by Roxie Odell
“Thomas!” she admonished.
He eased her down off him. “Careful,” he said. “Watch out for the head rush.”
“Wow,” she said as the room spun around her. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”
A rush it was indeed, but she was sure it had more to do with being with Thomas. She suddenly felt very shy, as something about their previous unpleasant moments seemed to have renewed her vulnerability. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was, as if it was her first time. She loved being with Thomas, and there was no other man for her, but she felt almost as if he was a stranger all over again.
The passion they conjured was the most sensual, real thing she knew. He touched her fingertips before weaving their hands together. He was trembling, as nervous as she was. She embraced him, and with her ear pressed to his chest she felt his heart drumming loudly.
Thomas made them pratfall back into the bed. They lightly bounced before rolling around to entwine. Cheri gazed at him and rolled up and over him. She pressed her palms on either side of him in a very wide plank position, then drew herself up so they were face to face. Her silken hair spilled around him. The serious moment was made silly when he sputtered as the strands landed on his face, tickling his nose. He brushed them away as she gathered them up frantically.
“Sorry,” she said, then lost her balance and collapsed on top of him.
He groaned. “Ow,” he said. “As much as I hate to say it, I think you’re gonna have to get off me a minute.”
She sat beside him on the bed. Thomas came to the rescue one more time. He turned, shoveled his palms under her buttocks, and lifted her back onto him with ease. As always, they were a perfect fit, and their faces were lined up so they could look one another right in the eye.
“There,” he said. “Much better without the crash landing.”
He placed his powerful palm on the small of her back. His hand was so large against her petite frame that it spanned her whole backside. Cheri drew her knees up and huddled over him. Her center was perfectly lined up with him, and she grabbed the edge of mattress and used it for leverage as she grinded into him, gyrating and teasing him with all her might. Thomas growled, emitting a soft, brief, guttural sound so naturally deep that he didn’t need to project much to be heard. That was her victory flag, her evidence that what she was doing was having a real effect on him, that she was pleasing him immensely, whether he admitted it or not.
His fingers pressed between her buttocks and his lap, and lifted up and down. Cheri took it from there. She planted one foot solidly on the floor and broke into a lap dance. She rocked and writhed, all the while loosening her clothing to very strategically expose herself. She leaned back and stripped off her blazer with flair, revealing a sweet satin camisole. She unzipped her skirt all the way down, lifted it, then slipped the garment up and up over her head, like a shirt. He stroked her belly, splaying his fingers over the flat surface, causing her to shiver. She regained her composure before slowly standing.
Thomas’s eyes were riveted on her every move. Though they were dark, smoking with arousal, they glittered. His lashes were so dark that his eyes seemed clearer by the very contrast. She dropped into a lascivious squat, twerking gently as she bunched her long tresses into a wild nest. Her arms were up and bent, holding her hair, and she turned her face to pose the sexiest way she knew how, offering him a pleasing pout. She then turned her gaze to connect with his, doing her best to convey with her eyes how much she wanted him. Her breath rose, and her heart raced, not from nerves but from passion. It was difficult to focus on her erotic dance while her body was already moving on to the next phase of their lovemaking. Every cell in her body wanted to mate with that man; it was as animal as that. She moved forward with her thighs spread, and resituated herself onto him.
“Come to me,” he murmured.
With her pressed against him, Thomas stood. Both worked to unfasten his jeans with their free hands and pushed the pants from his hips. He sat back down, and they gazed at each other, his erection grazing her softness. Each time he brushed her, she drew up into tightness.
Thomas flipped Cheri on her belly, then stood as she dutifully straddled the corner of the mattress. She pushed up onto her tiptoes to flex her backside for his visual pleasure. He stroked her smooth muscles for a moment before he explored her wet heat.
