A curious warmth that seemed to always be present around her found its way into his body and squeezed his heart like a glove.
“Hi,” Mary welcomed, smiling at him.
“Hi,” Michael responded, motioning her ahead of him towards the cars parked all along the street. When she stopped, he realized she didn’t know which car was his.
“Up to your right, the black Jeep,” he answered in response to her silent question. Michael managed to move fast enough ahead of her to open the passenger door. Once they settled in, he maneuvered out of the spot as the Scissor Sisters came through the speakers.
“You listen to music?” Mary questioned.
“Yes,” he coughed. “I love music.”
“What kind? Are you a classic rock, new rock, alternative, or soul kind of guy?”
Swinging his eyes towards Mary in the twilight, Michael attempted to summon some secret reserve of flirtatious ambition.
“What kind of music do you think I like?” he teased back, loving the light banter.
Okay, he could do this.
He could flirt like any other man in the presence of an attractive woman.
“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say maybe classic and new rock?” she suggested.
He beamed at her. “You would be right.”
Michael maneuvered the Jeep left on Southeast 35th off of Hawthorne.
“Are we going to Three Doors Down?” she asked.
“Yes. Have you been here before?” he countered.
“Once and I loved it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Michael smiled to share Mary’s joy as they entered the neighborhood Italian restaurant. The intimate setting was full, flush with patrons filling all the tables, the bar stools, and milling around waiting for the hostess to call their name. Younger families with school-age children blended with couples of all ages - twentyish hipsters in cords and clogs mingled with retirees sporting political messages on their shirts. The space was brighter than Michael originally wanted, but Mary’s smile banished any doubts he had about choosing the place.
They didn’t wait long and were seated at an intimate table towards the back corner, private and intimate. Mary ordered a Moretti. As though by tacit agreement, they both looked down at their menus rather than at each other.
Michael was content to stare at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, occasionally lifting his lips in an imitation of a smile, but wasn’t quite sure how to make it happen. Or wasn’t completely sure he should be smiling.
Mary looked fantastic. All female and feminine in her pretty purple dress, although he wished she’d worn her glasses. He liked her with them. He wanted the whole world to know how smart she was. And she was out with him. Michael Santiago. The poor, dumb, fucked up kid from Larson, Texas.
~ * ~ * ~
For a man who earned his living wearing a football uniform, he should have been a professional model, Mary mused. The black silk of his jacket cradled his wide shoulders and emphasized his deep chest while the black shirt he wore underneath tantalized with a hint of his throat, enough to make a woman want to lean in and kiss him right there at the exact spot where his collarbone connected with his throat. One, long, luscious lick from throat to bone. His suit set off his dark skin while the lighting made his skin glow as though there was a special spotlight on it. His skin was beautiful, his high cheekbones prominent and his full lips softened from his perpetual grimace. His trim haircut emphasized the beautiful bone structure of his face.
After they ordered, Mary got down to the business of conversation. She wanted to find something completely non-controversial, determined to avoid a replay of their prior dinner.
“It seems like you guys are having a good season this year,” Mary began.
“Yeah. Yeah, we are. We’ve had a few unexpected injuries that have changed our dynamics a little bit, but we’re limping along.”
“Who’s been injured? I watch football every week and I don’t remember any mention of any major injuries,” Mary queried.
Michael frowned. “The press only likes to mention what they consider the big injuries to the big names. But any starting player who is out or is injured for any length of time affects the team. A couple of weeks ago I lost my left defensive end and in his place, we have a rookie.”
“Johnson?”
It was as though a thundercloud passed over Michael’s face.
Oh no. Not again.
“You know Tamar?” Michael accused, glowering at Mary across the table.
“Of course not,” Mary assured him. “But I did watch the game when the other guy--Campbell--was it, was injured. At that point, I remember one of the commentators remarking one of the Tide’s first round draft picks was a defensive end and would likely start in his place if he was out for any amount of time.”
Michael visibly relaxed. His hunched up shoulders rolled back and his intensive stare lightened up.
“Oh, ok. Good. That’s good,” Michael said, while a slight flush crept up on his cheeks and he looked away for the first time all night.
“Did you ever consider doing anything else other than playing football?” Mary asked after a few minutes as patrons clinked their glasses and the wait staff scurried around the restaurant.
“No. You? Anything other than teaching?”
“No, not really.”
Throughout the rest of their meal, they stuck to benign subjects like how wet and rainy the Portland winters could be, whether the Blazers had a chance. Michael admitted he didn’t watch or know much about basketball, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, if the mayor would be re-elected despite a current sex scandal involving an eighteen year old intern, and reminisced about some of the best things at Wisconsin.
“I can’t believe you never, not once, hung out at The Terrace on a sunny afternoon, drinking beer and scoping girls,” Mary teased as they made their way out of Three Doors Down, full of pasta and tiramisu, and slightly, pleasantly buzzed. From both the Moretti and Michael. Michael clasped her hand in his much warmer, much larger one as they made their way towards his car as though it was the most natural action in the world. Expected, even. After opening her door and seeing her safely inside, Michael jumped around the hood to the driver’s side, got in, fired up the Jeep and drove them back towards Northwest.
