I watch the performance, my eyes taking in his smooth movements, idly sipping my wine, until I realize that I've been stroking the inner edge of my thigh. Shifting again, I catch Mark's eyes as they watch my movements intently.
Abruptly, the burner flames out, and Mark stands before me, his fist entangled in the hair at my nape, my lips tilted toward his when our mouths crash together. My hands scrabble at his waist, quickly loosening his belt and unfastening his pants, until his cock springs free into my hands and I'm able to slide them around the hot ridge of flesh.
His hips press forward, inviting me to caress his length as his tongue plunges into my mouth, lips and teeth clashing. He tastes like wine and spice as I suck at his tongue with my own, my body quivering with the deep groan of his need while his other hand squeezes my breast roughly.
"My God, you taste exactly as I imagined," he whispers as his tongue travels wetly down my neck, across my collarbone and into the deep V of my cleavage. My hand drops his pulsing heat to reach behind me and release the clasps of my bra, my heavy breasts now hanging freely as he kicks one of my legs around the back of the chair, spinning me to sit with my legs open to him.
Dropping to his knees in front of me, he grasps both breasts, his tongue latching wetly to one tight nipple, the other hand squeezing and kneading the other roughly to the rhythm of his tongue. Gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt, my hands claw and drag it upward over his head until I can squeeze the smooth skin of his shoulders.
My hips drop forward, and I slide further down the chair to rest my head against the back, my thighs falling open and my nimble fingers reaching below the edge of my thong to tease my aching nub.
A thought, as delicate as cobwebs, drifts through my mind, acknowledging how badly I wanted this. How much I wanted him. I sensed from the moment I met him that I was meant to dance in this fire. To be consumed by his hot tongue that's twisting around each tight nipple, his hands now trapping my own around his cock, showing me the sweeping motions he needs.
I whimper slightly, the ache in my center desperate to be filled with him, now. Grabbing his hand, I use it to help pull my thong down my hips, lifting briefly for him to slide it the rest of the way down to my ankles.
"Mark…" My whisper is more of a plea, his eyes lifting to mine, searching. "I need you to fuck me. Now." Desperation fills my tone as I squeeze his cock, pleasure and pain mixing on his face in response. Carefully climbing to his feet, he pulls me from the chair, twisting until he's the one sitting as he drags me to straddle his lap.
My eyes pop open as reason makes one last stab at my conscience.
"Condom!" I gasp, my hands gripping the back of the chair, my thighs straining to keep me poised above him. His head thunks backward against the wood, eyes squeezed tight as he groans.
"I'm out. I meant to buy more, but…"
"Fuck. My purse." Scrabbling backward, my weak knees practically collapse under me as I flee to the couch, tearing through my purse for the single gold packet that's the difference between ecstasy and utter meltdown in this moment.
Stumbling back like a runner in a relay race, I pass the condom like a baton into Mark's hands, watching him struggle to tear open and carefully unroll the last barrier of hesitation between us. Before I can sink into his lap, he grabs my hips, holding me steady, before slipping one hand down the back of my right leg behind my kneecap.
"Grab the chair back," he grits through his teeth before lifting my leg and swinging it over his shoulder. I teeter unsteadily, my other knee bending as he grasps my ass, pulling me forward.
"Lower carefully," he orders as my left leg begins to give way from the strain and I fall into his lap. He quickly moves his right arm, swooping it under my left leg and dragging it over his other shoulder, his left arm still bracing my back.
"Deep Lotus. Next level." He grins like a maniac, forcing me forward as he lifts his own hips, until he's able to tilt me enough to slip deep inside me. Our groans mingle as he drops back down and pulls me closer to him, forcing my upright legs deeper into my chest, while gravity sinks him deeper into my core. My hands maintain a death grip on the back of the chair, and his hips rock, hands under my ass helping me rise and fall to his rhythm.