He penetrated her, toying with her in all the right places, livening her desire for him. She clutched the bedding as he leaned over her and drove into her. In a single glide, he was deep, deep inside her. His broad chest covered her petite back. Her arms were outstretched, and he intertwined his fingers with hers, squeezing and holding tightly as he drove into her. He moved gently and easily at first, as they both savored the moment.
Suddenly, Cheri twisted so her abdomen was on the mattress, but she managed to face him, eager to kiss him. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, and the contact was electric while their bodies were connected. She lifted her legs and let them buckle, making their rhythm more wicked, more wanton. He lifted her without disconnecting and shifted places, till he was on his back on the big, sprawling mattress, with her on top of him again. This time, neither of them had any complaints, even as her featherweight pushed her down onto him. He was inside her as deeply as he could possible go, and she shivered with the sensation of it. The electric jolt traveled from her belly, all the way up her body and out her nipples. The tiny buds pebbled, pointing in the air.
Thomas’s coarse fingers pinched them gently, and arousal pulsed through her in heated waves. A moan escaped her lips, and wetness flowed from her body. She rocked on him like she was riding a bucking bull, wagging her hips this way and that. All the while, he had her rosy tip in his grip.
She whimpered as she rocked him. Her body seemed to be melting as she was more and more turned on. He flipped her with ease, until they were side by side. He took hold of the small of her back and worked her back and forth on him, until her body hummed.
He took her hand and placed it between them. Cheri pleasured herself as he pounded into her, uninterrupted. Their bodies shook and trembled, quaking until they nearly burst with sugared spasms. He seized powerfully, crying in a duet with her as pleasure overtook them both.
Damn, there’s something so erotic about the way he cums, thought Cheri as she joined him in his climax, so mentally powerful that every little stroke and touch just sends me over the edge.
Their bodies were slick with sweat as they pulsed and writhed. They lay on the top of the super king, basking in the sweetness of their joyous sex. When they regained their minds and conscious thought, they showered quickly and collapsed on the bed for a quick, deep sleep.
Almost just as quickly as they were out, they both suddenly awoke from their catnap.
Thomas looked at his watch.
“Well? Is it too late to get anything but room service?” she asked.
“I know a place,” he said, rubbing her buttocks. “Let’s ride.”
She perked up. “On the bike?” she queried excitedly.
“You’ll have to take a rain check on the Harley, honey. I’ve got the truck, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, with some disappointment, as the cool, clear night would have been the perfect evening for it. “Well, I’ll hold you to it.” She slid off the bed and slipped into her jeans and threw on a cropped, sleeveless cotton sweater.
Thomas’s eyes walked all over her as she slipped on a light denim jacket. “You look good enough to eat,” he flirted. “What a shame to cover all that up.”
The valet pulled the truck around, and Cheri smiled when he once again confirmed that he was a generous tipper. He was so nice to everyone that it was hard to imagine that he was once hard and aloof.
They drove to a place in Adams Morgan, the Black Squirrel. It was a rougher part of town, but that didn’t seem to faze Thomas at all. If Cheri was alone and spotted a guy like him walking down the street, he certainly would have intimidated her, so she assumed others
felt the same way and would leave them alone.
Even if he was aware of his own ominous-looking façade, he continued to act every bit the gentleman, even holding the door open for her and gesturing her inside with a sweet, “Ladies first.” The fact that he always called her a lady was her favorite part, and it sounded a whole lot better coming from him than it had coming from that jerk, Wayne Titus.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the server asked as they were seated.
“I’ll have a shot of Cuervo, and the lady will have the same…and bring us some mac n’ cheese to start with. We’ll share.”
“Mac n’ cheese, huh?” She smiled as she looked over the menu.
“They were voted the best in D.C.,” he replied. “I need to watch you eat some.”
The sexual undertones of his remark floored her, and she nearly choked. She sputtered and made faces, trying to contain her reaction. When he extended his leg under the table and stroked her with his foot, she squirmed in her chair as if she was sitting atop a very active anthill.
