Slip of the Tongue

by Jessica Hawkins

  Images flash across the screen the way my memory replays my short history with Finn. I start at the beginning, in the coffee shop, looking up at him in the sunlight that poured through the window. Perhaps it’s a more pivotal moment in my life than I realized. Perhaps my love story actually began then instead of on a beach years later. I can’t say this is love. Whatever it is, it’s coated in lust—I know that. My judgment is unreliable. But I can’t deny that this could easily become more.

  I fast forward to yesterday. The way he lovingly fixed my hair for our photo shoot. Kahlúa and coffee under the gray cover of storm clouds. My dress pushed down one shoulder for his camera, for his eyes. The way he pinched my skin in his teeth and refused to let me come at first. Him, above me, muscled arms, kissing his way down my torso, blond hair tickling my skin.

  My pants are still unbuttoned. I slide my hand down the front. It’s a few seconds before Finn straightens up next to me. “What are you doing?”

  I bite my bottom lip and breathe through my nose. My fingers know this song by heart, but even if they didn’t, I don’t think it would take me long. Remembering all the ways Finn touched me has me riding the tallest waves, singing at the highest pitch.

  Finn doesn’t take his eyes off me.

  “I can’t wait until the end,” I say.

  He grabs my wrist to still me. “But I want you to. I want you sitting there for the next couple hours, aching to have me inside you. Wondering how I’m going to make it happen when we have nowhere to go fuck.”

  He removes my hand and kisses each of my fingertips before nipping the pad of my pinkie. I gasp silently. My chest rises and falls. I slide down in my seat, buck my hips, try to rub my clit against the rigid seam of my jeans. I may be able to do this without hands.

  “Stop squirming,” he says, his voice deep and low. “You really can’t handle it, can you? You want my cock.”

  Cock. My vision blurs. I need it. I think I’ll die without it. I bend over his lap. He doesn’t stop me from undoing his fly. He also doesn’t help me. I get frustrated fumbling in the dark and start pulling at the denim like a junkie who needs a fix. Finally, I get into his underwear and take him out and into my slobbering mouth. With a groan, he shoves me down until he hits the back of my throat. He tests my limits. My eyes water, and I fight for air. He lets me up. I immediately go back for more. When my side cramps from the angle, I get on the floor, contorting my body into the small space. My knees protest against the ground, but I don’t care. Finn moves his hands to my shoulders. There’s tension in every part of him as he digs his fingers into my skin, his thigh muscles going taut. I can feel his effort to stay quiet through his entire body.

  I’m prolonging my own orgasm, but this satisfies me in a way nothing else can, not even sex. His pleasure before mine. I want him to use my mouth how he needs. He isn’t gentle.

  He pulls my head back by my hair, and we look at each other. I gape inelegantly, my mouth wide and wet. He grabs my biceps and drags me up. My knees, stuck to the floor, come up with a pinch.

  Finn turns me toward the screen and sits me on his lap, between his thighs. “Close your legs,” he says.

  When I do, he yanks my jeans and thong halfway down. “Finn—” I don’t recognize my own guttural voice. With the crinkling of a condom wrapper, one of the girls shifts like she’s going to turn around, but she doesn’t. “We can’t. Not here.”

  He lifts me up just enough to spread only my lips for him. “You sure?” he taunts. He leaves me suspended and trembling on the blunt tip of his cock. The film has gone quiet for a solemn scene. I brace myself against the seatback in front of me as he guides me down by my hips. My closed legs resist, but he pushes through it, splitting me up the middle. My teeth hurt from clenching them. The onscreen actress cries silently. I’m sure everyone can hear me breathing through my nose. Finn fills me completely so I’m seated in his lap. My muscles contract around him and release. I loosen my grip. This is what I need. I’m too stunned to move, so he urges me up and down by my waist. I can’t tell if the sparks in my eyes are from Finn hitting me in all the right places, or if they’re part of the movie.

  Finn’s mouth is in my hair, hot on the back of my neck. “Ride me, Sadie.”

  I swivel my hips in circles, chasing my orgasm. He puts his hands under my sweater and pulls on the cups of my bra. I suck in a moan as he grasps my breasts. I ride him, possessing his cock. The actors go about their business. Every few seconds, his fingertips tighten on my nipples. I make a small noise, and his tugging becomes tweaks and pinches. He wants me to scream. Cries of pleasure travel up my throat. I squirm more frantically on his lap trying to hold them in. When the intensity overtakes me, I let out a groan. He lets go, and we still. More than one moviegoer looks back. Our bodies tremble together. We wait. When they turn forward, Finn massages the sting away as he takes over and begins bucking up into me.

  When I’m close, he pushes my upper back until my face is level with the seat in front of us. He grips my hips and fucks me straight into an orgasm. We talk to each other—oh, God, fuck me, yes! My pussy constricts around him, sucking him deeper. My climax lasts longer than I’m used to, intensified by the angle, the friction, the thrill of being in public, my impossible struggle to contain myself.

