Bittersweet

by Domingo, Sareeta

  “I was trying not to do that all night,” he whispers, his hands still inside my jacket. He slowly pulls them out and moves away a little, and I try not to groan at the absence.

  “Hmm. I’m sorry you didn’t then… But I’m glad you did now.” I tip my head to one side, looking at him. “I thought you said if I didn’t buckle up it would get dangerous?”

  He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. That was a line.”

  “Oooh, that was a line,” I say, smiling—though I worry, somewhere in the back of my mind, how many other lines he’s tried, and on whom. But as I press my thighs together, trying to find some relief, I find it hard to care. Cars rush past the window, and I turn to stare out at them for a moment, then back to him. “Why did you have to try not to?” I ask, but then worry about hearing the answer. Maybe he was worried he wouldn’t get the reaction he wanted?

  “Because you scare me,” he murmurs, avoiding my eyes. Jeez, maybe I really was too hostile.

  “Oh.”

  “No, I mean…” He trails off and turns to me. “I’m trying to be careful, not get caught up in something, so soon after—” He breaks off again, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. “I should be focusing on my work. I just … find it hard to be around you. I mean, as soon as I saw you outside the station…” He doesn’t finish, and it’s his turn to look out the window now.

  Careful? I want to press him, but then a voice in my head tells me that maybe this is best, us stopping now. The same voice that says I shouldn’t trust him, the voice that says I might like him too much already—I could get hurt. I clasp my hands together and sigh, noticing we’ve made the turning toward town. I feel foolish. I feel kind of upset. I feel … his fingers now, brushing over my hands, teasing them apart.

  “Cathy, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t want to—” His eyes drift back down to my lips, and I tell that voice to shut the fuck up. At least for tonight.

  His fingers entwine with mine and I lean over to him, pushing my mouth against his, sweeping my tongue against his, telling him, showing him. I don’t care. I want this. Now, tonight. I’ll worry about the consequences in the morning.

  “Here’s the Fairview, folks. Who’s getting out?”

  I pull back and open the cab door. “Both of us.” I swing my legs out, feeling bold and reckless and … I don’t know what. But I do know that I don’t want to leave him. Not yet.

  *

  We stand side by side on the quiet street by the hotel. Just like before, there’s nobody around. I step toward Greg, look up at him. The moon seems brighter here, creating a halo around his dark head of hair.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs.

  “Why not?” My voice is a whisper too.

  “I should walk you home…”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  I slide my hand up his arm and reach my fingers into the sleeve of his T-shirt, where it’s warm, and I feel the muscles in his upper arm tense. His hand moves up and hovers at my hip, not touching me. Holding his gaze, I lick my lips slowly, deliberately. It’s been a while since I’ve tried to seduce someone, but I think it’s working. His eyelids lower heavily.

  I step closer, until one of my feet is in between his, and press my body closer to him. He looks up and away toward the sky, so I take the opportunity to brush my lips against his neck, to taste it with my tongue. God, he even tastes good. My head swims, but I know the alcohol is floating out of my system. I think I’ve moved on to being drunk on lust. But is it only that? I don’t know. I remind myself I’m not supposed to be thinking too hard. Speaking of hard—I know my seduction’s working now.

  “Cathy…”

  “Hmm?” I stand on my tiptoes and my lips find his earlobe. I suck, and he groans a little. I chuckle to myself, then move across his jawline and up to his lips, brushing gently over the place where he got hit. “Greg, let’s go inside,” I murmur against his mouth. He exhales, and I breathe it in. I want to slip my arms around him in that moment. He seems so … vulnerable. It scares me, the feeling that I want something more than just sex. I think about what he said in the cab…

  No. No thinking. “Please.”

  At that word, at the tone of my voice when I say it, Greg’s hands finally pull my hips forward, against him, and he kisses me fiercely, like he’s angry—at me, at himself. I break away and turn, my legs shaking as I walk off toward the hotel’s entrance, and he follows close behind me, reaching out, grabbing my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine.

