by Cara Bastone
John was twenty feet away, ten, five, one. He stepped around Beth and into Mary’s side. She twisted on the barstool to face him as one of John’s hands went around to her lower back. His other hand slid up to her cheek, her chin resting on the pad of his thumb. Her eyes swallowed him alive as, stars in his bloodstream, John leaned forward and planted a good, hard kiss on her cheek.
It didn’t last for more than a few seconds, and if it had been between two different people, it might have even been platonic. But because it was Mary, John shivered against her. As brief as it had been, the corner of his mouth had touched the corner of hers. She wore mint ChapStick that he hoped he’d taste on his lips in the few moments before Gabriel led him through the pearly gates one day. He knew he’d surprised her because she was breathless when he pulled away, her eyes wide, her fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt.
“Hi,” he said, six inches from her mouth. The very same mouth his body was begging for him to lean down and taste.
“Hi,” she whispered, more air than word. Her thumb drew a circle in the stubble just under his chin and there was nothing in this entire bar but for Mary’s eyes. There might not have been anything in this entire world but for Mary’s eyes.
“Whoa,” he heard Richie say behind him.
He tore his eyes from Mary’s and acknowledged his friend.
“I take it you won your case,” Richie said.
“That I did.”
“Really? Is that the good news? Tell me about it!” Mary’s hand, still tangled in his collar, relaxed and slid down over his chest. She smoothed it around to his back, pulling him against where she sat on her barstool as the crowd behind him bore down on them. “Want some of my beer? Or should we get you one?”
John’s heart led a six-mile parade down the streets of Brooklyn. Because Mary was pulling him into her side, waving down Marissa to make sure he got a drink. And then she was gasping in joy and excitement as he explained about the case he’d just won. Richie bought another round, and they all toasted Hang Nguyen and her bright future. The bar got even more crowded, and John was practically pasted into Mary’s side.
“Save my seat,” she said to him, her lips at his ear as she slid down to go to the bathroom. John parked himself onto her barstool and swallowed down half his beer in one go as she evaporated into the crowd. Both Richie and Marissa made wide, pointed eye contact with John. Beth tactfully looked away, sipping from her beer innocently.
A few weeks ago, John might have been uncomfortable about the fact that his friends were watching him cuddle and flirt with Mary. But tonight? Nothing mattered tonight but making Mary smile. Nothing mattered but fanning the burning, liquid electricity in his gut. Regrets were not a concept he even vaguely understood right now.
He just shrugged at his friends, impulsively ordered another round for the group and laughed.
A moment later, there was a hand on his shoulder, but before John could stand to give Mary her seat back, she was gracefully sliding against him, planting herself onto the triangle of barstool between his legs.
“Let’s just share,” she suggested over her shoulder, her hair brushing his chin as he leaned down to hear her.
John scooted back an inch on the stool, braced a forearm across the front of her hips and hoisted her more securely against him.
He knew, that with her plush ass firmly planted between his spread legs, there was going to be no hiding how much he wanted her. But, he wondered, what was the alternative? Not having Mary wiggle herself into his lap? Hard pass.
She didn’t protest at having his arm around her waist, so he left it there, reveling when she leaned her weight into him, her back against his chest. He was lost in the slip of her dress off her perfect shoulder. He was wholly engrossed in the mystery of where the hell her bra strap was. Was she wearing some contraption under the pink dress that didn’t require straps? Was she bare? Her shoulder was certainly bare, and it took every ounce of fortitude in John’s being not to nuzzle her there.
She kept the conversation lively with Beth and Richie, and he could feel her voice reverberate through her chest and into him. Every laugh, every movement of her hands pushed her against him until John felt like he might go insane. He was more aroused than he could ever remember being. This erotic dance she was doing against him was so different, so much more intense, than anything he’d ever done on a dance floor. This wasn’t an intentional grinding of two bodies against one another, the promise of a make out in a cab on the frantic ride back to one of their places. No, this was so much more exquisitely torturous than that.
He had the soft scent of her skin filling up every lungful of air he took, the gentle tickle of her hair under his chin, the intoxicating tug of her fingers at the wrist of his sleeve as she absently played with the button there.
Beth and Richie started laughing about something together, and Mary took the opportunity to tip her head back and catch John’s eye. “You’re awfully quiet back there,” she said with a sly smile on her lips.
It hit him all at once. She was doing this on purpose. The little minx! She knew exactly how every minuscule press and lean and jiggle was affecting him.
Well. Two could definitely play that game. He felt his eyelids lower in both competition and satisfaction.
John cleared his throat and adjusted his arm across her hip bones, bringing her infinitesimally closer to him.
With his free hand, he brushed her hair back under the guise of clearing the way for him to whisper in her ear. But he took the opportunity to let the pad of his thumb linger at the back of her neck. He held her gently, firmly in place while his nose just barely skimmed the upper shell of her ear.
“Guess I’m just enjoying the company.”
He was obliged to watch her pupils dilate as she licked her lips.
“Another round?” Marissa shouted over the noise of the crowd.
