Missed Connections

by Tamara Mataya

  “What, he didn’t want to dance with you? Does he know who we pretend we are?”

  “Nope. Denied. Looks like I’m going home alone.” He’s slurring his s’s.

  “How many have you had? You should get some water.”

  “I need some air.” Pete is really sweaty, and his limbs are clumsier than normal. He clearly drank too much too soon and is feeling it in this heat.

  “You okay?”

  He doesn’t answer, just heads toward one of the exits, but if he goes out that door, he won’t get back in without having to go through the line again. I sigh and shake my head, walking over to the exit with my purse. I’ll pour Pete into a cab, and if the line’s too long, I’ll grab a cab home too.

  A familiar-looking guy in a green-and-black trucker cap pushes past me.

  “Rude much?” I snap.

  He glares at me over his shoulder and hurries toward the exit.

  Maybe he has to puke or get some air…but uneasiness slithers around in my gut, and I hurry to follow.

  The door swings shut behind me as I hear him demand, “Are you a fucking fag?”

  I can’t have heard that right. This is New York, not some backwoods, redneck watering hole. Disbelief turns to rage and a blatant disregard for my own safety when I realize he’s addressing Pete. I step in front of Trucker Hat, stopping him with my body as he keeps striding toward Pete. “What does it matter if he is?”

  He tries to get by me, but I block him. Luckily he’s not as cool with beating up women as he is with gay men. He doesn’t push me out of his way or manhandle me at all, just tries to get around my body. “Because I’m going to kick his ass, that’s why,” Trucker Hat yells over my shoulder.

  Is this really happening? A strange wooden sensation invades my legs, but I stand my ground, fear of what will happen if he catches up to Pete keeping me light on my toes. “And what’s that going to prove? How does that make you cool or strong?” I throw a glance over my shoulder, but Pete’s still walking. He’s so drunk he doesn’t even realize this asshole has targeted him. If this guy gets past me, Pete’s screwed. There’s no way he can defend himself in his condition.

  “He’s been cruising or what-the-fuck-ever all night. He asked one of my friends to dance.” Trucker Hat’s eyes are swimming in the liquor he must have drank earlier, but that’s no excuse for this.

  I need to get his attention on me so Pete can get away. Where are the fucking bouncers? Run, Pete. God—anyone up there—please let him get away safely! I smirk up at the drunken bigot, even though my heart is pounding so hard it’s making my neck throb. “Jealous? What, did he hand your ass to you on the dance floor and impress whatever chick you were trying to roofie?”

  “That little fag’s getting his ass kicked. He asked one of my friends to dance.”

  I’d laugh if I wasn’t so livid. “What, and you were jealous?”

  His hands ball into fists and he takes a step toward me.

  “You looking for a fight?” The voice behind me isn’t familiar, and I turn to see who’s joining me to protect Pete, insanely grateful to not be alone anymore. It’s three guys in their late twenties who look like they live at the gym eight days a week. The tallest looks like he should be a cast member on Jersey Shore, built and groomed, and right now he looks livid. But I think it was the bearded redhead who spoke. He stands slightly in front of the others, hands on his hips.

  The dark-haired one smiles at me and jerks his head. “Go to your friend.”

  Four more guys come spilling out the door and take positions by Trucker Hat’s side. “What’s up, Trent?”

  Oh God. Is there about to be a brawl in the alley? The door opens again. Not more bigots, please. But it’s Jack.

  “Sarah?”

  “I have to check on Pete.” I turn and sprint down the alley on shaky legs. By the time I turn the corner and find him, he’s opening a taxi door. “Pete!”

  He turns. “Hey, Sarey. How’s it hanging?”

  He doesn’t know. He has no idea what happened, and I hope he never does. “Pretty good.”

  He squints at me. “How often do you wash your hair?”

  What does that have to do with anything? “Every couple of days?”

  “What do you do the rest of the time, pee through a straw?” He cackles at his own joke. “Come on, that was funny. Why aren’t you laughing?”

