Ex-Con Times Two

by Jay S. Wilder

  Her hands reach up and grip my hair in tight fists. There’s no turning back now. I have to have her.

  Tonight.

  Grabbing her hips, I take her with me as I back up and lean against the wall behind me. Mary Anne is really into this. She starts winding her hips in small circles that have my cock rock hard in no time. I pull her tighter against me to show her the effect she’s having on my groin area. She does not back away. Her breathing speeds up, and her breasts heave against my chest. I’m thinking I need to get her some place private before I end up ripping off what little clothes she has on right now. Too bad the music downshifts to something slow and creepy from Corpse Bride, killing the mood.

  Or so I thought.

  Mary Anne pulls away, but takes my hand as she rushes off the dance floor and down the wide main floor hallways. All I can think about is getting her tight little body against me again. Apparently she’s contemplating the same thing when she pushes open one of the closed powder room doors at the end of the hall and drags me inside.

  The air around us starts to spark with energy. Mary Anne gazes up at me and returns her hand to the back of my neck. Letting her body sway forward into my chest, she trails her hand down the side of my face. I wasn’t expecting this tenderness from her. It’s as though she’s been waiting for years to know what my skin feels like. I cover her hand with mine and turn my head, kissing her palm. Her eyes flutter closed as I graze my lips from her fingers down to her mouth.

  Mary Anne is worked up into a frenzied state. Our hands are all over each other, and our kissing is fierce and wild and almost angry, the kind of kiss that leave lips raw and swollen. My hands slip down to her hips, and she tugs at the waistband of my costume, which is pretty futile, given that it’s a fucking jumpsuit. Yeah, I should have thought ahead with this onesie piece of crap. I either need to rip it off my body or turn into a dainty little douche by turning around so she can get at the zipper and Velcro keeping this thing on me. Whatever there is between us, it’s been building up for years. I don’t want a minute to slow down, think or bring any logic into the equation. From where I’m standing, she doesn’t either. I don’t exactly know what to call what’s going down. It’s not romantic or sweet. It’s primal and crude and long overdue.

  I choose option one.

  The Captain America getup is suddenly shreds of fabric as I grip the back of my costume and tear Velcro from polyester until I’ve peeled what’s left down my chest and abs. Gripping Mary Anne by her waist, I pick her up, wrap her legs around my hips, and carry her to the marble counter at the powder room sink. I kiss and bite hungrily down her neck and collarbone, letting my hands roam freely up and down her legs. Sexy whimpers escape her mouth. I swear the way she moans out my name makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and leave this party like a caveman. Every sound is hardwired to my cock, which responds by twitching, throbbing, and expanding in my tights. I let out a growl when her fingers dig sharply into my shoulders. That mixture of pain and pleasure is only going to make later on all the more stimulating for both of us.

  Mary Anne grips around my hips with her legs and grinds her heat against my rigid cock. All I can do is stretch into the convenient side pocket. I retrieve a condom. I’m prepared because I’ve been waiting forever, and for some fucked up reason, that whole thought process makes me pull back. I don’t want her this way. I want memorable. I want her stretched out in my bed, naked, with all her red hair fanned out on my pillow. I want her to know what it feels like to have an entire night with me pleasuring her over and over until she doesn’t want anyone else’s hands or lips or other body parts touching her.

  I want to ruin her and keep her for myself.

  “We’re leaving,” I announce, helping her to her feet.

  “What?” she asks, still overcome and disoriented.

  “We’re going to my place.” I say it with such finality, she nods and takes my hand.

  “I just need to grab my purse from upstairs. Meet you at the front door?”

  “Sure.”

  She runs her hands down my bare chest, smiling at what I can only guess is what’s left of my costume. “Looks like you and the Hulk had a brawl. Either that, or you’re going through an identity crisis.”

  My hands make it into her hair and I tilt her face up to mine. “This is what being close to you does to me,” I growl into her ear. “Hurry up so I can show you more.”

  Mary Anne grins and leaves ahead of me. I make my way to the front door, but on the way there, the arrival of a new guest does not impress me at all.

