Up to Me

by M. Leighton

  Just knowing he’s out there…somewhere…

  For the thousandth time, I feel the burn of tears at the backs of my eyes.

  Please God, please God, please God.

  That mantra has gone through my head almost continually. I don’t know how in the world I’ve made a single drink tonight. I must have a pretty freakin’ awesome autopilot. As long as it’s not dressing me, that is.

  Once more, I glance at the door. As my eyes are drifting away, rife with disappointment, they pass Marco. He smiles. It’s not a flirtatious smile or a particularly happy smile. It’s more a smile of sympathy. I wonder what he’s thinking, what he knows.

  I’m not sure why I even care anymore. If things don’t work out with Cash and me I won’t be working here any longer anyway, so what’s the big deal?

  You’re an idiot. That’s the big deal.

  True. Very true.

  I see the house lights dim. That’s how I know a slow song is coming up in the rotation. That’s just what I need right now—a sappy love song to finish ripping my heart out.

  I recognize the Saigon Kick song after the first few bars. My father taught me well.

  As I suspected, it feels like a knife to the chest. The worry over Cash coupled with the lyrics is enough to take my breath. Literally. For a few seconds I feel like I can’t breathe.

  But then, suddenly, I can.

  There, standing in the doorway of the office, is Cash. His eyes lock with mine and I feel them, really feel them all through my body. It’s like standing naked in the middle of the night during a warm summer rain. He’s everywhere. He’s on my skin, under my skin, in my heart, in my soul.

  I feel like I might burst with the desire to go to him. It takes every ounce of my willpower to stay put, to school my expression. To pretend. But I do it. Somehow, I do it.

  Until he starts toward me.

  And then I stop. Stop everything. Stop moving, stop breathing, stop thinking. All I can do is stare as Cash’s long legs eat up the distance between us. Without a single word, he shoulders his way through the crush of people. When he reaches me, he steps up to the bar, reaches across it and offers me his hand.

  His eyes are still on mine and the rest of the world has disappeared. Suddenly it doesn’t matter who’s watching. Nothing matters but Cash. Nothing ever has. And nothing ever will again.

  I slide my fingers into his and he tugs on my hand. I step onto the rail and put one knee on the bar. Cash releases my hand, reaches forward and sweeps me off the slick countertop and into his arms.

  I can feel his breath, coming hot and fast, fanning my cheeks. I can feel his need, wild and hungry, searing my soul. And, for just a second, I think I can feel his love, too. It burns me, but in a completely different way. Like a brand that says I’ll always be his and he’ll always be mine.

  And then he drops his head and his lips cover mine. Vaguely, I hear shouts and hollers and clapping, but I don’t care. I don’t care who sees or who knows or how they feel about it. I care about the man carrying me. Always carrying me.

  When Cash lifts his head, his mouth is curved into a mischievous smile.

  “Have I told you that I love you?” he asks.

  My heart does a triple somersault right inside my chest, one I feel is mirrored in my beaming smile.

  “No. I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered that.”

  Cash starts walking toward the side stairs, the ones that lead to the VIP room where I first met him. I don’t care where he takes me, just as long as he doesn’t let me go.

  Ever.

  “Well it’s your own fault. Every time I had a great opportunity to tell you, you beat me to the punch. And you know as well as I do that I’m not the kind of guy to let someone steal his thunder. I like my thunder big. And loud.”

  “Oh, I know you do,” I tease. “And this time,” I say, tipping my head back toward the cheering crowd, “you’ve got it. In spades.”

  “The funny thing is, the only thing I want is you. Just you. If it was up to me, I’d make the world disappear and it would be just us. Just you and me.”

  “I wish you were a magician.”

  “Well, I’m not magician, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says with a wink.

  “You do?”

  “I do. Wanna see?”

  “Of course.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, at the top, Cash bends so I can open the VIP room door long enough for him to slip inside. It closes automatically behind us.

