he’s new to it, but he was just fine. Better than I’d expected, probably because he’d always underselling himself.”

  “Or because he had such a gifted sexual role model.”