31. The Almost
the almost
Mirren
He lied. Or at least he offered a half-truth. And he’s been adamant that he hates both. That sets my teeth on edge.
We planned to head to Broadway, but the concierge asked our plans and recommended the Musicians Hall of Fame instead. One look from Strider, and it was a no brainer. His face was alight with happiness, so my yes was easy.
We walked the handful of blocks to the museum and spent a couple of hours wandering the displays, taking pictures, and enjoying some “backstage” things we’d never see elsewhere.
“Tell me about music you love,” he asked as we meandered through.
“I like it all. Rock, country, oldies. I don’t have a deep love for any one artist or genre. It’s background.”
His chin jerked back, and he looked surprised. “Nothing?”
“Nothing aside from Van Morrison. Mom and Dad have him on repeat. That and Queen. Those were our soundtracks. So 80’s rock or slow, smooth jazz. Is that what we call Morrison? Like I said, oldies.”
He took a deep breath, like he was praying for patience, and repeated the word oldies. “My parents are older than yours I think, by a bit. They always had music on in the house when we were little. Come to think of it, they don’t anymore, but I don’t know when that stopped.”
“Maybe they were drowning out kid noise?”
He shrugged. “No clue. Van Morrison though?”
“All. The. Time,” I offered, emphasizing every word. “Day before yesterday in fact.”
“Was it a good Thanksgiving for everybody?”
“I think so. It was drama. It’s always drama. Five boys can’t be anything but. But, yeah, it was good. I hate that you were alone, though.” I pulled him to a stop in front of me and gazed up into his face.
“It wasn’t ideal, but it was just another day. Besides, I was free to listen to the Jones’ play-by-play which was entertaining for sure.”
“That’s one word for it.”
We wandered a bit more and finally found ourselves back out on the street in the brisk fall air. The sun was hiding behind a stray cloud, and the city was cast in silver.
We had a late lunch and walked hand-in-hand, sometimes talking about deep things, sometimes saying nothing at all. His thumb stroked the outside of my hand as if he couldn’t touch me enough.
When we reached the corner near the main hotel entrance, he turned me to face him. “Want to keep going?”
I shook my head. No. I’d had enough of the people and the inability to touch him the way I wanted. His light hand on my back when we had to walk single file. His thumb brushing the apple of my cheek or caressing my hand.
He’d spent the day warming me up, priming me, and now I’m ready to combust.
Pressing up to my toes and wrapping an arm around his neck softly, I whisper gruffly in his ear, “Let’s go inside. I want to taste you.”
When he pulls back to face me, his pupils are blown wide in those ice blue irises. I don’t have to be a medic to recognize the heat of desire, the longing in his gaze. He simply nods and turns us toward the hotel lobby and through it to the elevators.
The energy inside me vibrates but has no way to escape. It sizzles along my skin and dances along my scalp.
By the time the elevator dings on our floor, it’s as if I need to open my mouth to release a swarm of bees. The humming is too much, too loud, too overwhelming. I yank the neck of my collar and shed my coat, hoping to relieve the building tension.
His hand low on my back torments me. His growly word in my ear is torture. “Freckles?”
I rush to the door as if that will offer me relief only to wait as he saunters my way with the key. “Antsy, baby?”
Slicing my eyes at him, I growl. Why in the world am I putty around this man at all times? And why, when he’s gone, am I a dried-up mess? This cannot be good for me.
He pushes the door open and steps aside with a grin. If I’m not mistaken, he even chuckles as he follows me in. Grrr.
Strider
Mirren was cool as a cucumber earlier. Her happy, go-lucky self with big smiles, and even easier laughs displaced the cautious version of her that arrived from Mobile.
She started rubbing her thighs together in the elevator and shifting from foot to foot. But now, that mellow, easy-going woman is history. She drops her coat on the chair and steps out of her shoes on the way to the bathroom.
Maybe I misread the situation. Maybe she has to pee.
Water runs, and out she walks in only that white button-down shirt that covers the swell of her ass. The tails dangle in front of her pussy in a way that should be banned under the Geneva Convention. No doubt this is abuse. No question, she’s torturing me with the almost.
I can almost see her. I can almost touch her. I can almost taste her.
And almost is enough to bring me to my knees. Literally. I drop to them and find her eyes, beckoning her to come to me.
Slowly. Sensually. Seductively. She puts one foot in front of the other, unbuttoning her top buttons as she comes my way.
Fuck me. She’s everything.
The moment she’s within arm’s reach, I slide my hands up the back of her thighs to her ass, finding it bare. I palm it and pull her tight to me, pressing my lips to her belly through her shirt, then kissing lower.
I need her. I want her, yes, but I need her like I need oxygen to breathe. How in a matter of weeks has my life changed so drastically?
Groaning, I put my mouth to her mound.
Her hands hit my shoulders, and she gazes down at me, utterly tilting the axis of my life.
And this is it. This is the moment my timeline changes. There is before and there is after. But this is the new calendar of my life. The sun rises and sets with Mirren. The moon and the tides ebb and flow based on her whims. She is time. And my clocks have just reset.
“Mirren.”
“Strider,” she returns, not in question, but in knowing. “Take me to bed, honey. I need to come. And I need to watch you come undone under my hands and in my mouth.”
I stand, sliding up her body, dragging my hands up her sides and slower than I’d think possible in my state, unbuttoning every barrier between me and her gorgeous, creamy skin as I go.
My cock throbs behind my pants. It’s painful and needs to be freed, but Mirren first. Always Mirren first.
Pushing the shirt from her shoulders, I take in the blush-colored lace bra that holds her tits up. I dive onto one and then the other, squeezing and mashing them. I’ve lost all finesse.
I’m driven by need, by desire. I’m thoughtless and desperate. “Up.” I lift her, and she wraps her legs around me, locking her ankles.
Her heat tempts my cock to strain for her. Ten steps later, she’s laid out on the bed like a spread before a starving man. It’s me—I’m that man.
A hand behind my neck yanks my sweater and t-shirt off in one go. I step out of my shoes at the same time. Well, shoe. The other one is stuck, and it can stay there for all I care. I don’t give a single fuck.
I fold over the woman who is mine and place a kiss on her chest. “You ready for me, baby? I’m barely holding on. If I taste you, I’ll never make it.”
Her fingers brush my dick as she reaches between her lips. “Soaked. And I don’t need slow. I need you.”
Our hands fight at my belt and at my zipper. Jeans down to barely my knees, Mirren puts the last nail in my coffin. She lifts her ankles over my shoulders and looks up at me. “Fuck me. Please.”
Rubbing the head of my cock through her wetness, I line up and slam home.
Our collective groans fill the room. That, our pants, and the sounds of flesh slapping. On my knees between her thighs, I pound into her, driving deep, trying to take more, give more. The angle with her hips so high is enough to drive me over the edge.
Mirren, too, apparently. “I’m close. I’m close. I’m going to come, Strider. I need to come.”
Thumbing her clit with rough strokes, I drive deep and hard. “Get there, baby. Need you to get there.”
But I don’t have to say it. She screams, and I know it’s not fake.
Her pussy clamps down on my dick like a vise and tries to suck me in and push me out at the same time.
It’s heaven and it’s hell, and it’s my favorite place ever.
I don’t even get two more strokes before the sizzle racing down my spine tightens my balls, and I explode inside her with the most powerful orgasm of my life.
It’s draining. It’s exhausting. And I want it again and again.
And again.
Forever.