  He carries me to the center of the room and sets me on my feet. I look around at the interior that signified the day my life would change forever. It doesn’t look any different physically—black carpet, black walls, crazy lights, one whole wall of two-way mirrors that look like windows, and the bar that sits in front of them—but it feels like night and day.

  As if someone —cough, Marco, cough—knew we were coming up here, the music cranks up and a song called Lick it Up comes on. I walk to the windows and peek down at the bar. Marco is smiling up at me. He salutes as though he can see me and I laugh.

  “I seem to remember some unfinished business up here. Does any of that ring a bell?”

  “Why, I can’t imagine what you could be referring to,” I say with wide eyes and my most innocent southern accent.

  “I think I’m wearing too many clothes. And I think you need to take care of that. Now. Starting with this pesky shirt.”

  Cash holds out his arms, much like he did the first night I met him. I walk slowly toward him and reach around his waist, untucking his shirt, much like I did the first night I met him. My breasts brush his chest and his eyes set my body on fire, exactly like they did the first night I met him.

  I tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

  “Now the jeans,” he commands. One brow shoots up and he adds, “On your knees.”

  Obediently, I drop to my knees in front of him. My eyes on his, I reach out and unbutton his jeans. I can feel his impressive hardness straining against the seams as my wrist grazes his zipper. I start to lower it, but he stops me with his words. “With your teeth.”

  A little thrill of excitement races through me, but I comply. Reaching around him, I plant both my hands on his firm, round butt and I lean in to nuzzle his jeans until I can get to the tiny golden pull on his zipper. I use my tongue to pick it up and grab it between my teeth, and I see Cash catch his breath. I smile as I tug the zipper open, freeing him.

  Getting into his little game of torture, I squeeze his butt and pull him closer to my mouth as I run my tongue from the base of his thick shaft all the way to the tip. I hear him groan as I close my lips around the head. His fingers dive into my hair and contract, holding me to him for just one second.

  “Pull them down,” he croaks, his voice hoarse. I’m pleased with his level of excitement. Two can play this game.

  I don’t tell him what a pleasure it is to run my hands inside his waistband, to let my palms glide over his smooth, perfectly rounded cheeks, to let my fingertips coast down his powerful thighs. I don’t tell him how flawless he is, that I’ve never known a more impeccably built man.

  When I get to his ankles, he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans. I rise slowly to a stand, letting my eyes and my fingers trail over every hard inch of him as I do.

  He leans forward to kiss me, but I dart quickly away, doing my best to strut to the bar.

  If he wants to play, we’ll play.

  I push my shoes off my feet and turn to lean back against the bar before hoisting myself onto it. My eyes never leaving his, I stand to my feet, towering over him as I move my hips to the beat of the heavy bass. I know by the look on his face that he wants inside me. Right now. Right this minute. And very badly. But I won’t let him. Not yet.

  If he wants a stripper, I’ll give him a stripper.

  Slowly, I cross my arms over my chest, curling my fingers in the hem of my tank and I drag it, inch by inch, up my body and slide it gently over my head. I
shake my hair loose of the neck and throw the tiny snatch of black material at Cash. He catches it and, with a wicked grin, brings it to his face and inhales.

  Letting the pleasure I feel in my soul ooze out, I smile at Cash as I unbutton and unzip my jeans, wiggling my hips as I push them down my legs. I see his eyes travel with them. I feel them like a touch—heated and urgent.

  I step out of the material and, with a flick of my foot, kick them at Cash as well. He catches them and, just as he did with my tank, he brings them to his face and inhales. His eyes sparkle at me from over top of them.

  I slide first one bra strap then the other down my arms, revealing most of the tops of my breasts, but not the nipples. Coyly, I turn my back to him, peeking at him over my shoulder as I unhook the lacy band and pull it off. He grins and cocks one eyebrow at me. I wink and toss him my bra.

  Again, he takes the cloth and buries his face in it, breathing in deeply. He closes his eyes as he does, like he’s breathing in a part of me, a part of my soul.