“If you drank, I’d suggest we go somewhere for a nightcap,” Mary mentioned.
“If you want to go somewhere, we can,” Michael offered. “Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“No, it’s ok. I’d feel selfish making you take me somewhere for a drink while you’re drinking water.”
Sometime during the ride to her apartment, Mary noted the air shifted. Earlier, the air between the two of them had been playful and fun with a minor current of sexual tension and sparking anticipation.
Now the sparks had turned heavy with excitement.
As they reached her street, Mary asked, “Would you like to come in?”
“I’d love to.”
He parked the Jeep directly across from her apartment and followed her inside. Max promptly greeted them at the door all full of love and delight. “Just a minute. I need to take him out for a sec,” she remarked while reaching for his leash.
“Let me take him. You shouldn’t be out at night,” Michael declared.
Mary looked at him. “I’m a big girl, Michael. This is a safe neighborhood and Max will protect me from anyone.”
“I’m still taking him out. We’ll be back in a minute.”
“Ok, take my keys then,” Mary said handing him her set. “This way you can let yourself back in when you’re done.”
After he left, Mary placed her pumps in her closet, turned on some old school Radiohead, grabbed a glass of water, and waited for Michael and Max to return. She seated herself on her couch, tucking her legs under her, waiting and thinking.
The evening had been lovely. Michael had been quiet, but gracious. Engaged. Reticently charming. She’d noticed so
me glances at the two them while they’d been dining, but one of the nicest things about Portland was that its citizens gave the resident athletes their space. People had recognized Michael. A few had turned, pointed, and whispered among themselves. Heads were nodded by diners and patrons in their direction and a few folks had even pointed their beer bottles, wine glasses, and high ball glasses in their direction when they’d caught their eyes, although Michael hadn’t acknowledged anyone else.
Which she loved.
For his part, Michael had been a complete gentleman, opening doors for her all night, waiting for her to be seated before he took his own, engaged in her life, giving her his entire attention all evening from the time he picked her up until taking Max outside.
Michael came back in, rubbed Max’s ears, put his leash up on its hook by the door, placed his suit jacket on the back of the loveseat, and joined Mary on the couch. She was in one corner and he was in the opposite end. Sitting next to him, she was intensely aware of how male he was.
How strong.
How quiet.
The air was ripe with expectation and not a little trepidation. On both sides.
“Come here,” he ordered.
“Why?” she asked.
“Come here,” Michael directed, his lips twitching as though amused by her question.
She kept moving closer until she couldn’t get any further without sitting right on top of him.
Which sounded pretty darn nice right about now.
Finally, Michael pulled her the rest of the way towards him, putting her in the vee of his crotch, took her face between his hands, and planted one on her. He methodically coaxed her mouth open until she let him all the way in. He tasted like the tiramisu they’d finished their meal with. Sweet with a slight hint of coffee. His tongue invited hers to come out and play, advancing and retreating. He moved his hands from her face to her waist, pulling her closer as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though she couldn’t be close enough, without ever once breaking the kiss.
Mary was adrift in sensation. Michael felt good. All hard angles, strong hands, and a persuasive mouth. His tongue would enter and retreat, repeat. Enter and retreat. Tease and plunder. In and out. Mary loved everything he was doing to her and she was desperate to return the favor. His body had been flirting with her all night…beckoning to her, begging her to touch him. She wanted to run her hands through his short, dark hair. Then place her hands on his broad shoulders spanning practically the entire back of her couch. From there, she’d move to his biceps and his pecs, going all along from north to south until she hit pay dirt.
~ * ~ * ~
Slowly Michael left Mary’s mouth to focus on her neck, nibbling all along, from her ear to her shoulders, sending shivers coursing through her, just shy of full-on body shudders. As Michael made his way all along her collarbone, he loved the way she smelled. Sweet and spicy. Girly. In his fantasies, this was the way he always imagined Mary smelled like. Soft in all the right places. Pliant. Supple.
The evening had been…perfect. Better than he could have hoped for or ever imagined. It was perfectly normal. This was what normal people did. It was what men and women did. It was what he and Mary did. Michael and Mary.
God, didn’t that sound perfect? He loved the sound of it.
Michael and Mary Santiago. Hello, we’re Michael and Mary Santiago. We have 2.4 kids, a house in the suburbs, a dog, and an SUV.
The sound of it settled in his mind, as though it was the way it was supposed to be.
He imagined this was what people did on a Saturday night rather than staying in, working out, checking out game footage, making notes, and going to bed. They went on dates to restaurants. They talked. They ordered dinner. They made out on a couch at the end of the evening as a prelude to sex.
All night it had been hard for him to fight against his natural disposition of silence. He didn’t like to talk about himself or much about anything, but he owed it to Mary to make nice. To actually be nice. Which actually hadn’t been hard since Mary was so kind and looked so good.