  Because someone just wanted to hurt you for being who you are, and that makes me want to vomit with fear and rage. “Just, um… You left without saying good-bye. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You’re the sweetest.” He flails forward and hugs me before flopping into the backseat. “You wanna share a cab?”

  “No. I’m going to hang for a little while longer.” And make sure Jack’s okay. I shut the door, and the cab pulls away. I jump as a warm hand gently touches my shoulder.

  “It’s me.”

  I turn to Jack, who’s shaking his hand. The knuckles are red, like he’s hit something. “Oh God, did you—”

  “Everything’s fine. Security came and stopped it before anything really happened. Was that Pete in the cab?”

  I nod. “He’s safe and fine, making jokes. Oh God, Jack.” Horror at what could have happened to Pete tonight ricochets through my hollow stomach and bounces around my legs, making my knees weak. Those bastards could have—they would have—hurt him, maybe worse.

  Jack throws his arm around me in a half hug and pulls me close. His warmth makes me shake harder. He wraps his other arm around me too. “I saw you leave the bar after Pete but didn’t get there in time to see what happened.”

  “That one guy followed him from the bar and was going to beat him up because Pete was gay. I didn’t know, but I had a bad feeling and followed them outside in time to hear the bullshit he was saying. Pete didn’t even know.”

  My stiletto heels rattle against the pavement. Jack’s hard body tightens around me, as though every muscle has flexed at once.

  “What happened when I left to put Pete in a cab?”

  He rubs my back with long, calming strokes. “The group from the bar was going to beat on the other three guys—or try. I jumped in to help, and then the security guards came.”

  With a sigh, I lean into him and clasp my arms behind his back, drawing strength from his warmth and steadiness.

  “Are we in the fifties? What the hell is even happening right now?” My heart hurts for Pete, for the ugliness he never saw directed his way. Was this the first time something like this has happened to him, or the thirtieth? The three hundredth? “Has anything like this ever happened to him before?”

  Jack sighs. “Not since high school.”

  I squeeze my eyes so tightly to hold back the hot tears that they hurt. How would I feel, knowing a stranger wanted to literally hurt me because he thought I might be gay? I want to hug Pete and hold him and apologize for every asshole who ever hurt him or made him feel bad about himself just for being who he is.

  Instead, I cling to Jack, trying not to let the bitterness and anger eat me alive, anchoring myself with someone who understands this angry, bewildered feeling surging through my stomach. I hold someone who probably got into a lot of fights protecting his brother in high school. Jack is an amazing person. An amazing friend. His hands coax calm from me one lazy stroke at a time.

  And then when my nerves settle, I enjoy the way his body molds to mine a little more than a friend should. I want to be even closer. I want Jack.

  “Will you see me home?”

  “There’s no way I’ll leave you if those assholes are still around. Of course I’ll get you home.” His hand tangles in my hair, brushing errant strands away from my face. “I’ll grab us a cab.” A reckless heat flares inside me at his kindness.

  Maybe my heart is off-limits. But tonight, he can have the rest of me.

  Chapter 16

  Not that he knows it yet. I couldn’t get the words out before the cab came and now…I choke on silence for fear of talking my
self out of this. The drive seems to take forever.

  I haven’t drunk enough to pretend it’s the liquor talking. While I could blame the situation or the music or my loneliness, really I just want him so badly it hurts. Not so badly I can’t think straight, because all I have are straight lines—Jack and me heading straight upstairs, straight to my bedroom, and getting him naked straight away. No, my mind is very clear about what I want.

  What I need.

  What I’ve been waiting to happen for years but have danced around because I cared too much about measuring up to the other girls he’s been with. Because I didn’t want to lose him as a friend and have that screw up my friendship with Pete. Because he surrounds himself with temptation just like my mom does. Because instead of caring about all the fun we could be having together, I looked at it as something that had to be “forever” when it could just be “for now.”

  He sits with his arm around me, stroking my hair as the cab stops at the curb by my apartment, unaware of my decision.

  Tonight, I find I don’t give a flying fuck. I just want him hard, and fast, and… “Come upstairs.”