  I wait for him to open his eyes before I slide my hands down my sides and under the band of my panties. I can almost taste his anticipation. It’s thick in the air. So I pause. And I smile. His perfect eyes are on mine and his perfect white teeth are biting into his perfect lower lip. He nods once and I see him reach down and palm his erection, sliding his fingers slowly up and down the length.

  I feel an ache low in my stomach that assures me I’m as much a victim of this game as he is. But I can’t stop now.

  I ease my panties down just a fraction. Cash’s eyes fall to my butt and I see him take a breath and hold it. I turn ever so slightly to the side and, as slowly as I can, I drag the material down my legs, bending sharply at the waist. I hear Cash make a noise that tells me he’s very much enjoying what I’m doing, what he’s seeing. I let my hands trail up my legs and over my hips as I straighten.

  He speaks so quietly, so gruffly, I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Don’t move.”

  He walks toward me, stopping at my feet and looking over my entire back side. His gaze is scorching. Or is it just my mind?

  He leans in and I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stretches across the bar and grabs a bottle of Jack from the shelf beneath it.

  I’m watching him from above, every nerve in my body alive and waiting for him to touch me. But still he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes locked on mine, he unscrews the bottle of Jack and pours a shot.

  “Turn around,” he commands.

  Tingling with excitement, I do as he asks, stopping myself from crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously. I stand proudly before him, too eager for what’s ahead to feel overly insecure.

  “On your knees.”

  I sink to my knees on the bar in front of him. His dark eyes embody everything naughty and sexy and dirty and hot and taboo that I can think of, and I feel the warmth of them all the way to my core. I’m so ready for him, I ache from the neck down.

  “Spread your legs.”

  Edging my knees apart, again I do as he asks. I watch his eyes as they skim over my breasts, down my stomach and stop right between my legs. I swear I can actually feel him there, feel his tongue, feel his fingers, feel him moving inside me. I gasp, thinking I can’t take it one more second, but then his gaze flickers back up to mine.

  He hands me the shot glass. “Don’t swallow it.”

  I take the liquid into my mouth and hold it there, watching him, waiting for him to speak, wondering what comes next.

  “Now open your mouth. Slowly. Let it run out. Down your chin.”

  I part my lips and let the fiery liquid ooze from between them. It trickles down my chin and throat, veering to the left and traveling over my nipple then dripping off onto my left thigh. From there, the stream starts to drift inward, toward my center. Cash bends forward and stops it with his tongue.

  Starting just to the side of my knee, he licks the liquor from the inside of my leg all the way up to the bend at my thigh. He traces the crease there, coming dangerously close to the throbbing that never seems to cease when he’s around. But he stops just shy of it, just shy enough to make me feel like screaming. He laps his way up my stomach to my nipple, where he licks and sucks until every drop of alcohol is in his mouth.

  Still not laying a hand on me, Cash reaches to my side and pours another shot. He hands it to me. “Again.”

  I repeat the steps, only this time Jack dribbles from my chin straight down the center of my chest, between my breasts and over my stomach.

  The first drop that slides through the short hair between my legs hits my hot, sensitive flesh like a tingle of electricity. I let the rest of the liquid flow past my lips, hyper aware of the stream that’s pouring between my legs.

  Reaching out with his hand, Cash moves one finger between my legs, wetting it in the whiskey that’s collecting there. His eyes rise to mine as he slips that finger into his mouth.

  “Mmm, that’s good,” he purrs. He bends his head and kisses the inside of my thigh. “But not nearly as good as you.” With one long stroke, he licks the opening between my legs. “I didn’t even want to think about never tasting you again,” he whispers. His mouth is so close to my wet body, I can feel his warm breath. “Oh, God! The way you taste…”

  Planting his hands on my inner thighs, Cash pushes them further apart and presses his mouth against me. With one quick thrust, his tongue is inside. If I were standing I would collapse. The whiskey was like electricity, but this…this is like lightning.