  Chapter Nine

  Greg and I walk fast through the lobby toward the rickety elevator, but a voice calls out.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  We slow down reluctantly and Greg looks over at the concierge’s desk. I sigh as I recognize the woman behind it. Wanda Priddy was a year above me in high school, and for some fairly transparent reason she’d taken a dislike to me when I got together with Jeff. She looks at me disdainfully now and pulls down on her gray suit jacket.

  “You have another package here,” she says, her eyes flicking down to our joined hands. I wonder if she’s jealous now, too? I look up at Greg and think—who wouldn’t be? I smile a little to myself, but try to compose my face as we walk over to the desk.

  “Hey, Wanda,” I say as she hands over the envelope to Greg.

  “Cathy.” She nods curtly.

  I remember having heard she’d been doing some managerial shifts here. I’d seen the vacancy and half thought maybe it could be a good way for me to take a step up if Joe wasn’t going to let me stamp my mark on the restaurant. But I decided I’d just bide my time until I wear him down. I know it will happen eventually…

  I turn to Greg as he tucks the manila envelope under his arm. “All set?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He glances over at Wanda. “You can just go ahead and slide them under my door next time.”

  She pouts a little, like she enjoyed having an excuse to talk to Greg. “Oh, OK. The lady was just pretty adamant I make sure they go directly into your hands.” She looks down again, noticing that he still hasn’t let go of my hand. I squeeze, and he turns and smiles down at me.

  “Let’s go,” I murmur.

  “Have a good night,” Wanda says automatically as we stride away across the lobby.

  “We will,” I can’t help throwing over my shoulder, petty though it is.

  We reach the old wooden elevator and Greg presses the button to call it.

  “Playboy subscription?” I ask, nodding to the envelope.

  He smiles again at my teasing, but rolls it and tucks it into his back pocket without answering. I’m curious, and want to press him on it even though it’s not really any of my business, but then the elevator dings and the doors open. He steps inside and I follow.

  The doors have only just slid shut when he backs me against the elevator wall. It judders, and I wonder if this thing might break down. I don’t think I’d have a complaint if I got stuck in here with Greg though. His hands slip up my sides, under my shirt, brushing over the front of my bra, and his lips press against the sensitive spot right below my ear. My nipples push against the light tease of his thumbs.

  “Hey there,” I croak.

  “Hey,” he whispers, but then the creaking elevator stutters to a halt and the doors open. He steps back, and we get off. He stands in the hallway for a moment, just staring at me. I slip off my jacket slowly, deliberately.

  “Which way?”

  “Left.” His voice is hoarse.

  I stride away down the hall, pointing at doors and looking at him over my shoulder. He shakes his head, his eyes darting from my ass and back up, until I point at the right one. Just him looking at me like that makes me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt before. I stand in front of the door to his room, and suck in a breath as he steps behind me, reaches around, and slips his old-fashioned key in the lock, then leans down to kiss the exposed skin on my shoulder before pushing it open.

  I take a few steps inside. T
he room is bigger than I expected, with homely furnishings and an amber glow coming from the lamp next to the bed. Greg’s duffle is on the floor, with a few T-shirts and boxer shorts spilling out of it. I turn around as I hear him close the door and lock it again. Suddenly I’m nervous. I hover in the middle of the room, then reach over and drop my jacket on a chair in the corner. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser, my hair wild, my eyes wilder.

  Greg pulls the envelope out of his pocket and puts it on the dresser, then takes a few steps closer to me. “You OK?”

