Chapter 23 Marietta
MARIETTA
Merrick is killing me. His tongue, his lips, his hands circling my thighs.
I brace myself on the counter in front of the mirrors, surrounded by bottles and neon light. I look down, and Merrick’s dark hair fills the space between my legs.
No one has ever done this to me before, obviously, and my entire body quivers as he licks me. Then he sucks part of me into his mouth, and I literally see stars.
I gasp, clutching the edge of the wood ledge. I’m wearing nothing but my boots, and those dangle down his back, covering the Wild Hair logo of skull and roses.
I’m floating. Pleasure rises with every move he makes, racing between my clit and both nipples in an electric jolt. I squeeze my eyes closed, relishing every delicious move he makes. His tongue swirls and dives, then he sucks again.
I had no idea there was so much more than what we did before. Of course, after my video watching with Celia, I understood a lot more of what was possible.
I saw this happen. But it’s wild, like every time he sucks, a million strings are being pulled. To my nipples, to my belly, to my head. Even my toes are curling inside the boots.
Merrick’s tongue is a full-body experience.
I want to hold out, to get him to do the whole thing, to free me from this dumb social construct of virginity that is taking over the whole patriarchy of the club and making them feral.
But then all the strings yank at once, and waves pulse through me. I’m totally lost, my vision blurring. Every cell in my body is involved. I can scarcely feel normal things, like the counter or Merrick’s hair or even where his mouth does its work.
I’m something else. One with the universe. Something. Everything is pleasure and arcing joy. I’m so light, like I’m nothing.
As I start to come down, the feeling recedes, and I can’t bear it. Tears come, then sobs. And everything is solid again. The scratch of Merrick’s scruffy beard, the rough surface of the wood, the weight of the boots.
Merrick kisses his way up my belly and presses his face into my neck. I hold on to his head and let the feelings crash over me. The heights are still there. I can remember them. I want them again. But this withdrawal is painful. I can’t stop crying.
“Is th-this normal?” I ask between jagged gulps of air.
He draws me against him, and I lock my ankles behind his back. “Yeah. It can be intense.”
“Do you ever cry?” Of course, he doesn’t. I want to withdraw the question as soon as I ask it. Why am I so awkward?
He shrugs. “I haven’t.”
“Do guys not have the same reaction after?”
“I guess they could.” He lets out a huff. “I’m kind of a callous bastard.”
I pull back to look at him with watery eyes. “How can you say that?”
“I just am.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
My sobbing gives way to anger. “I do, too. I know you love this bar. And you miss the closeness you have with your brother. I know you went after your sister’s husband when he actually was a callous bastard.
I know you love the club, and you were willing to spend all night watching my apartment even though you worked all day. ”
“You know about that?”
“Carol told me. I think she knows I’m more interested in you than Adam. She gave me a push-up bra to help me.” Now, I’m back to sobs.
He draws me against him. It’s such an odd feeling, being totally naked against his jeans, T-shirt, and leather cut. I almost laugh. I’m naked in his bar. Not even red sparkles covering me.
“Can I have my pole?” I ask him. “I want to dance for you.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll get it.”
He sets me down on a stool at the end of the bar and hurries to the closet off the back corner of the stage.
I consider what to wear for this dance. Should I stay naked?
No. That’s weird.
I find my underwear. That’s all I need. Topless is fine. Boots?
Yeah. I think I’ll keep them.
Merrick rolls the heavy base out of the closet and onto the stage. I scroll through song choices on my phone as he fits the pole into place.
I want to send a message this time. Something that will prove to him that I’m ready to end this ridiculous sexual status with him.
I already have so much fodder for my thesis, it’s not funny.
A whole club war over one club wanting to violate a protective status for a virgin? What century is this anyway?
I do one more search, and I spot it. I check the lyrics to be sure, and yes, this is it.
Merrick jumps off the stage. His voice is hoarse as he says, “All yours.”
“I’d like this song.” I show him the title.
He nods. “I’ll get the sound and the lights.”
I walk away as he does that and approach the base of the stage, looking up at the pole. Only the neon is lit in the bar, so it glows a ghostly blue.