  I reach out and thread my fingers into his short hair, holding him to me as he moves his lips and tongue, sucking and licking and penetrating me over and over again.

  I’m straining against him, moving my hips against his face. The familiar aching tension is building within me when he suddenly stops.

  I could cry. Or scream.

  “Not yet, baby,” he says softly, putting his hand in the center of my chest and pushing. I turn and lie back on the bar. Cash hops up onto it, settling between my legs. “I want you coming on me, while I’m filling you up, stretching you tight.”

  He bends each of my knees until my feet are flat on the bar and then I feel his tongue again, probing me, making hot circles over the most sensitive parts, giving me stabbing thrusts in the others. He works first one, then two fingers into me, crooking them and rubbing me from the inside as he pulls them in and out of me.

  Within seconds, I’m right back where I was—riding the cusp of an impending orgasm.

  Again, he stops. Just before I tip over the edge. My breathing is ragged and so is his as he moves forward, scooting his knees under my hips and grabbing my arms to pull me up onto him, my legs on the outside of his.

  Like two pieces of a perfectly engineered puzzle, I fit perfectly against him, his hard length sliding between my folds, caressing me, teasing my opening. He crushes my hips to his, reaching down between us to move his still wet fingers over me.

  “What would you say if I told you they could see us?” he says, tipping his head to the side, toward the bank of glass to my left. My heart hammers in my chest. “What if I told you the mirror is only effective when the lights are on up here? What if I told you they could see us if they bothered to look up? Would that turn you on?” He pushes his fingers inside me and I feel my body squeeze them, pulling at them, craving the penetration. “Oooo, you like that, don’t you? You like the thought of maybe getting caught, of maybe being seen, don’t you?”

  With his hands on my hips, he holds me still, his head poised right at my entrance. “Tell me you like it,” he instructs.

  Breathing heavily, nearly ready to beg him, I admit the excitement that he already knows I feel. “I like it.”

  Sharply, he pulls me down and flexes his hips, thrusting into me. I can’t stop the cry of pure pleasure that bursts from my lips. “How would you feel about them seeing your beautiful body? Them seeing me licking you and touching you?” As if to make his point, Cash pulls my nipple into his mouth and sucks
. Hard.

  I slide my fingers through his hair and clench them, tugging him closer to me as he urges my body into a rhythm.

  “Do you like the thought of someone watching you ride me? Watching you slide up and down on me? Watching your face when you come for me? Watching your mouth move as you say my name, over and over again?”

  His words! Damn him and his words! They make me forget that I care about anything. I can’t think. I can only feel—feel his fingers biting into my hips, feel his mouth at my chin, his lips at my throat, his teeth at my nipple, feel his breath, feel his body driving into mine.

  “You like that, don’t you, baby? You like for me to talk to you, to make you tell me things?”

  “Yes,” I answer breathlessly.

  He braces my hands on his chest as he leans back, flexing his hips beneath me as I ride him, allowing my body to slide down even further over his.

  “Oh, damn! So deep,” he moans.

  I rise up and fall down on him, feeling each penetration pounding through me. Cash leans back on one elbow and brings his other hand between us to touch me. With his thumb, he rubs me. The air leaves the room and I can’t breathe. I’m panting, saying things, all sorts of things. I don’t even know what kinds of things, but I know they’re dirty things and I know Cash loves it.

  “I know that feels good. I can feel you sucking at me, getting tighter. So. Tight,” he breathes. “Tell me you like it.”

  “Oh God, I love it.”

  “Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I want,” I begin, unable even to finish the thought.

  “Say it, baby. Tell me.”

  “I don’t want you to stop. I want you to make me come.”

  Cash groans and moves his fingers faster, in small tight circles, each stroke ratcheting my body up higher and higher.

  “You want me to make you come? I’ll make you come so hard, you can’t say anything but my name,” he forces out through gritted teeth.