Richie made a face at them, testing the waters to see if they were going to stick around for that long. Maybe if Mary had been a different, less earthquaking woman, John would have been anxious to get out of the bar with her and get on with their night. But right now, with her warm and vibrating in his lap, there was nowhere else in the solar system that he wanted to be.
“Sure!” Mary shouted back.
Their beers came, and John watched, point-blank, while Mary slipped the lime out of the neck of the bottle and sucked it clean. When she licked her lips, John licked his own lips. When she took a sip from her beer, John looked away, let out a long breath and took a deep swallow of his own beer, hoping to cool some of this fire inside him. So far, she was definitely winning the painfully delicious game they were playing with one another.
John looked down. Two of their legs were hidden in the shadow underneath the overhang of the bar and John took the opportunity. He laid his palm over his own knee. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt Mary’s awareness circle down and land right there. To the hand he’d placed just an inch from her leg.
John leaned forward, pretending to be straining to hear something Richie was saying, but really he was taking the opportunity to bend Mary over, just a tiny bit. He tightened his hold at her waist and moved his hand from his own knee to her knee, as if he were bracing her against the shift in balance. He answered Richie, careful not to shout in Mary’s ear, and then leaned them both back, adjusting her against him but leaving his hands where they were. One palm on her opposite hip and one palm over her knee, his fingers stretched down to her bare calf. Her dress was short, so he was skin on skin.
Her fingers tugged at the button at his wrist, one gentle nail tracing a path on the skin under his sleeve. His own fingers stretched in response, his thumb drawing a circle on the inside of her knee.
She pushed back into him, just slightly, her ass into his unmistakable hardness, and did she...? Yes, she’d definitely just opened her legs a tantalizing half inch. John let out
a breath and could practically watch it wash over that exposed patch of golden shoulder. He wanted to follow his breath with his lips, his lips with his tongue, his tongue with his teeth. He couldn’t help but shift his hips forward a barely there centimeter, pressing himself into her softness.
His beer was half-drank and long forgotten on the bar next to him. One needed a free hand to drink a beer and his hands were currently ocupado. Exactly where they’d been born to be.
John slid his hand just an inch up the inside of her leg, still basically on her knee, just the smallest bit under the hem of her dress. If Richie and Beth were to look down, they might raise an eyebrow, but it wasn’t indecent. Still, John felt Mary melt back against him, her leg shifting, pushing against his, opening an amount so small that if his hand hadn’t been there, he might have missed it.
She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it, pulling it up off the back of her neck, and when it fell, John realized that they were sitting so close that her hair fell over his own shoulder. He felt the warm, silky weight of it tumbling down his arm, cascading everywhere as she leaned forward to laugh with Beth.
That sheet of her hair was too much temptation. He slid his hand up from her leg and brushed her hair down her back, smoothing it. He wanted to see her hair wet. He wanted to see her wet. He wanted a long luxurious, soapy shower with Mary. But he also wanted a quick late-for-work shower with her just as badly. He wanted to watch her brush her teeth while she wore a white towel in that twist thing that women did. He wanted to race around a kitchen with her, make sure she left the house with at least a cup of coffee and a muffin. If she even ate muffins.
He slid his hand back to her knee and maybe half an inch farther up her leg than it had been before. “What kind of breakfast do you usually eat in the morning?” he couldn’t help but ask, muttering into her ear. He wanted information, anything he could learn about her. He wanted his morning-time fantasy to be as accurate as possible.
She tipped her head back and eyed him, her eyes at half-mast. “You planning on feeding me breakfast, John?”
Boi-oi-oi-oing. If he hadn’t been sprung for the last half an hour—which he had been—he certainly freaking would be right now. John might not be as smooth as some of her Maserati-driving silver foxes, but he was pretty sure she’d just asked him if he was going to take her home tonight. If he was going to sleep the night with her, then feed her in the morning to keep her strength up. John had always been a die-hard fan of morning sex, but casual hookups in his world were generally done in the dark of the witching hour, the heat vampirically turning to dust in the morning light.
But with Mary? Gah—yeah. He’d morning sex her until they had to sleep again. Until there was nothing to do but hurriedly slug back coffee and orange juice and bagels on the way to work, and send her on her way with the memory of him between her legs.
Her question lingered between them.
“Couldn’t let you go hungry.”
Her eyes darkened further, her tongue wetting her lips. He followed the movement with his eyes, and without him telling it to, his hand was now a full inch and a half under the hem of her dress.
Her eyes were on his mouth, he was sure of it.
“I’d make sure you were taken care of, Mary,” he told her.
She swallowed and made a small sound that he barely heard over the shouting crowd all around them. Under the bar, her ankle hooked around his and John figured it might be time to leave. There was savoring a moment, and then there was letting it pass by. He was not letting Mary pass him by, not when she had two fingers teasing the inside of his wrist and her sunny hair trapped between their bodies.
Because he was a good friend, or maybe because he really was tired, Richie suddenly yawned and threw some cash on the bar. “I’m gonna head out. Beth, want a walking buddy to the train?”
