Playing For Keeps

by Weston, Dani

  “I love this view,” I said.

  He stood beside me and looked out, too, as though seeing it for the first time.

  “Something just moved. Right there. See it?”

  He pointed to a fat, gray object below. We watched for a few silent moments, until the object moved again, slipping into the water. A second blob followed.

  “Sea lions.” I grinned. “Playing. They’re up and down the coast.”

  “I didn’t even know they were out there.” Kevin moved back and indicated one of the couches. “Sit down and get comfortable. You like red wine?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kevin disappeared and I sunk into one of his overstuffed sofas. All alone, the room felt huge and impersonal. I stood again, searching the walls and little side tables for evidence of Kevin: his life, his family, anything. But there was nothing that felt intimate. Real. Knick-knacks and frames that hadn’t had the default photo swapped out of them, yet. I felt like too much of a voyeuristic creep to keep searching, so I sat again. But there was too much silence, too much space, and my thoughts ran away to places they shouldn’t have.

  The face of his ex-girlfriend, Julia Wood, Bea had told me, flashed in my mind. She was gorgeous. A flawless face. Legs for miles. An incredible actress. Did she know the secrets of Kevin’s house? Had he been, maybe, more at home at her place? What did I have to offer Kevin that someone as perfect as Julia couldn’t?

  I felt in over my head.

  I dashed the feeling away. It didn’t matter. I was here, now. He wanted me here. I longed for him to kiss me bigger than he had our first time together. To put his hands over all the parts of my body screaming for his attention. I wanted to remind myself what those shoulders would feel like under my fingers, naked, hot to the touch.

  I couldn’t sit still any longer. How much time did it take to pour a glass of wine? I rose, walking in the direction Kevin had gone, ignoring the array of closed doors. The house was big enough for a dozen people. Strange that only one lived here, and not very often, at that.

  Finally, a drawer was slammed and I followed the sound, coming upon a massive kitchen. I paused in the entrance, watching Kevin rifle through a cupboard.

  “Hey.”

  He looked up, sheepishly. “I can’t find the bottle opener.”

  There went my heart, again. Thump, thump, ache. “I’ll help.”

  We searched the kitchen. When Kevin reached for the same handle as me, I grabbed a spatula from the last drawer I’d searched and playfully swatted his wrist. He laughed. Grabbed a whisk. Held it up with a twinkle in his eye.

  “On garde.”

  I stepped forward with some fancy footwork and he burst out laughing. “That’s not giving me any faith in your dancing skills.”

  “Ah!” I gasped. Then bonked him on the head. “Take it back!”

  He smoothly twisted away from me and rattled the whisk over his head. “You’re going to have to prove me wrong.”

  “Well, you’re just going to have to make me want to dance, then.”

  He dropped the whisk. Grabbed my waist in one, swift movement and hauled me onto the counter. The smile slid from his face.

  “I plan to make you dance. And squirm.”

  My chest rose and fell, slowly. He kissed me, and all our playing and teasing morphed into something else. A hunger.

  “May I undress you?” he asked.

  “Here?”

  “Here.”

  I hesitated. But it wasn’t as though I didn’t want to peel off these layers of fabric for him. It wasn’t as though the entire car ride here, with the warm air and the way we looked at one another, hadn’t been a delicious, lingering kind of foreplay where breaths were like fingers over face and neck and bodice. Even his simple question was heady with desire.

  I nodded.

  He lifted my right leg. Started with my shoes, pulling each off slowly, studying the curves of my ankles, holding my calf delicately in his palm. He lined the shoes up on the counter, then found the zipper on the side of my pants and released the teeth. He dragged his hands up the length of my legs to the waist of my pants, then gathered folds of fabric over his hands and wrists as he went back down, spreading his hands over my hips, inching across my thighs, collecting the garment on the floor.