The more I learn on the pole, the more I love it.
And even being naked. Maybe it’s because I’m small, and there’s nothing really for me to hide.
I just like it. I know it’s not normal. I guess I have to be okay with not being normal.
This form of dance is something I can do more easily than other people. I can see that in class.
Maybe my stringy muscles are extra strong. Maybe the pole and I are family because we have the same shape. I almost laugh out loud, but then the music begins, and the cone of light turns on over the center stage.
The rich timbre of the voice comes on. Everybody knows this song. Everyone. Maybe I shouldn’t pole dance to it, but I am. But as the title words are said, “Time of My Life,” I lift myself up and do the first turn on the pole.
I don’t have a routine, just a dozen or so moves and a few transitions to go between them. But I know this song so well that I can predict when I need to do something low and sultry and when to lead up to a bigger, flashier moment.
Merrick sits at one of the tables. I don’t see him so much as sense that he’s there. This dance lines up with the last one I did here, and even though I’ve already gone into that airy space of orgasm once, I know it’s going to happen again.
And more, if I can help it. I want him. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything. Maybe it’s all mixed up with the club and the protection order and the outlaw nature of whatever is happening with Lucifer’s Kin.
But man, I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt.
I rush into a spin, and the air across my bare breasts is like foreplay. The boots are heavy, but I manage my V formations and swing out. In fact, I think I spin faster with the extra weight.
I slide down to the floor, stretching out a leg. I appreciate these legs now, long and strong. It’s fine that I’m tall. I can take up more space here, go higher, create a more impressive spin.
The music winds down, and my anticipation peaks. Will he come up here again? What will happen this time? Will we have sex right here on the stage?
I want that. I want to look at it on Wednesday nights when I work or when I come in with the ol’ ladies and remember what we did here. It couldn’t be more perfect.
I shift to hands and knees and stare out into the murky bar. I can barely make Merrick out at his table. I lift an arm and beckon him to come here to me.
He rises from his chair and walks my way, one step at a time, in no hurry.
His heavy black boots thud on the steps. I stay on my knees and wait for him to arrive. Then I rise along his body, using his knees, his pockets, his belt to stand. I take his hand and twirl beneath it, bringing him to the pole.
Whatever’s next on the playlist begins. I don’t recognize it, but it’s right, sultry and slow with a steady, thrumming beat.
I move to the rhythm and take Merrick with me. I shift him to face the pole and move his hand to wrap it around the cool metal above his head. Then I take the other and place it a few feet below.
Once he’s in position, I kick off my boots and climb over his back, arriving at the pole above his head. I continue up, then shift upside down. I turn slowly until my face is next to his, our eyes locked.
The music increases its tempo. I slide down a few more feet and circle the pole. I face him, then climb until I’m above him again, his mouth at the level of my chest.
I hold on with one hand and press his head into a breast. He takes it greedily, and the spiral begins again, the stars in my vision, the anticipation.
My head falls back, and I revel in the feeling, the urgency building.
Then I pull away and climb. He watches me from below.
I wrap my ankles around the pole and extend out both arms. I slowly circle the pole, my hands outstretched. I’m on display, and he is under my spell. He can’t look away.
I slowly descend and fold in behind him, wrapping my legs around his waist. I release the pole and hang on to him like I do on his motorcycle, feeling the cut of his muscles on his belly, the strength of his back.
We are going to do this thing. I will make sure of it. My dance is a web, and I have caught him.
I reach for his belt and slide the leather out of the buckle. I can’t do much more in this position, so I lower my legs and twirl away, pulling the belt out of the loops.
Actually, this will do nicely. I turn him around to face me, his back to the pole. I lift his arms overhead. Before he can realize what I’m doing, I figure eight the leather and tie him to the pole.
There we go.
His eyebrows lift when he discovers I’ve strapped him to the metal. I sense he could break it, maybe take down the entire pole, but he allows this, watching me turn and twirl around him, using him as the pole in a pirouette.
I unfasten his jeans. I can’t feel the bulge of him straining the band. I have never held a man in my hand. I’m about to.