Beth and Richie quickly waved goodbye and disappeared through the crowd. Now it was just John and Mary all alone in this crowded, pulsing bar. There was an empty barstool where Beth had just been sitting, and Mary slid down, off the one she was sharing with John. But she didn’t step away from him. Instead she turned in the circle of his arms and pushed herself into him, her soft breasts pressing into his chest, the tips of her hair tickling the forearm he had barred against her lower back.
“Wanna be my walking buddy?” she asked, her head tipped up to his, her eyes on his lips.
John lifted his hips, pulled out his wallet and tossed money on the bar. If it was the wrong amount, Marissa would tell him about it next time he saw her, but for now, he needed to be outside, in the night, with Mary.
They got jostled as they pushed their way through the crowd, but neither of them seemed to care. John led the way, his hand back, laced with Mary’s. When they finally made it out the door of the bar, they both laughed into the muggy air.
“Somehow, I was expecting a breath of fresh air when we finally got out of that sweatbox,” Mary said, shaking her head.
“Not in Brooklyn in midsummer,” John said with a laugh. As hot as it was outside, he felt the absence of her weight against him, and he gently tugged her forward. She leaned into his side. “Cab?” he asked. “Train? Walk?”
“It’s only ten blocks.”
Somehow, they’d decided to go to her house without either of them having to discuss it.
“Can you walk it in those heels?” He looked down at the electric-blue skyscrapers that were precariously strapped to her feet.
“I can do lots of things in heels, John,” she said with a sexy, laughing look on her face, backing away in the direction of her apartment.
He gulped. He got a sudden flash of Mary standing naked in nothing but those heels. Another flash and then there she was, digging those heels into his back. He didn’t let her get far before he was beside her again. They walked so fast they both breathed hard. Their fingers laced, as much to keep a connection as to tug one another along, as if they were both nervous the other might change their mind at the last second.
Mary’s shop was tucked in for the night, glowing sedately behind its brand-new security gate. She jammed her keys into the red door beside the gate, the one that led up the stairs to her apartment. They practically sprinted up the stairs after he locked the bottom door behind them. And then there was just her lone door at the top of the stairs. The last real obstacle that John could foresee tonight.
She jabbed with her keys, missing twice. Her hands shook, the lock wouldn’t give, John couldn’t wait.
His hands on her hips from behind, he pushed with one set of fingers and pulled with the other. Mary spun, her back against the door, her head falling back.
His eyes on hers, his hands still gripping her hips, John moved in slow motion. She was glowing, golden, nervous perfection vibrating between the brackets of his hands. He lowered his head and finally, finally fit his mouth to hers. The first touch was a bit askew, and he re-placed his mouth, this time sliding perfectly into the landscape of her lips. She gasped, her lips softening even as her hands tightened in his hair. He grunted at the sharp pull, pinned there against the softest lips he’d ever kissed. Mary’s mouth painted the illusion that he could just keep on sinking in, that she was bottomless, that there were oceans of silky heat just waiting for him to explore.
He kissed at her bottom lip and tugged it gently down. She complied prettily, her mouth coming open under his, and then John couldn’t help but swipe his tongue inside. He tasted the mint from her ChapStick and lime and fresh human woman.
She was all plush, tart sweetness, her tongue meeting his and stilling him. For a moment, they just pressed against one another, as if they were testing to make sure the other was real. But he couldn’t wait forever. His tongue slid against hers and she moaned breathily. He made a broken sound in response and her hands came to the sides of his face, clutching him like she was solely in charge of holding him in one piece.
He
tested her, pushing and tasting, and she chased his tongue with hers. She made a sound of frustration that made him smile. The shape of the smile faded immediately, as his mouth was otherwise occupied, but the feeling remained. He clutched hard at her hips, and their heads tipped from one side to the other.
He was dizzy on her, huffing too hard and too fast whatever exquisite toxin she was pumping into him.
“John,” she gasped, her head knocking gently back onto the door. He lifted his head to better see her expression, and it was only then that he realized he’d lifted her. Somehow his hands had fallen down from her hips to her ass and now those electric-blue heels were digging into his lower back as he pinned her against her own front door. Her weight felt so good, as if only with her in his arms could he be positive that she wasn’t going to flitter away, a dream at dawn.
She was here. So real. Panting his name as her fingers dug into his shoulders and her head tipped back against the door.
Holy God.
He planted his forehead on the door just over her shoulder and looked down her body.
“Fug,” he said blearily as he realized that her dress had gotten hiked up to her hips and it was her hot-pink panties that were smashed against the zipper of his slacks.
“Inside,” she panted and leaned forward to suck on his neck, punctuating it with a brief, sharp bite that jolted him.
Her words only made partial sense to him. He stared down at those hot-pink panties and then back up to her face. “Inside?” he asked, just as bleary as before. “Right now?”
She laughed and leaned forward to tug on his bottom lip with her teeth. “Inside my apartment.”
“Ah.” That made more sense. He let her slide down his body and took the keys that were still clutched in her hand. John studied her hand for just a moment, saw the imprint of a house key against her palm and realized that that, right there, was proof of how badly she wanted him. Bad enough to leave the outline of a key where she’d gripped it too hard. If it hadn’t been weird, he would have taken a photo of it. Instead, he kissed it and smoothly unlocked her door.