Biting at his lips, I gain access to his tongue again, tasting him sweetly, my whimpers growing with the pace, until finally, he tears his mouth away from mine. Tucking his chin over my shoulder against the inside of my leg, he hauls me up even tighter against his body, gaining the extra measure of depth and increased fiction, my clit feeling every slide of his cock as it plunges into me over and over.
The pace increases, frantic and ragged, until the pressure inside me releases in one keening whine, my trapped thighs trembling against his chest. Arms locked like steel bands around my back, squeezing me to him, his release shakes our bodies, the intensity transmitting like a tsunami between us until we're left limp and boneless.
My head drops forward, my lips resting against the racing pulse in Mark's neck. Reaching gently, he drops my aching legs from around his shoulders to plop heavily around his thighs on the chair seat.
Easing backward along his thighs, I release him from my body, as he reaches to hold the condom from slipping off prematurely. My eyes smile into his as I joke breathlessly, "Obviously you were never a boy scout."
A huff of confusion lingers between us as he has yet to gain the capacity for words, his heartbeat still racing against my palms now braced against his chest.
"Considering all the trouble you went through to get me here, I expected you to be better prepared. It's a good thing I learned it's important to BYOC long ago."
I can tell the moment he finally gets it. "Yeah, not my finest moment." He grimaces. "It's bad form to ask your date to bring their own condoms. I promise it won't happen again."
Grabbing my hips, he eases me gently from his lap to stand on my own, before stepping from the chair to deposit the spent condom in the bathroom down the hall.
Stretching my arms above my head, I look at the pile of discarded clothing littered at my feet with a twinge of guilt and satisfaction.
"Oh?" I yell down the hallway after him. "You seem pretty confident you'll get another chance. What makes you think I'm coming back for seconds?"
Striding back down the hall, every sweaty muscle tempting me to taste him again, he teases, "I'm a chef. Second rule, always leave them craving more."
"The second rule? What's the first?"
Grabbing my hand, he pulls me flush against his body, our sweaty skin sealing us together.
"Sometimes, it's smarter to start with dessert."
Smacking me on my bare ass, I yelp as he drags me by the hand back to the kitchen. "Now that we've had dessert, let's eat."
The Pad Thai was yummy.
* * *
"Now what?" My head shifts on the cushion of the armrest to stare down the sofa to where my feet rest in Mark's lap, his strong hands massaging my arches. Snuggling deeper into the sofa with a soft throw draped over my lap, I lift one foot teasingly toward Mark's mouth as if to keep him from answering. Gripping it in his hands, he drops kisses up my arch before pulling it back down into his lap.
"I don't know." He shrugs. "What's the real question? Having regrets?"
The twinge of guilt now beginning to seep into my rational brain carries seeds of regret, a belief that somehow, I betrayed Heath. I can tell Mark knows exactly where my mind has drifted, although he seems unconcerned. Is there really that much of a divide between how men and women view relationships?
"Have you ever been married?" Mark's offhand question breaks through my thoughts. I'm a bit surprised he wants to go there, but okay, I'll bite.
"No, but I was engaged once."
"What happened?"
What happened? I search for an answer that won't make me sound like a total victim. I thought I knew once, but time has a tendency to rewrite history.
"Let's just say he became disenchanted, and broke it off. He said that I wasn't the
person he thought I was."
"Who did he think you were?" Mark's open curiosity is comforting, as if he really wants to know the true me.
"He thought I was a girl who wanted a man to take care of her in the traditional sense. Not because of the way you would think that should make me feel—safe, secure, cherished. It was really about the way it made him feel—powerful, in control. Unfortunately, he took those feelings to another level. He tried to manage my time with my friends and family. He got mad when other guys would look at me."
"How long did that last?" Appreciation for the concern in Mark's voice makes me smile. I would expect the protective tone from Heath, but from Mark it's…surprising.