  I nod. Some of my bravado has definitely drained away now. I glance at the bed, its covers pulled taut with hotel corners, obviously. He takes another step toward me, real close, and tilts my chin up to him. His eyes scan mine like I might have some answer he’s looking for. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper. “I don’t know if I…” He stops, clearing his throat. “I mean, my offer still stands. I can walk you home if—”

  I stop him with my lips. Guess a little proximity to him is all it takes to get my bravado back. I push my own worries about his doubts to the back of my mind. Especially because now he’s returning my kiss slowly, his hands staying on my shoulders, in my hair, his tongue moving gently. I open my eyes for a moment, and his are squeezed shut, his eyebrows raised, like he’s savoring me. My heart swells and contracts inexplicably, and I close my own eyes so I can feel it—or so I can block it out. I move my tongue more urgently, trying to take the kiss to a less emotional place, and soon a fire ignites again, and his hands begin to wander. Down my neck, running along the low neckline of my shirt and then inside it, one finger slipping into the cup of my bra, catching against my nipple as it hardens. He groans quietly and pulls back.

  “Cathy, I’m not sure we should do this…” he breathes.

  I blink at him. “Seriously?” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his thumb gently down the center of my bottom lip, staring at my mouth with a frown between his brows, his chest rising and falling hard. “OK. Well, yeah … you are hideous,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. “And a terrible kisser, so there’s that. I’m definitely not turned on. So actually, yeah you’re right. What are we doing?”

  I hate that I always turn to sarcasm, but I love that he doesn’t seem to mind. A slow grin spreads across his face and he laughs, that deep, velvety laugh that makes me lose my cool. I reach down and pull off the slip of material that passes for my shirt, then wrap my arms back around his waist. He shakes his head at me with a wry smile still on his lips, but then he leans down, and those lips are on my collarbone. He edges me back and we fall onto the bed. I scoot up and fling off some of the twenty-five throw pillows, chuckling. I kick off my boots and he does the same, and pulls off his socks. I point to his T-shirt.

  “That too.”

  He sits up on his heels and the bed bounces. I stare as he peels off his top, especially when his face is obscured for a moment while he pulls it over his head. I have to resist the urge to mouth Oh My God to myself. His body. Is. Insane. I had no idea so many tight muscles could be contained in such a slender frame. I reach over and run a hand over his abdomen experimentally, like I don’t quite believe he’s real. His muscles are hot and tense to the touch. Definitely real. He pulls my hand away and lowers me down onto my back.

  Then he sinks his head down into the crook of my neck, and I slip my hands around his back and pull him toward me as he presses kisses onto my skin. He takes a deep breath, and then sighs a little and his muscles relax, letting his weight onto me more, his lips fluttering softly against my neck. I squirm a little, loving the feel of him on top of me, but also feeling a strange new warmth, different from the heat of a few moments ago. For some reason my movements slow down … and then stop.

  Greg tenses when I stop moving, then rolls to one side so that he’s not pressing down on me so much. He doesn’t move his head from my neck, and I get that feeling again; the swell in my heart, the feeling of his vulnerability. And my own, I guess. I tighten my arms around him, not sure what to say, or if I should say anything.

  We lay like that for a while, and I don’t understand what happened, but I know that whatever it is, this feels just as good. Maybe even better.

  “Greg,” I begin tentatively. He doesn’t say anything, but he presses closer in to me, like he doesn’t want to let me go. “I’ve never had a one-night stand before. Is that weird?”

  I hear him give a sort of breathy half-chuckle into my shoulder. “No.” He pulls his head out of the crook of my neck. “Not at all.” He looks sleepy and sexy and gorgeous. “I’ve never had one either.”

  I frown. “Bullshit.”

  “I haven’t!”

  I narrow my eyes at him. How can anyone this beautiful not have? Is he trying to tell me he’s not that kind of guy?

  “You’re not a virgin, are you?” I ask with a wry grin.

  He laughs that laugh again, and then pushes up on one elbow, running his eyes up and down my body. He reaches over and traces his fingertips over the mounds of my breasts, then presses his lips against my chest, running his tongue teasingly along the edge of the cup of my bra. “What do you think?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

  “Oh, definitely,” I whisper hoarsely.

  He pulls back and smiles down at me, but then his face turns serious. “I just don’t want us to rush into anything,” he says, his brow creasing like he’s in pain just saying that.

  “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” I retort, looking at our semi-clad bodies and intertwined limbs.