He loved looking at her. He could have looked at her all night. Her dark hair shone in the light, full of various complex shades of mahogany and golden honey browns. Michael loved the fact she didn’t wear make-up. She didn’t need any stuff mucking up her natural appeal, although she’d applied something glossy and pink to her pretty lips, which had spurred his fantasies all night. Her lips on his. On his cock. On his nipples. Anywhere she wanted to put them, he’d be on board.
He hadn’t actually kissed a woman since…Tracey.
Don’t go there, he cautioned himself. Wherever he was going to go in his fucked up head, it wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t pollute his time with Mary with thoughts of Tracey. He would never let his ex have that power over him again.
He wanted Mary. And it appeared the feeling was mutual. He’d made the decision to have her when she’d invited him in. It had been over six years since he’d been on a date with a woman, but he still remembered it was a good sign when they invited you in after the date.
He was tired of being cold. Alone. He could pleasure her, take care of her for tonight.
“You like this?” Michael asked as he moved his mouth from her neck to her right breast, playing with her nipple through the fabric, alternating between pinching and rubbing it.
“Yes,” she breathed, while his hands untied the wrap portion of the wrap dress, baring her breasts to him, the pretty mounds above her bra soft and lovely. Peachy-pink.
“Good,” Michael replied, moving his warm, heavy hands around her waist and upwards to cup her right breast and roll her nipple through her lacy, frothy bra before placing his mouth right where he wanted it.
“What is this?” Michael asked, finding the black lace garters securing her hose, threading his fingers between the lace and her warm flesh underneath.
“They’re-er-er garters,” she answered.
“I like them. But I think I’d like them off even more,” Michael murmured, a wicked smile splitting his lips as he unhooked the garter from her panties and lightly rolled her right hose down her leg and followed the trail it left with soft kisses. Butterfly soft. From the tops of her thighs, to the backs of her knees, until he reached her ankles.
Throwing the stocking over to the loveseat, he began having his way with Mary’s left hosiery, moving it slowly down, kissing each new sweet spot of skin revealed a second at a time. Michael had forgotten how soft women were. Had any woman in the history of the opposite sex been as sweetly soft as Mary? Every part of her was fragrant. Her neck tasted like sweet, feminine flesh. Her thighs had a slight lemony scent that was the sexiest scent he’d ever smelled. And he hadn’t even reached her core.
Her dress was unwrapped, leaving her front wide open. She now laid back in the comfort of the couch while Michael settled himself between her thighs, lifting her left leg high towards her chest while he gripped her right one with his left hand, effectively immobilizing her. She gazed at him as if there wasn’t any other place on earth she wanted to be. No other place existed except right here, right now. With him.
He stared back at her and crooked his lips slightly. A bashful feeling came over him, but he felt hopeful at the same time.
“Is this okay for you?” he asked.
“It’s more than okay,” she responded. “Except….”
“Except what?” Michael tensed, worried he’d done something wrong. Something which couldn’t be undone, something that was going to spoil this, his most perfect fantasy come to life this evening. Something that would stop this train they were both on before they were ready to get off. Figuratively and literally.
“I want to touch you too.”
“Let me take care of you tonight. That’s all you need to be concerned with.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of, Michael. I want to….” She looked down. “You know. I want to touch you too,” Mary said, indicating with her right hand the remainder of his body as it was poised
over hers.
Michael couldn’t stop the broad grin. “I think that can be arranged. But let me take care of you first,” he responded, reaching down and resuming his kisses all along her thighs, planting the sweetest of kisses all along the way until he reached her center.
He was humbled. And ashamed. Deeply ashamed. Mary was a woman who deserved nothing less than a picture perfect husband, smart as a whip who would give her the white picket fence, baby blankets, babies to play on the blankets, strollers, and 401(k) plans.
The image sure as shit wasn’t him.
The loss almost choked him.
But despite that, despite the fact he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, give her anything she wanted, everything she deserved, and everything meant for her, none of it was going to stop him now. He was going to live up to be the bastard he’d always been. The prick he’d been born as--Don Santiago’s son.
Enough. He could give her a big, fat orgasm. That was pretty much all he was good for.
~ * ~ * ~
Michael’s fingers continued up and down in an agonizing imitation of what it would feel like once they were removed. Strong and sure, each of his strokes sent a bolt of wet heat straight to her center.
“These are pretty sexy panties, Ms. Richardson,” he teased her, flicking his eyes to capture hers as he moved his two fingers all along the outside of her panties, tracing her slit through the black silk causing her to whimper and involuntarily move to rub up against his fingers.
“I, ah, bought them recently,” she breathed, lost in the sensation of the magic of his hands as he manipulated her through the black silk.
“Did you buy them for anyone special?”Michael questioned, adding another finger to the mix, stroking the silk back and forth, up and down, driving her crazy.
“Depends,” Mary answered, moving her hands over his short trim, desperate to touch him and give him some of the same enjoyment he was lavishing upon her. She felt adored. Worshipped. And she wanted to return the favor.
“Depends.” A kiss on her calf stoked her desire from the inside out. “On.” Another kiss that began at the sensitive skin above her knee and traveled upwards. “What?” Still another kiss higher up, on her inner thigh, close to where she wanted his mouth, but not quite.
Hail Mary Page 10