  My breathing picked up, my breasts rising and falling in time with his careful, deliberate movements. I wondered if I should have felt embarrassed or exposed, sitting here under the bright lights of the kitchen. Being the only one of the two of us undressing. But I didn’t. There was only the thrill of Kevin, whose name few people really knew, slowly lifting my top over my ribs, over my breasts, over my head, then admiring my body with an obvious glint of appreciation in his eyes was empowering, not embarrassing. I loved the way he was adoring me. Being attentive, giving appreciation while, at the same time, taking what he wanted. He cupped my breasts over my bra, staring into my eyes the whole time, asking wordless permission.

  Sometimes, back at Delta Gamma, a bunch of us would watch a sexy movie or T.V. show. We’d talk about the bad boys, how they took what they wanted, how they were in control. And there was definitely something appealing about that. About losing control and submitting to someone else. But there was an edge to it, too. I never was quite comfortable with the bad boy hero sweeping the woman, literally at times, off her feet. Surprising her or, God forbid, stalking her.

  And now I knew why.

  Those guys didn’t ask for permission. They didn’t create safety by indicating that the couple was in it together. But the way Kevin paused before each movement, checking on me, questioning? That was so fucking sexy I could hardly stand it.

  I nodded at him, almost imperceptivity. He saw. Reached around and unhooked my bra, then cupped my breasts again, moving his thumbs softly over the rounded flesh. His hands dropped and, again, he paused. When I assented, he slipped my panties down, lifting my hips slightly to get them from under me, then inched them down my legs.

  When I was fully undressed, he stepped back and looked at me. I was proud of my body. It was slender and strong, with definition in my abs and my triceps, where I worked hardest when I was on stage, playing my guitar. I blinked up at him.

  The way he was looking at me brought up my body temperature, made my pulse pound, tightened my longing for him, sped up the thrumming in my nerve endings. He untucked his shirt, but left it at that, not taking it off fully. I stuck my bottom lip out and he laughed.

  “May I touch you?”

  I nodded. Yes, please, please, please. I craved those fingers everywhere.

  His fingertips were feathers on my legs, walking up my calves. When he got to the backs of my knees, I discovered, for the first time, that I was mildly ticklish there. A giggle escaped and his chest rumbled, too, and he tickled again.

  He left my knees and gripped my thighs and my smile faded. My nostrils flared. He kneaded my muscles, worked his hands inwards, massaging the delicate skin of my inner thighs. It felt amazing. Blood rushed to my hips and my pulse quickened. He spread his hands over my belly, then my breasts again, up my neck, which I tilted back, and over my mouth. We locked eyes staring, for a full minute, his hand keeping me silent, the pressure on my lips almost as good as a kiss.

  He moved his hands to grip my hips and slide me forward, so that I was on the very edge of the counter. Our faces were almost touching, our breath mingling. The pulse in my neck pounded steadily, anticipating his next move. I breathed in the scent of him. There was so little sound and movement that it was easy to be completely tuned in to one another. I felt like the only thing in the world. Jimmy’s moved closer, pressing his lips to my ear, then my neck. Heat flared over the skin he touched. His head dropped, slowly, his tongue tracing a line over my chest, between my breasts and down my stomach. I wrapped my hands around the back of his head. Closed my eyes.

  I was naked, in Jimmy Keats’ kitchen, and his tongue was searching my body. Tasting me. Reaching for my clit.

  “You know what’s nice a
bout musicians?” he asked, his face buried between my thighs.

  “Hm?”

  “They’re good with their mouths.”

  I laughed a little, my body relaxing completely. “And their fingers, too. I’ll show you, later.”

  “I’ll show you, now.”

  Jimmy slipped one finger inside me, pressing high and forward, finding and stroking the sensitive area behind my clit. I moaned, tremors dancing over my legs and through my belly. His tongue flicked my clit, making me squirm, but then he slowed down and my body sank into his movements.

  “Amazing,” I whispered.

  He slid another finger inside. I rocked against his move, demanding more, loving that he was responding to my actions, taking them and lifting the sensations higher and harder. Giving more each time. His lips closed around my clit and he sucked. I gripped the counter with one hand and the cupboard above me with the other and threw my head back. My elbow knock a series of metal canisters to the ground. Their clanging blended with my cries of pleasure.