  Chapter 5

  Mary Anne

  I’m glad to catch sight of Holly and Wendy coming down the stairs after temporarily parting ways with a shirtless Levi. It means I won’t have too much time to change my mind. What I started in the bathroom with Levi is far from over. It’s hardly begun. I don’t even want to stop and unpack any thoughts, desires, fears or emotions right now. My goal is to make sure Holly got her wrath out of her system, get my purse from Wendy, and let Levi take me away from here so we can make this night more interesting.

  “Great timing, girls. I was just on my way up to grab my clutch. You still have it, right, Wendy?” I ask at the bottom of the stairs.

  She nods and scoops it out of her bag. “Here you go.”

  “How did you ladies do?” I ask.

  “I talked her off a ledge,” Wendy announces proudly over the Ghostbusters theme song the DJ just put on.

  “What? What ledge?”

  Holly moves to the music a little, but shakes her head. “What Wendy is trying to say is that thanks to her, I took the high road and did not go through with spray-painting Reese’s personal effects.”

  “Hang on. That’s not what I intended to say at all,” Wendy objects, glaring over at Holly. “Our devil in training can only be credited with not causing the house to go up in flames right now.”

  “What the hell? Christ, you brought the lighter fluid?” I screech, then I glance to the left and right to check whether anyone heard me.

  “Relax. I only doused the clothes with it. I didn’t light a match or anything.”

  “And you left them on the floor?”

  “What else do want me to do? Mess up my costume by gathering it up and taking them to the laundry room? That’s the least Reese can do when she finds the pile. She should be thanking me.”

  “Those clothes have to be handwashed now,” I tell Holly, pressing my lips together to avoid losing my shit right now. I push past my friends, who follow me back up the stairs and into Reese’s room. “Can one of you check for where there’s a deep enough sink?”

  Holly grips my arm as I step in front of the pile of clothes. “We are not cleaning this up,” she insists. “Why go through all the trouble to do this and then fix it ourselves?”

  “Do I really need to answer that? You went too far.” I gesture over at Wendy. “Check that door on the side of the armchair. That’s probably her en-suite bathroom. Fill the tub with cool, soapy water. I’ll get these in there. I’m heading out after this, so it’s okay if stuff gets on my clothes. Just pray no one is throwing around firecrackers or ends up flicking a cigarette at me, because I’ll be in fucking flames on Halloween night!” I scream.

  Most of the tension in my tone has to do with the frustration going on between my legs, but they don’t need to know what Levi and I got up to while they were toying with a possible arson charge.

  I scoop up the clothes by the armful and take them to the tub. A few trips and we’re done before the water fills up. I smell like I work at a gas station, but whatever. Maybe Levi won’t notice.

  “I’m out of here, ladies,” I announce when Wendy turns off the tap.

  “Come on. Don’t go yet,” Holly begs from the bathroom door. “Let’s at least have a few drinks downstairs, and dance a bit.”

  “Did you not hear the part about my clothes reeking? I can’t keep wearing these.”

  Holly points to Reese’s closet. “How about
a switcheroo courtesy of the man-stealing bitch of the hour?”

  “For a smart girl, you can really say some dumb shit sometimes, Holly,” I bark, already at the edge of my rope. “From vandalism to arson to larceny. What’s next? Kidnapping and murder?”

  She titters out a fake laugh. “You’re overreacting. I’d never go that far. Murder’s pretty extreme. Plus it’s not kidnapping if I lock her in a coffin for under three hours in her own house during a Halloween party. It’s just a prank. Trust me, I checked… Unless she dies…” Her voice trails off for a moment. Wendy and I don’t budge. “Come on. One drink and we’re out,” Holly adds, turning on her heel. I get the feeling Wendy is as concerned as I am about Holly’s mental health. “Why are we still here? Let’s get downstairs.”

  I huff out a breath.

  Holly’s statement sheds new light on how she knew Levi was lying about Reese being on her way to her room earlier. I ask myself whether or not I want to know if Holly is serious about putting Reese on lockdown in a coffin.

  No.

  Hell no, I don’t, but it bothers the crap out of me.