"Not long, a couple years. Basically, the time it takes to plan a wedding. He became more controlling each month we got closer to the big day, until finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. Everything became a battle, like when he told me I couldn't wear the wedding dress I wanted because it was too provocative. Even then, I made excuses for his behavior and wanted to believe it meant he loved me. The last straw was when he told me that Emma couldn't be my maid of honor, that she was a bad influence."
Blinking my eyes to release me from the memory, I continue my tale as Mark stares at me, fascinated.
"No one separates me from my best friend. Period. At any rate, we had a major argument where he accused me of being a different person than he had asked to marry him. Probably because after a while, I stopped backing down and trying to appease him. That's when I first started writing. We would fight, and then I would pour all of my frustration into a story, adjusting the circumstances in my head until I worked out all my insecurities through my characters."
The soothing rhythm of Mark's hands massaging my feet and drifting up my calves lulls me back into my memories. It's a nice feeling knowing a guy wants to understand your inner motivations.
"You see, I never wanted the traditional life—the husband, the house, a couple of kids. I didn't need to be rescued, I just wanted to be the girl that someone would want to rescue. I never thought I was pretty or sexy, or the kind of girl that guys would fall all over themselves to keep. I finally realized that most guys would never see me that way because I didn't really see myself that way. I just thought that's what I was supposed to be." Laughing lightly, I add, "I may have read a little too much Jane Austen and Brontë growing up. Who knows? He's probably right, I did change, but so did he. At least I changed for the better, while he became an even bigger asshole. Anyway, that's water long under the bridge."
"So now what? What do you want this to be?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I like you, Mark. You make me feel good about myself, but so does Heath. It's been a long time since any guy has done that for me. I'm not used to finding one decent guy, let alone two, so now I don't know what to do. It would have been so much easier if at least one of you would have waited until we crashed and burned."
"Crashed and burned, huh? You think that's what has to happen?"
"God, I don't know. All I can go by is history, which unfortunately, has not been a testament to my desirability when it comes to men." Pulling my feet from Mark's lap, I sit up and pull my arms around my knees. "You're awfully chatty after sex. Isn't that supposed to be my role? What about you? What do you want?"
"You're changing the subject, but fine, you don't want to tell me. I'm happy just seeing where it goes. I like spending time with you. Are we just going to walk around and pretend none of this happened?"
"No. We have to tell Heath." Mark looks surprised before resignation sets in. "You know I'm right. Besides, he’s your friend. You can't keep things like this from a man who already took a hit from a cheating wife. If you say any differently, you know you lose your 'bromance society' decoder ring," I tease.
"Fine, but just for the record, I'm okay with this, no matter what Cliff thinks or decides. Count me in."
"I think you need to be a little more specific if you want me to understand what that means. What exactly are you saying, Mark?"
"That I'm in for all or part of this game. I like you, and I like this." Tickling the bottom of my foot, he gestures to the chair still sitting like a silent sentry in the kitchen. "And that was hot! You're smart and sexy and sweet. I'd be stupid to walk away after tonight. If you feel like you want to get to know Cliff, too, so be it. But I want a spot on the bench, with full benefits. If you want to give him the same rights, that's your decision. We're all adults. For this, we can act like it."
"That's not the way it works. We aren't a team sport, especially one that requires full contact. Why do I seem to be the only one who understands that?" I blow out a breath in frustration.
"Why not? Josie, let me ask you a serious question. What are you really looking for in a relationship? Marriage?"
Wow, let's just go straight for the jugular. Ten points to Mark for attacking the hard questions head on.
"Not necessarily. I'm not opposed to it, but at this stage of the game…" I shrug. "I don't know what real purpose it serves other than a sign of legal commitment and joint ownership of property. Judging by most of the divorces I've seen, even that seems unreliable in most states now."
"Okay, so marriage isn't a deal breaker. What about kids? Are you looking for a father figure? Or a baby daddy?"
"Why? Are you going to let me call you Sugar Daddy?"