  Jimmy pulled back, pressing his thumb to where his mouth had been. “You taste so good,” he said.

  I pushed myself forward and reached for his pants, unbuttoning them and taking his hard erection in my hand.

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  Jimmy lifted me off the counter and bent me over the wooden kitchen table behind us. I grabbed the sides of the table as he gripped my hips and thrusted into me, pounding me with desperate need.

  “God damn, you are gorgeous.” He leaned forward, forcing his hands between the table and my breasts, cupping them as he filled me deeply. His cock rubbed against my g-spot and I dropped one hand to finger my clit, at the same time. I felt dizzy with need and desire, my orgasm building steadily. My hips bucked back against Jimmy, urging him to go faster. He obeyed. The kitchen table groaned under our weight. It inched across the floor, wood screeching against tile.

  “Jimmy…Jimmy,” I said. Finally, I reached my climax, luxuriating in the waves of pleasure rolling over me. Behind me, Jimmy gave one last push, gasping. We paused, catching our breath. When we both stood up fully and took a look around the kitchen—the table halfway across the room, drawers and cupboards hanging open, containers and utensils all over the floor, we caught each other’s eye and laughed.

  5.

  We puttered around the kitchen, naked, until we found a bottle opener for the wine. I snuck glances at Jimmy, blushing slightly when he caught me looking at him. We sat on the floor, sipping straight out of the bottle, and talked about our musical influences. Jimmy told me how and when he learned to play the piano. How he loved learning new instruments. I asked how many he could play.

  “About a dozen. More or less.”

  “Impressive.”

  “It’s about time I impressed you.”

  I pushed his shoulder, playfully. “You impressed me on the counter. And over the table…”

  He pressed a kiss to my forehead and heat filled my cheeks, again. “I want to keep impressing you.”

  We headed up to his bedroom, but he only tucked me in. “Because you need sleep to keep that brilliant brain in top working condition.”

  I watched him for a long time, after he’d climbed in next to me and turned out the light, the moon glow through the window just bright enough for me to make out his outline. Jimmy was surprising me. In a good way. Maybe in a dangerous way. Neither of which I minded.

  I nestled into his soft sheets and down covers and let my well-worked body relax into dreams.

  It was almost afternoon when we finally woke. Kevin’s sheets were the perfect blend of cool and warm, and soft on my bare legs. The sun streamed in gently through his window and the weight of his arm over my waist felt perfect. I let go of a contented breath and snuggled closer to him, pressing my back into his chest. He poked back, against my ass, and I knew he was happy I was in his bed this morning, too.

  “You’re gorgeous in the morning,” he mumbled against my hair.

  I smiled and reveled in the sound of his still-sleepy voice. “You can’t even see my face.”

  “I don’t have to. I just know.” He rubbed his hand over my stomach in slow circles.

  “I had a lot of fun last night,” I said.

  Kevin put his hand on my shoulder and rolled me to face him. “Me, too. We should do it again. Lots of agains.”

  I caught a breath, searched his eyes, his softened mouth. “I suppose…” I didn’t know how to tell him that I figured we were just playing around, here. It sounded so harsh. But he was the kind of man who could hurt me a lot—and in more ways than one—if I let myself trust him too much. I had to protect myself.

  “You suppose…because you don’t want to invest that much of yourself in me?”

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “What if I want you to?” he asked.

  I didn’t know how to answer him. Was he saying that he saw potential in our relationship? That he wanted a level of trust reserved for people who were more…serious? As much as I liked Kevin, as much as I trusted him to treat my body well, I wasn’t sure I could give him more than that. Everything was getting so complicated.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said. “Who’s your favorite person in World Wonder?”

  “Myself.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he flashed me a self-deprecating grin. “Nah, I’d have to say Payton. I’m close with all the guys, you know, but he’s like a brother to me.”

  “That’s nice that you have that. Closeness. That’s like me and the Delta Gamma ladies.”

  “I don’t have to ask who your favorite person World Wonder is.”