  My buzz is officially killed. I’m not even horny anymore. Not when I smell like noxious fumes and I'm worried about Holly's prank going too far. Grumpy now, I follow them downstairs. “We’re getting Reese out first, Holly,” I inform her.

  “Why?” Holly only has to look at me to know I mean business. ”Fine. She’s in the basement.”

  We hurry through the partying crowd. Half of them are doing versions of the dance from Thriller as the song plays—some better than others, depending on natural dance talent, stages of inebriation, and the amount of wiggle room they have to work with inside their costumes. One guy dressed in a Blue Man Group stretch skinsuit costume is hitting all the right angles. The dude who fashioned a standing dachshund out of cardboard—not so much. But at least they're all way more lighthearted than the three of us. I’m here to party, dammit, not clean up the crazy lady’s mess.

  Holly shows us the door to the basement. “Okay girls. Just make a right, then two lefts when you get down these steps. It’s a huge space, so look for the cordoned-off red velvet rope barriers. She’s in the room behind it.”

  I wave a hand to stop her. “Hang on right there, honey. You’re not coming?”

  She shakes her head absently. Or maybe that’s guilt. “If I go down there and let her out, she'll know it was me. It’s better if you two go alone. You can just say you wandered into the room and found her.”

  “Why would she even think it was you at all?”

  Holly stares at her nails. “She wouldn’t. I’ve always been nice to her. I just feel it’s better this way.” Her lips start to tremble. Tears well up in her eyes, and she sits on the gray leather, tufted seat cushion beside the door. “I just can’t face her, guys. Reese really hurt me back then. The day that I told her I was going to marry Carver, it was during the first break at grade school. She was on him by lunch! I know it was just third grade, but I loved him… I really did,” she whimpers. “I think I still do, but he won’t even look in my direction because of who my dad is.”

  Wow. What a revelation. It doesn’t excuse Holly from what she’s done tonight, but hell, I did not know she's had an almost lifelong hankering for Carver. Sure, I’ve noticed them checking each other out, but wow. That sure explains a hell of a lot. Holly’s dad is the head coach of LSU’s football team, and Carver is one of the top players. Even Levi goes on and on about the kid. That would make Holly completely off-limits to that entire team. Forbidden fruit. I doubt any college athlete at all would chance to look at her. Her dad can probably get a ping pong player cut from an LSU team if he so desires. No wonder she’s gone all Black Swan on us.

  Wendy and I sit on each side of her. I rub her back while Wendy digs around in her purse for tissues.

  “It’s all right, hun,” I tell her. “I’m sorry she did that to you… and it sucks that your dad being head coach cramps your social life. I really do, but you have to see that this… this stunt is taking things too far. You do see that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Good.” I look at her hunched-over sobbing form, and nod at Wendy. “You drove here, right?”

  “Yes. I parked about a block away.”

  “Take her home. I’ll get Reese out of the coffin and make sure she’s not dead,” I tell her, smiling inwardly because what I just uttered can only be said on Halloween. On any other day of the year, that statement would land me in a mental hospital for observation as an unstable necrophiliac-slash-sociopath, or in an interview room down at the police department. I fucking love this holiday. “And Holly, get your credit card ready, because you’re replacing all the pink shit you almost lit up in flames.”

  “Okay,” she slobbers, getting to her feet with Wendy.

  “I’ll stay with her until you get in,” Wendy adds.

  We have a group hug. “Thanks, hun. I’ll see you ladies back at the dorm,” I say, and head toward the door to the basement.

  Unsure of what state of panic and delirium Holly will be in, I don’t waste any time. I take the broad, smooth concrete steps to the well-lit lower level, and I follow Holly’s exact directions until I get to the room in question. Crossing over the barrier, I push open the door. Yes, this is the place. Dim large room, sleek black casket on a wheeled copper stand in the middle. It’s the same coffin those frat boys were bringing in earlier. The only problem is it’s eerily silent in here, even though right outside, I can still hear Every Breath You Take playing pretty loudly from upstairs. Which incidentally, makes me even more nervous. Who needs to listen to a song by a band called the Police, one that promises to stalk and monitor your every movement when you’re up to no good?