"Only if I get to call you Sexy Spice. Seriously, is this about the alarm ringing on your biological clock?"
"No. I'm past thinking that should be a reality. Actually, I don't know that I ever really wanted to be a mother. I love kids, and I assumed somewhere down the line… But now that I'm looking at it from this side of forty, I don't want to try to beat biology."
"Fine. So why are you so concerned about having a relationship with both me and Cliff as long as everyone is aboveboard? We're not hurting anyone else. It doesn't affect anyone but the three of us, and we determine the rules. If someone, to use your words, crashes and burns, we'll deal with the fallout. Although honestly, I don't know if Cliff will throw his hand in or not. He's a pretty straight shooter. On the other hand, after Lori burned him, he may see things a lot differently now.
"What I'm asking is, if he doesn't fall into line, are you going to bail? Because I'm invested now. I tried to stay out of it, but we broke the third wall. Can you honestly walk away?"
"Honestly? I don't know." Dropping my feet from the couch, I slip them back into my shoes and lean over to drop a kiss on Mark's cheek before grabbing my purse.
"I can tell you this—if I walk away from you, chances are I'm walking away from him, too. I don't know how to do this. I need a little time to decide if I'm even comfortable trying to learn. If you can't give me that, then I guess we already know what my answer will be."
Gathering me into his arms, Mark's lips are soft against my own. "I can give you that and a lot more. For now, let me grab you a cab."
"I've got it. I can find my way home. As you pointed out, I'm a big girl who can make her own decisions."
Opening the door, I pause briefly, looking over my shoulder.
"'Late Night Date Bites.’"
"Huh?"
"That's the name of your class. We'll have them swooning in the aisles."
Shutting the door firmly behind me, I take the elevator down to where the cool night air awaits, wondering if I just shut the door on my future.
Chapter 18
Walk of Shame
As the elevator descends, I convince myself that it would be incredibly greedy to ask for a second round of dessert. Especially since I know that Mark would happily oblige. Consoling myself with the thought that I used the one condom currently in my possession, I realize that's actually a good thing. I've already partaken of something that I may heartily regret, so it's pure folly to crave it again before knowing the aftereffects.
A lone security guard sits at a small table in the corner of the lobby now; the doorman must have gone home earlier. I smile briefly as he catches my eye and nods, as
if trying to place who I am and whether I belong in the building at this hour. The scent of rain against the pavement comforts me as I exit into the late night, a chill wrapping around me, waking me from the temporary fog of emotion making me restless.
It's been a long time since I did the walk of shame at one am I realize, as I hail a cab stopped at the light and slide into the back seat. My mind flashes back to other occasions, the men barely a blip in my memory, as I wandered home late at night, barely sated and mostly relieved to be free of their presence. Some of them satisfied me for an hour or two, but they were all interchangeable in that they were simply a way to release some pent up sexual frustration without the expectation of a repeat performance.
I've never been ashamed of those hours shared with mere acquaintances, occasionally in an alcohol-soaked buzz, although I learned quickly that I preferred to be the one to leave. The walk of shame is nothing compared to waking up next to some random man in your bed who doesn't understand when he's overstayed his welcome. I mean, after the fact, there's not much to say, especially if he turned out to be one of the many who never learned how to use his tongue, or plot a course to the holy grail—the big 'G' marks the spot.
Eventually, I found a few friends with benefits who understood that being in my bed was a temporary measure, and who were just as eager to return to their own beds after some friendly pillow talk. Unfortunately, I haven't had a FWB since Paul randomly announced he had gotten engaged. That the announcement came two days after bouncing from my bed one morning shouldn't have disturbed me as much as it did. After all, I wasn't the one cheating on my soon to be fiancée, but I guess maybe I have higher standards and expectations than I realized.
Turning the key to my door, the soft yowl that greets me sounds like a chastisement, as if expressing her opinion of where I've been and what I've been doing.
Corsets and Quartets Page 15