  “You’re so sure I would pick you?” I walked my fingers up his ribs and grinned when his body shivered. Ticklish.

  “No, I know you wouldn’t pick any of us. You can’t stand World Wonder.”

  I laughed and tickled him more, testing his stomach, every inch of his sides, his legs. He was sensitive all over. His laughter made me happy; it was bright and effusive. Rolling like waves. He grabbed my wrists and wrestled me back, his face looming over mine as he held me against the pillows.

  “More cooking in the kitchen?” I teased.

  “Definitely. Except right now…we should get something to eat, for real.”

  “Right now?” My foot inched up his leg, teasingly. His arm around me tightened.

  “Definitely not right now. Later. Much later. Brunch. No, it’s too late for that. Dinner.” His lips began playing a pattern over my shoulders. I wanted to sink into his kisses, but the word “dinner” made my eyes fly open.

  “Shit,” I said, throwing Kevin’s blankets off me and leaping from bed. My clothes were in a heap. I knew they’d be wrinkled, and I knew I’d get looks from my DG sisters as I did my walk of shame, but I didn’t have time to worry about that, now. I threw them on. “I can’t do dinner. I can’t…do anything. I have an exam tomorrow that I really need to study for. I cannot fall behind in this class.”

  I sat back on the bed to put my shoes on and let my eyes linger on his naked body. He looked so appealing. Really, his slim, muscled body looked good all the time. I was tempted to peel my shoes and clothes right back off and snuggle under the covers again. But doing well in my classes was important, too. Especially now. This was the last term grad schools would be looking at, grades-wise, and they had to be stellar.

  “You can’t study on an empty stomach. Let’s get a bite.”

  I reached over and pressed a kiss to Kevin’s nose, then lips. I did not want to leave him. I wanted to stay holed up here for days on end. I just couldn’t. Maybe, though, he was right about needing to eat.

  “Okay,” I said against his mouth. “Something quick.”

  *

  Kevin made a phone call while I applied a sweep of lip gloss and tried to tame my hair. “Do you like Lalique?” he asked me.

  I’d heard of the exclusive restaurant, but never been inside. He should have known that. I popped my lips at the woman staring back at me in the mirror,
reminded that he’s a star and I’m a nothing.

  A nothing who claimed a whole night of his.

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  He drove us there in his Mustang, pulling in for valet parking. The hallway to the reception desk was long and lined with mirrors, shimmering gold finishes and crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. My shoes made zero noise on the plush carpets and even in the main room, once I’d reached it, there was a soft hush of sound as diners set silverware on their plates and servers bent down to check on everyone’s needs. It felt intimate, even though it was cavernous.

  We stopped in front of the host’s podium. The woman behind it wore a fitted, black silk tuxedo and her hair was slicked back into a tight, low bun. Her red lips pressed together slightly when she took in my rumpled outfit, but a professional smile battled through.

  Her glance switched to Kevin and her smile took on a bit of realness. I thought bac to last night. To feeling sorry for the mega-star who didn’t even know his way around his own hoe, then contrasted that with this. With his ability to get reservations anywhere at the last second. To being able to afford restaurants like this, at all. To people falling all over themselves to serve him, make him happy. His was a life full of strange juxtapositions.

  “Good morning, Mr. Keats. Your table is right this way.”

  She led us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. The brocade-covered sides were high. Privacy, taken seriously.

  I sat across from Kevin, wondering briefly if he’d made the reservation as Jimmy, or as Kevin, before forcing myself to stop thinking about it. I wanted to know how special I was to him too much, and that was a problem. We were just having fun.

  While Kevin organized his flatware, making sure each piece was in a perfectly straight line, a server came with a cappuccino topped with thick milk foam, a mug of hot water with a little box of assorted teas, a Bloody Mary and a Mimosa on a tray. I bit back a laugh as the server lined up each beverage in front of me. Then, I looked up to catch Kevin’s eyes. He watched me, not the drinks, his dark eyes guarded, but sharply interested in my decision.