  “Reese?” I say, stepping around to unlatch the top of the coffin. I hope to God she’s alive in there. It takes all my strength to open the thing. Reese is inside. Awake. Taking selfies on her smartphone.

  “Oh hey, Mary Anne,” she says nonchalantly.

  “Are you all right?” I put my hand out to help her sit up, studying her carefully. Why is she not freaking out right now?

  “Yes, I’m good.”

  I look around the room. “Let me find you something you can use to step down more easily.”

  “All right,” she answers, taking another photo of herself with her head turned to one side.

  I drag over an wooden turn-of-the-century armoire covered in dust. “How long were you in here?”

  “Not long,” she answers and gets on her knees to keep the box stable. She flings one leg over the side. “Maybe an hour?”

  I help her dust off her Wonder Woman costume when she’s safely on solid ground. “So, uh, Reese, are you sure everything is okay? I mean, I’m helping you get out of a casket right now, and you don’t look upset at all.”

  She draws her eyebrows together and heads for the door. “Why would I be? I got almost an hour of silence from the chaos upstairs. My uncles have done way worse pranks at Halloween. If you think this is bad, try waking up at three in the morning to the buzz of a real-life chainsaw going off eight feet away from your head.”

  “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” I say, relieved. She’s unperturbed, and I’m feeling lucky, so I add, “Hey, there was also a little accident up in your room with some, uh, lighter fluid. I have to apologize in advance. Pretty much everything you own that’s pink got trashed. But I swear it’ll all be replaced. The girls and I will take you shopping next weekend or whenever you’re free. We’ll make a day of it.”

  “Sure,” she utters. I tilt my neck to see what she’s so busily tapping into her phone. She’s on Instagram, asking if the shots she took while inside the coffin look real enough to send to her uncles as payback for the chainsaw wake-up call.

  Clearly Holly messed with the right person this time.

  “Feel like a drink?” she asks me after locking her phone screen.

  “Hell yeah. Lead the way, Amazon princess. Jus
t keep me away from heat, sparks and open flames, and we’ll be golden.”

  After all this, I don’t want shots anymore. I want a whole bottle of bourbon. A bottle. Or two. Or more. That will help. And maybe when I see Levi again, my mood will be much improved.

  I forget all about any residual fuel on my clothes and my Reese rescue after I guzzle drink after drink. Damn, I’m good at holding my liquor. It’s a gift. Reese and I dance in the corner, on tables, on one another, and at some point we get picked up—literally—by some massive footballer who carries us around, one on each shoulder. His name escapes me on account of the alcohol, although I distinctly remember telling myself this blond giant is a standup guy, to lug us around without ever once copping a feel.

  I haven’t seen Levi this whole time, so I figure I’ll enjoy the atmosphere and the booze. If he shows up, cool. If not, I won’t have waited around missing out on all this fun. I eventually get separated from Reese, who is swept up in the crowd. I can’t blame her for wanting to drink. This is kind of her house, and she’s got to stick around until the party’s over. I want to drink to forget how far Holly almost took this stupid payback prank. Since when was the ”trick” in ”trick or treat” taken this seriously?

  I’ve consumed so much alcohol that both my stomach and my bladder are full. Taking a trip to the same powder room where Levi and I were making out is in order. Maybe it will get me in the mood again, and he’ll magically show up. I head over there with a little chip in my semi-inebriated step. Just outside the bathroom, there’s a guy slumped on the floor. He’s wearing just a gladiator costume bottom and a matching helmet with a red feather plume on top. His cape, chest armor, and braided sandals are in a pile beside him. I gingerly step over his legs and knock on the bathroom door in case someone is inside. A second later, I’m face-to-face with Levi. I hold my breath, taking in the image in front of me. At the moment, Levi Eldridge has an unconscious, half-naked woman thrown over his shoulder. Her ass and legs are hanging down his bare chest, and her head and arms dangle behind him. I can’t even begin to guess what her costume is. Or was. She’s barely got anything on.