Chapter 6 #2
“Not to fear. We have another option.” With a hand low on my back, he sets us in motion, deeper into the hall. “A secret gem that no one who isn’t on staff or the great-grandson of the original architect would know to look for it.”
“Now I’m intrigued.”
Our path intersects with another hallway and we turn left. About twenty feet in, Johnny opens a door on the right, ushering me into the dark interior. A click sounds, followed by a brief hum and the lights flicker on.
Jaw dropped, I spin in a slow circle. Black flocked wallpaper.
Brass fixtures. A lot of them. Fake ferns frothing with cheery abandon.
A half dozen rattan chairs with tall fanning backs and striped silk cushions in jewel tones.
And in pride of place against the far wall, an oversized, honest to goodness fainting couch covered in rich crimson velvet.
I look over my shoulder. Johnny leans against the door, arms in the pockets of his tux trousers, one foot kicked back. His half-smile says he knows he hit a winner.
“I have two condoms.” Matching his half-smile with one of my own, I hold out my hand in invitation. “Do we start with the wall or the couch?”
“Couch. I never had a chance to sample the buffet.” He pushes off the door to prowl toward me, a hungry, loose-limbed tiger homing in on his prey. “Figure you can be my midnight supper.”
Whatever regulates my nervous system decides now is a great time to go bananas, popping off a luscious volley of fireworks in all the usual sexy times hotspots, including my brain.
“It’s been a while since I was last eaten.” Though I keep my hand outstretched, it shakes. Nerves? Anticipation? Likely both. With each step he takes, I pace him, backing up until my calves hit the side of the couch and there’s nowhere else to go.
“Afraid you might have an expiration date?” He walks past the flimsy barrier of my hand, guiding it to rest on his shoulder, and stops mere inches away. “Evelyn, sweetheart, that’s not how sex works.”
“I’m not worried so much about a best buy date as offering a warning that your meal might be more of a light snack. One itty-bitty bite is probably all it will take to consume me.”
“Only one way to find out. Are you game?”
Instead of offering a verbal reply, I maintain eye contact and answer by peeling him out of his tuxedo jacket.
He shrugs at the right moment, and the black garment drops to the floor with a heavy, satisfying swoosh.
He tackles the cummerbund next, while I take care of his bowtie, tucking it into his trouser pocket.
Sneaking an exploratory stroke along the side of his hard cock.
Heat singes my fingers, triggering a needy spasm deep in my core.
“None of that now. At least not yet.” He captures my wayward hand, bringing it up to kiss the inside of my wrist. “My recharge takes a little longer these days and, like you, it’s not going to take much to drain the battery.”
“Noted, but you’re on the clock.” I hike up my hem to rid myself of my panties, suddenly impatient to get to the second course of this feast even though I’m bound to need the fainting couch as a result of the first. “No drawing out your meal when I’m starving.”
Growling, he helps me lie back, covering me. Giving me his weight. We’re both breathing fast, our breaths mingling. The thump of his heart beats against my breast.
“Damn, you’re beautiful.” He runs his forefinger along the edge of my hairline, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. The delicate touch, the rapt absorption of his exploration.
They crack me open to receive, to feel and accept. To give.
To believe that I’m allowed to want and be wanted in return.
It’s more than I was looking for in a one-night stand.
More than I'll be ready to face in the morning, no question.
But here and now.
“Thank you.”
We kiss past the surface of two people who’ve received too much unearned admiration for their looks with lips and teeth and tongues, though it takes a while. Takes time to learn what makes him squirm, what makes me arch.
What makes us gasp.
Me, feeling up the muscles of his arms and back. Him, cupping my breast, plucking my nipple.
Each touch, each piece of new insight, adds to the heated desire melting over my thighs. Each molten track reminds me of my panty-less state. My legs move restlessly as pressure and need build.
He presses a kiss to my temple before making his way down my body, not speeding, but not wasting time. I pull at my dress and he helps me get it out of the way.
Then he’s there.
Johnny Mack.
Between my thighs.
My fantasy man who I never would have dared to place on my bingo card. Not in this lifetime or the next.
Maybe it’s time to make a new bingo card.
He licks. I buck.
He nibbles. I bite my wrist to keep from shouting.
He strokes his tongue up, up, and inside. I shudder.
He tickles my clit with his goatee. My eyes roll back in my head.
He sucks on my clit, humming his pleasure.
I try to hold out. I do. The sensations are relentless. Teasing and coaxing and demanding, and soon I’m exploding, shattering with a choked sob into a billion particles of stardust.