  His inhale is audible, and his eyes widen before he leans closer to me and pauses. “What?”

  “I said a lot of shitty things to you, and I’m sorry for them all. But I really need you tonight, and if you’re still interested—”

  My sentence is cut off beneath the urgency of his lips pressing against mine, teasing a sigh from me. His hand brushes my forearm, my shoulder, my jaw, and traces the contour of my cheek before slipping to the nape of my neck and pulling me closer, deepening the kiss.

  His tongue darts into my mouth and slides across mine gently, then more aggressively when I move mine around his in a quick spiral. My fists ball his shirt at his chest, pulling the fabric, trying to bring him closer. But we’re still in the freaking cab, and why isn’t teleportation a thing, so I don’t have to break this contact to get him to my bedroom—because if this is what his kiss does to me, what’s sex with him going to be like?

  I’ve got to find out. I break away from him with a gasp. “Upstairs.”

  The cabbie clears his throat, and Jack throws some bills out of his wallet at him and opens his door. By the time I’ve fumbled mine open, Jack is already there. Stepping closer, he takes my hand and slams the door shut behind me.

  Has an elevator ride ever taken so long? The slow circles he traces on the back of my hand with his thumb have me debating about stopping the elevator and dragging him into a stairwell to get him naked now, but then the elevator stops on my floor and we’re so close to my bed.

  Door open, door closed, shoes were on, kick them off. No stopping to ask if he’d like something to drink. I pull him straight to the bedroom and turn to face him. His momentum crushes us together, and I press harder against him, wrap my arms around him, and grab that tight ass I’ve wanted to squeeze for years, grinding against him. This time, when my lips meet his, they’re curled into a satisfied smile because now there’s nothing stopping us but clothes and common sense.

  One down.

  His skin is smooth and warm beneath my hands, which I slide under the hem of his T-shirt before coaxing it over his head. Kissing down his throat and chest, lightly grazing it with my teeth, I’m rewarded with his intake of breath and his hands finding their way to my shoulders. He pulls me upright and kisses me hungrily. One hand wraps around, bending me back like a cobra, and he tangles his other hand in my hair, squeezing my body in his arms like he can’t get enough.

  I want him on top of me. Now.

  We’re riding the same lusty wavelength because he straightens and pulls back. “Take your shirt off. I need to see you.”

  “Take your pants off,” I counter. “I need to feel you.”

  His jeans hitting my floor is the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard.

  “Now you.” His order is paired with hungry eyes.

  I pull my shirt over my head slowly to make him wait. When I get it off and can see again, he’s moved closer and stands only inches away from me.

  “Hi.” His voice is a smoldering bed of hot coals I want to roll around in.

  “Hi.” I smile. “Want to help me with my pants?”

  His long, well-formed fingers curl into the belt loops of my jeans and tug me closer. “You sure you need help, beautiful girl?”

  I trail my hands over the chiseled contours of his abs and up his well-defined chest. “My hands are busy.”

  The pull of the button and the slide of the zipper, and then the kiss of the cool night air greets my thighs and calves. He’s bent closer to coax my jeans down, and his hair smells woodsy and fresh, like a forest after a storm. I stop him on his way up, my mouth on his again. How will I ever get enough of these lips, this tongue, now that I’ve tasted this forbidden fruit?

  The bed hits my legs as he walks us backward, one more step closer to the point of no return. Maybe we passed that point the moment I asked him to take me home. He pulls my knee up and wraps my thigh around his hip, the tip of his cock nudging against me through my panties. I wrap both legs around him, hooking my ankles together behind his back, allowing full access, and he moves us up my bed and rubs his hands down my back in one long sweep that ends at my ass.

  Unlocking my legs from around his waist, he pulls my boy-short panties off, and I hook my big toe into the waistband of his boxers, returning the favor by pulling them down. Arching forward, I undo my bra and throw it across the room, suddenly impatient to be naked. He straddles me and runs his hands up my ribs to cup my breasts, gently kneading them and palming my nipples until they harden further.