  “I think you might be right,” he whispers back, his eyes holding mine in a way that makes me wonder if there’s a double meaning to his words.

  “I’m a big girl, Greg. I know what I want.” I try to sound strong, decisive, but he’s gotten to me—with what he said in the car too. I have to wonder if it’s him who’s unsure about this. But what if he’s right to be worried? Am I really willing to take a risk of having my heart broken again?

  Shit.

  He’s still staring at me, and I have to look away. I feel Greg shift his weight, and he reaches a hand over to draw my face back toward his.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “You know what you want, huh. Do you want this?”

  He brushes his lips against mine, and I nod decisively.

  “Yes.”

  He kisses harder. His tongue slides along the seam of my lips, and I part them. After a moment he pulls back, then begins to kiss my neck once more.

  “This?”

  “Mmmhmm…”

  He keeps moving down, shifting again so that he’s back on top of me, and I writhe under him as his tongue slides over the dip at the base of my throat then down, in between my breasts. He slips his fingers under my bra straps and pulls them down, tugging so my chest is exposed. I feel my nipples tighten against the cool air and his warm breath. He flicks his tongue over one then the other, ever so lightly.

  “How about this?”

  “Yes.” I flush at the neediness in my voice, but then my back is arching because his whole mouth is over my left nipple, sucking, then he’s flicking his tongue, then sucking again. “Mmmm…” I moan.

  His chest presses in and out of my stomach with his quickened breathing, his skin hot against mine. He reaches under me and I lift up a little, letting him undo my bra, remove it altogether. He looks down at me and sighs. “God,” he says, shaking his head, then takes the other breast in his mouth. After a while, he continues downward, dropping feathery kisses over my stomach. His tongue brushes down into my belly button, but the feel of it is like he—

  “This?”

  “Greg…” I moan.

  He stops his tongue, and I quickly say, “Yes… Yes…”

  His fingertips push at the hem of my skirt, easing it up so my panties start to show. He scoots further down my body.

  “Do you want this?” He pauses and looks up at me. I swallow.

  “Yes.”

  He reaches down toward my
knees, pushes them apart, and then slips my skirt right up to my waist. I lift my hips off the bed to help him, and he presses his mouth onto my inner thigh, tracing up and down with his lips and tongue. He moves up between my legs, blows a warm breath against my panties, then moves back down the other inner thigh. Holy crap. He does it again, then stops in the middle, pressing a hard kiss there.

  “Uhh…” I utter. I’m betting he can feel me wet even through the cotton.

  “Sure you want this?” His voice is low, a growl.

  I nod, though I know he can’t see me do it from there. My fingers twist into his hair.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Y-yes.”

  He kisses me again through my panties, then sucks, then pushes his tongue into the damp dip and runs his mouth upwards again.

  “Oh god…”

  His fingers tense under my ass as I speak, and then his fingers rush up eagerly, pulling my panties down. I press my thighs together for a moment so he can pull them down my legs and off, and then he settles back between my legs. I feel his breath in rapid, tickling bursts against me. He runs his tongue up from bottom to top, swirling around my hardening clit.

  “Mmm… Greg…” I pant. He pulls back. No no no…

  “Are you sure you w—”

  “Yes!” I gasp loudly, and his mouth is back on me. My fists clench in his hair and I wriggle, raising my hips up against his tongue as it works up, down, around, driving me crazy. “Oh my god…”

  Then he starts sucking. Gently at first, then harder, the tip of his tongue swirling around my clit in between times. I feel my insides tighten in a way I’ve never felt before in my life.

  “Yes…” I groan.

  He keeps going, his fingers digging into my ass, lifting me up toward his mouth.

  “Yes…”

  I feel the tightening build… It almost hurts it feels so good. I can hardly form the word—

  “Yeeesss…”

  My voice is strained. His tongue swirls faster and I arch my back, lifting my head right off the bed. I feel the intensity build and build and it really does feel like reaching the top of the mountain, like the highest peak, like that very word, climax—