Once my eyes roll back into place, I yank on Johnny’s muscled shoulder. “Up.”
Planting a goodbye kiss on my trim bush, he allows me to reposition him so he’s propped on his elbow lying half on me. His hand burns like a hot brand low on my belly.
He licks his bottom lip, gathering up my taste.
“Delicious.”
“That’s it. My turn. On your back.” He laughs when I prod him into switching places, but his chuckles cut off once I swing on top of his thighs, showing off a condom. “You want to put it on or shall I?”
“I better,” he says, plucking the foil pouch from my hand. “I’m walking on knifepoint.”
Scooching back to give him room, I hold my breath as he frees his cock from its confines. Long, flushed. Thick enough to make a woman know she’s been riding or ridden. So pretty. So strong.
I cup my breasts and squeeze rather than give into the urge to pet.
He rolls the condom into place with practiced ease. Too fast, damn it. A forlorn little sigh escapes my chest.
“Later, sweetheart. We’ll have time for more exploring. Now, though.” Shutting his eyes, he squeezes the base. “Now would be a really good time for speed.”
“On it.”
Inching back into place over him, hands on his chest for balance, I carefully lower myself, letting him guide his erection to my entrance.
The burn of invasion, of his girth slowly filling my emptiness is a filthy, sexy, X-rated promise.
I slide until there’s no more to take.
Then I rock.
After a few tentative hip rolls, a resurgence of need crashes through any remaining restraints, thrusting me into a frantic joyride.
No brakes. No stopping. No turning back.
The slap of our skin keeps the beat. Sweat snakes down between my breasts.
The smell of sex permeates the air around us, tantalizing, earthy.
A perfume built exclusively for us, by us.
Closing my eyes, I try to imprint the scent in my memory. Salty, musky, a hint of chocolate.
Johnny groans, pulling me down into a wild, openmouthed kiss.
The change of position puts new pressure on my clit with each stroke.
We speed up, reaching, reaching. I grunt, not there, not there.
He croons reassurance, a rumble that reverberates in my soul, and slides his hand between us.
He bends his knees, shifting our connection again.
His thumb on my clit is the final ingredient to send me flying.
Thrusting for his own orgasm, he rolls us over. I wrap my legs around his waist and he buries himself within me again and again. Still riding waves of my second orgasm, the rapid ascent of a third climax tumbles me back into bliss and triggers Johnny into completion.
Straining to stay deep inside me, as though this may be the last orgasm on earth and he’s not about to waste a breath of it, he shudders in my arms.
We lie wrapped in each other as our breath returns to normal. Sweat dries on my skin and I shiver. Johnny chafes my arm.
“You take first dibs on the water closet and I’ll break out some throw blankets. After I clean up, we can get cozy and make a plan for that second condom.”
The Bitch Chorus shows up, as if on cue, but I bar them at the stage door. They aren’t part of this play.
“Sounds like a plan.”
In the privacy of the bathroom, I text Vanessa, letting her know belatedly that I’m okay.
She hearts my text and sends me an eggplant emoji with a question mark.
I text her the dancing woman emoji then put my phone away.
She needs her sleep and I need to get back to my adventure to see what the next chapter would bring.
Tidier and cleanish, Johnny kills the lights and we climb into the nest we made of the blankets he finds in a wall cabinet, spooning back to front as if we’ve had years of practice sharing a narrow bed.
His warmth along my back has me sinking into him.
Eyes closing, I start to drift toward dreamland.
“You said earlier you wanted a one-night stand,” he says, tucking me in even closer. “I gather as some kind of post-divorce fresh start.”
“That’s right.” I stay very still, not sure where he’s headed. Not sure where I want him to go.
“I respect the one-night stand. Had more than my fair share of them after my wife died and most of them were a lot of fun.”
“But?”
“No buts. I’m just saying that I’m really good one-night stand material. So if you were to issue another solicitation of a carnal nature, we could have a second really good one-night stand.”
“I’m not sure one-night stands work like that.”
“They can if we want them to.”
Do I want to see Johnny again? To see if my secret celebrity crush is as amazing on a second one-night stand as he has been tonight?
Hidden under the blankets, I wiggle my toes.
Hot pink, not beige.
Saying yes to new adventures, not hiding at home with endless cups of tea. I don’t even like tea.
Put in that context, soliciting the man for a chance to repeat the best sex I’ve ever had is a no-brainer.
I roll over so we’re nose to nose.
“Johnny Mack. Might I interest you in a second really good, absolutely carnal, and highly indecent one-night stand?”
“Sweetheart, all you have to say is when and where.”