The waitress returned with two shot glasses.
“Bottoms up, Cheri,” he said with a wink.
She slugged it down, only to realize, in hindsight, that he waited until she did so before finishing his sentence.
“Because we’re gonna get ourselves a tattoo,” he promised. He then turned to the server and said softly, “Bring us two more, and that’ll be it on the drinks.”
“Wait. Two more?” Cheri squawked.
“Yeah, one a piece,” he said. “I just want to warm you up.”
“I’m not getting a tattoo,” she protested.
“We don’t have to participate,” he said suggestively. “We can just watch if you want. This one place I know is open till two a.m., so we can hang out there after we eat.”
“I know you better than that, Thomas. You’d never just be a benchwarmer and watch,” she said with a smirk. “Oh my gosh. I’m getting a tattoo tonight, aren’t I?”
He grinned at her with all the sadistic fervor of the devil himself.
“You’re going to tattoo seduce me, aren’t you?” she whined.
“It won’t hurt a bit,” he said, “at least not for long.”
She tried to take her mind off it by ordering. She settled on mini-quesadillas, and Thomas asked for a burger, after she talked him out of the all-you-can-eat mussels. She was not a fan of seafood, even if he did try to convince her that they were a well-known aphrodisiac. “We don’t need any Viagra on the half-shell,” she said, leaning across the table for a kiss, feeling fully relaxed. “We’re pretty powerful as it is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “So, if you do get that ink, what’s it gonna be?”
“Hello Kitty,” she joked, basking in the playfulness of actually having a life after work, of actually having a life with Thomas Graham, which she was quickly beginning to enjoy and crave once again.
“Careful,” he said wickedly. “If you say it, it might be so.” He then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face, as if he was thinking deeply about it.
She stole his French fries as she waited to hear his decision. “Can’t think of anything else, can you?” she with a grin.
“How about a motorcycle?” he suggested. “Someplace you, I, and only our doctors might see.”
“I’ll consider it,” she said, “but I need a little more time. Let’s do a little window-shopping tonight.”
They finished their meal, and there was one more part of the Black Squirrel Thomas wanted to share with her, something Cheri had never tried before.
She tugged on him gently so he would lean down. “You’re just trying to get me into bed, aren’t you?” she whispered when he mentioned the absinthe bar, smiling from ear to ear when she realized she’d made him blush. There was something very appealing in watching her words wreck his composure for a change. Thomas’s beautiful facial features gathered together with confusion, as he was nicely disturbed by what she said, the same reaction he had caused her to experience so many times before. “Shall we share this, too?” she asked.
“That’s probably a good idea,” he said. Thomas broke up a lump of sugar in the glass, and the pieces swam at the bottom as he stirred it. They each took a sip, and Cheri knew right away that she certainly didn’t want much of the powerful cocktail.
He looked her dead in the eye and winked, pinched the glass stem in his fingers, and lifted it to his lips, then threw his head back until the contents were gone. He let out a hiss. “Boy, that’s some strong medicine,” he said with a whistle.
“Don’t be a lightweight now,” she kidded. “Somebody’s gotta drive me home tonight.”
They paid the check and went for a walk down the dark street, to the end of an alley where a neon sign illuminated the area with a faint hue of pink and orange. A second sign in the tattoo shop door said, “Open! Come in!”
We’re just looking, Cheri reminded herself, but as she walked she felt a sense of bravery she had seldom felt before, like she was ready to do something risky, even something stupid. Whether it was the absinthe or the company of Thomas or a little of both, she was on an absolute high, and she didn’t want that feeling to end.
Chapter 14
“Welcome to Tattoo Paradise,” said a young man in a stocking cap, pierced everywhere and covered with ink himself, like any cliché tattoo artist. For the life of her, Cheri couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to wear a winter hat at the tail end of a very hot and muggy summer. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” Cheri asked, a bit startled. She felt as if she was walking through a vat of Jell-O as she moved to take her place in a chair.