  “God, Sarah.”

  I reach up and take his thick, hard length in my hand. “I could say the same thing, Jack.”

  He lets me slowly stroke him from root to tip a few times, then pushes my hand away and moves up my body. Lips land on my neck and burn a trail of shivers across my skin and down my collarbone and chest before he takes one of my nipples between his teeth and rakes the sensitive tip with his tongue. A jolt of hot pleasure leadens my limbs and bucks my hips when he sucks harder, using his fingers on my other nipple to mimic the movements of his mouth, even as his free hand slowly meanders lower.

  My thigh muscles tense as his fingers get closer, then relax when he grazes my clit with a fingertip. I tap at his shoulder and he looks up at me.

  “Kiss me.” The pleading in my voice annoys me, but I regret nothing when he takes my lower lip firmly between his teeth and slowly runs the tip of his tongue from one side to the other. He releases my lip and once again claims my mouth in a kiss as he plunges a finger inside me. I cry out into his mouth, and he gently sucks the tip of my tongue while lightly rubbing my G-spot with a finger too talented to be legal.

  Wars would be fought over his hands if people knew what he was capable of.

  His tongue plunges deep inside my mouth, but it’s not what I need as the pressure builds. A second finger joins his first, and when he angles his thumb against my clit, I’m gone, pleasure flowing over me and drowning me in its silken depth as I come silently, deeply, intensely.

  When I can form words again, I whisper, “There are condoms in the nightstand.”

  He opens the drawer and pulls out the box, cocking an eyebrow at me. “New box?”

  “It’s been a while,” I admit.

  Then he puts on a condom and repositions himself over me. He rubs the tip up and down my wetness a couple of times, not penetrating, driving me crazy. “How do you want me?” He brushes my forehead with his lips.

  My heart thrills at being asked, at him caring. He’s a considerate lover. “Hard and slow.”

  “Perfect.”

  Then he’s pushing, slowly sliding inside inch by inch, and I can’t exhale until he’s all the way in and filling me so completely it almost hurts.

  “Relax, baby.” He nibbles my earlobe. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” His lips and tongue dance over my throat, sending a drunken pleasure haze into m
y brain.

  I run my hands down his biceps and forearms, loving the hardness of them—loving the hardness inside me more when he rubs the base of his cock against my clit. Propped on his elbows, he uses one hand to caress my face. The other meanders down my side, brushing my breast and belly and hip, gripping my thigh, pulling my knee up to spread me more, to expose more flesh.

  Then he pulls out and thrusts in again, and now I wish he would never stop moving like this. Hard and slow. Pushing into me with all he’s got, but in no hurry. Making it feel like he could do this forever.

  The things he’s doing with his hips… I underestimated how good he can make me feel, and I’ve never been happier to be so wrong. I clutch him tighter and try to absorb the pleasure he radiates into my every pore. Jack’s hard to get to know when his clothes are on. Right now, he’s expressing himself very clearly, really well.

  So goddamn well.

  He kisses my cheeks and forehead and jaw, and then my mouth, sweetly, lightly, while rocking his hips against mine and fucking me so thoroughly that another orgasm builds—but that’s impossible because I never come twice.

  Maybe I never came twice because no one’s ever fucked me like Jack is.

  “You feel so fucking good, Sarah.” He claims my mouth with his, devouring any response I would have come up with, as if I’d be able to form words with the things he’s doing to me.

  I rotate my hips more severely and, despite what I said about slow, urge him to go faster, deeper.

  He laces our fingers together, pins my hands above my head, and drives into me harder than I’d thought possible, unleashing sounds of pure pleasure I didn’t know I could make. I want to wrap my arms around him again and hold him close, but the way he’s physically dominating me gives me shivers. Pressure builds, pleasure swelling deep from my core. He lets my hands go to grab my knees, spreading them farther apart, and then I do clutch at him, scratching at his back and begging him not to stop.

  He doesn’t stop, and after a moment, I shake for a good twenty seconds, coming harder than I ever have, with him twitching his own release while still buried deep inside me.