The zipper rolls down in a cool rush of metal. I press my palm against him. He’s long and hard. My throat tightens. I can do anything I want.
I push up the T-shirt so that I expose his abs. I want to lick every single one, so I do, lowering my mouth to his hot skin.
I have to be brave, to do what comes into my head even though I have no experience and he has it all.
I can’t think about the others who have been here and what they did or how well they satisfied him.
I have to be me. Do what I can do.
Another song has come on, lurid and slow, like the soundtrack of a seduction. The universe is on my side. I slide down and down until I arrive at the edge of his boxers. The tip of him peeks out over the elastic. I tug the fabric down.
It’s more purple than I expected, the tip glistening. I look up at Merrick’s face. He’s watching me, his jaw tight, like he’s barely containing something.
I slide my tongue against the rounded end. It’s slightly salty, but mostly without much taste at all. I drag the boxers out of my way. I want to know how far into my mouth this can go.
He glides along my tongue and to the back of my throat. I shift my angle over him and realize I can do more.
Merrick makes a strangled sound. He likes this. I’m doing all right.
I pull back for a moment to take a small break. Merrick tries to reach for me and remembers I have tied him to the pole.
I smile and slide him into my mouth again, seeing if I can go farther this time. Not much. I’m maxed out.
But this is fun and hot, and I grip his hips as I do it again and again. In the movie Celia showed me, the men spurted onto the women’s faces. Is that how it is? Or is that to show something you can’t normally see but only feel?
I don’t know.
His hips thrust, which tells me there are levels a man moves up, like I do. I slow down, taking my time to gradually slide my lips off the end.
Then I shift back on my heels to look up. His face is tight, intense, like he’s working hard to control himself.
Oh, no. He will most certainly not be controlling himself.
I survey where we are. His hands are over his head, buckled to the pole. His shirt is up, exposing his belly. His jeans are opened, his boxers pushed down. He’s erect and standing straight up.
I could do this thing.
My gaze meets his. He glances down at his exposed body and then at me. “Marietta …” It’s a growl.
“You don’t consent?” I stand up, pressing against his body as I go.
His cock is trapped against my chest, and I know I don’t have enough boobs to do the maneuver I saw where they work it between them, so I keep going.
I grasp the pole near his hands and lift up, clenching my abs, bringing my legs around in the V that normally encircles the pole, but this time encircles him.
I land square on his erection, but the panties separate us. If I’d taken them off, this point might be moot.
“Marietta …” he says again, but it’s more pained.
I hold on to the pole, slide up and down, teasing him and myself.
Damn, this is hot.
My breasts are right at his face, and he looks torn between snatching me into his mouth and continuing to protest.
“Merrick, can I take these panties off?” I ask, gliding along his length. “Please tell me we can do this. Tell me you want to.”
He makes another strangled sound.
“I can do it all myself,” I say. “And nobody needs to know how it happened.” I suck in a breath as his cock catches on the side of panties and slips against my skin. Maybe I don’t need to take them off after all.
I shift, and the head of his cock is inside the silk.
“Fuck …” he says. “Yes. Ride it. Ride it however you want.”
Oh, my God. He said yes. I can do it. I can end this.
My arms are shaking, but I can hold out. I want to. I’m going to.
I shift until I’m poised above him, careful that he doesn’t slip outside the panties. Should I take him in like jumping into the deep end of a pool with one fast slam? Or ease it in?
I draw a shuddering breath.
This is about to happen.
I look down at him. His eyes are squeezed shut like he can’t take this a moment more.
Okay, just go for it, Marietta. You’re finally getting what you want.
I press a little farther in, about as far as he’s fingered me. He’s so much bigger. This is a lot more.
Then, a door slams. Footsteps thud in the kitchen.
Oh, God. Who is here?
I glance down at him. I need to slam into him. Do it anyway.
But Merrick is already out of the belt. He could have done it at any time. Before I can even think about what’s happening, he’s got me behind him, and he’s whipped around, his jeans up. He’s holding a knife by his side.
Who the hell is coming in?