“Step over here, sweetheart,” Thomas said, patting a space that looked a lot like a massage table.
Cheri shifted over to it and allowed Thomas to maneuver her however he wanted. He removed her denim jacket and encouraged her to lie back. He touched her ankle, with the tattoo artist looking on like a surgeon in a consultation. “I was thinking right here,” said Thomas.
The artist nodded, and a slight smile curled his lips.
For a moment, she wondered if the artist was anywhere as inebriated as she was, and that alone made her even more hesitant. She was awake but out of it, though, so she didn’t bother expending any of her consciousness or energy on putting up any resistance. A tiny little Harley on my ankle? So be it. She relaxed on the table and felt the coldness of the alcohol swab, then the strange pressure of a razor against her skin there. Did Thomas say he wanted it somewhere only she, he and the doctor could see? This’ll work for me.
“I know you’re smooth as silk, baby, but we need a pristine surface for the ink,” Thomas explained.
“We?” asked Cheri. “Are you micromanaging my tattoo?”
“I am,” he said with a smirk.
He was so, so handsome, and even in her weakened and distracted state, she found herself gazing at him with intense adoration. There were a few more steps to the tattoo process that she was not even aware of, but she paid no attention to them, as she was far too busy just staring at him.
Then came the part that Cheri was not quite prepared for, the part that hurt “like a bitch,” as the artist so tastefully phrased it. Thomas had chosen the worst possible place for the tattoo; everyone’s ankles were sensitive, but Cheri’s especially so.
She braced herself and pressed her face against the surface of the table, not caring how many different strands of DNA were already there from wayward saliva and mouth prints. For the first minute or so, Cheri thought she was going to pass out, but Thomas’s deep voice rumbled in his chest with laughter.
“Wh-Why am I doing this?” she stuttered, but her mind somehow found a way to blot out the pain.
Both the artist and Thomas kept assuring her that they were almost done, but those promises seemed to stretch into an eternity of agony.
“It’s such a small graphic,” said the artist. “There’s some risk that it’ll ev
entually get muddy. You gotta keep perfectly still.”
“Do you have any whisky?” pleaded Cheri, knowing full well that after two shots of tequila and a couple sips of absinthe, she still wanted booze. Realizing it probably didn’t sound quite right, she quickly changed her request. “Actually, a massage will do. Tomorrow night, Thomas,” she said, “massages for both of us.”
“Anything you want,” Thomas promised.
“Done,” announced the artist.
“The first and last ink I’ll ever get,” said Cheri sternly.
Thomas belly-laughed. “We all say that.” He then pulled out his wallet and paid the artist in cash.
The artist fiddled with the cuff of her pants to keep it from smudging his work. “It’d be best if we could cut these a bit shorter,” he said.
“No way!” protested Cheri.
Thomas stopped and examined the situation. “Do it,” he said. “I’ll buy you all the jeans you want.”
“But these fit me so well.”
“Yes, they certainly do,” Thomas said, practically in a purr, “and they’ll look magnificent as shorts.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good at this, too,” said the artist, holding a straight razor that looked like a psychotic barber’s instrument. “Just please don’t move.”
“But I—” she tried to protest.
“It’s fine, baby,” Thomas said, clutching her hand for support.
The artist proceeded to cut the jeans into shorts while she was wearing them.
“A work of art times two,” Thomas said, slipping him more cash for the extra work.
“I don’t know, man,” said the artist. “She makes the jeans, not me.”
“I’d have to agree with you there,” said Thomas.
Cheri’s head cleared as she realized the tattoo work was done. “Wow,” she said, “that was quite an adventure.”
“Yes, it was,” Thomas laughed. “Best night I’ve had in a long time. How about we go for dessert?”
“I’m not sure I’m up for, um…that.”
He laughed. “I mean real dessert, like coffee and ice cream, as delightful as that sounds.”