  A silhouette rises in front of us, blocking the screen. I reach back and hit Finn’s arm, trying to get his attention. He grabs my elbow and pulls me onto him harder, faster.

  “Finn—” He slaps a hand over my mouth.

  A girl looks right at us as she passes the last row. My ears ring. I miss whatever she mutters. Finn fucks me at lightning speed, grits out, “Hol-y—Sadie,” and pulls my hair as he comes. For a few seconds, he shudders uncontrollably, muttering words I can’t decipher.

  I’m immovable. Unable to function. Holy Sadie. I can’t imagine ever getting up from this spot, but almost immediately, Finn springs into action. He lifts me off his lap. I’m disoriented. I let him move me around. He puts me in my seat, turns to block me from the aisle, and does up my pants. My nipples are still out of their bra, pressed against the softness of my sweater. He fixes that too.

  When the door opens, light slices through the theater. Finn’s zipper hisses. A man whisper-yells at us from the end of the row. “Excuse me. Hello?”

  “Fuck,” Finn mutters, running his hand through his hair and beard.

  I look over his shoulder. The theater attendant waves a glowing, orange wand. “Sir? I have to ask you both to leave.”

  Finn takes my arm and pulls me up so fast, the room spins. I’m throbbing in my jeans. We inch toward the man with the vest. The girl who ratted us out stands behind him, her arms crossed.

  I trip. Finn slips his arm around my waist. “Did you get everything?” he asks me. “Purse?”

  I nod, even though he isn’t looking at me.

  “Sir,” the man starts, “you’re not—this behavior isn’t permit—”

  “We’re going,” Finn says irritably. He moves his hand from my waist to the back of my neck and doesn’t take it off me. I can barely keep up with his purposeful strides.

  The attendant trails us. “We ask that you not return.”

  Finn doesn’t even look back. “We won’t.”

  We’re back in the well-lit lobby. I keep my head down, letting my hair curtain my face. I feel the employees looking at us anyway. I don’t want Finn to let go of me, but we’re in public now. I duck out from under his hand, and he lets me.

  Outside, the cold November air is a slap in the face. It shocks me all the way into my lungs. Finn takes my coat from my hands and wraps it around my shoulders, even though he’s still holding his jacket.

  “Fuck this,” he says as we walk. “All I want to do right now is lie down—with you. My heart’s going a mile a minute.”

  Mine’s also pounding, but not like his, I’m sure. He came mere seconds before we were interrupted. “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “Aside from the fact that I’m still wearing
the condom?” I giggle as he wraps his arm around my neck and tilts my head back by my chin. “On top of the world. You?”

  “Good,” is all I can think to say, even though I’m soaring. My insides are gelatin. The intensity of my orgasm has left me glowing from the inside.

  “Those people got a little more show than they bargained for, didn’t they?”

  I smile. Somehow, he’s able to guide us through the crowd while looking down at me. “That girl saw us,” I say.

  “Yeah, she did. Kind of hot, though, isn’t it?”

  My insides pull deliciously. It does turn me on. It’s more than that, though. “She knows our secret.”

  He pulses his eyebrows. “Are you worried about running into someone you know?”

  “A little,” I say. “I don’t know if Nathan would even care anymore, though.”

  Finn looks forward again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I’m not, but I am. I’m sure that doesn’t feel good.”

  It doesn’t. My mind flashes to the pathetic look he gave me earlier before he walked out the door. I’m less important to him than stepping in a pile of shit—at least that would be irritating enough to elicit a reaction. I push Finn’s arm off.

  “I hate that I can’t show you how I feel,” he says.

  “I’m pretty sure you just did,” I tease him.

  “Which neighborhood is he in today? So I know where to avoid,” he adds.

  He’s frustrated. Any honest thing I could say would only make things worse, though. “Most likely, he’s not far from here,” I say. “He usually volunteers at the kitchen near Sixth Avenue.”

  Finn leaps off the curb and hails the first cab he sees.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he ushers me in.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  As we pile into the cab, I don’t tell Finn it doesn’t matter where we go or how far we get. The day has to end at some point. And when it does, I’ll go home to Nathan. That’s a reality he can’t escape.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Anywhere turns out to be Times Square. On a Sunday, even in the cold, the blocked-off area is a disaster. The crowd is thick, made even denser by puffy coats and thick-soled boots. A trashcan overflows onto the sidewalk. The cabbie drops Finn and me off as close to the center as he can get.

  “Why are we here?” I ask. Billboards flash over us. I’ve spent every year since I moved here avoiding these tourist-infested blocks.

  “Do you know anyone who’d come here on a Sunday?” Finn asks.

  “No. Not a single person. Not during the week unless it was work-related and definitely not on a weekend.”

  “Exactly.”

  People walk around us in multiple directions. A toddler face plants between a stranger’s legs and cries. Finn’s plan dawns on me, and I look up at him. “We’re alone here.”

  He taps me on the nose. “Beautiful and smart.” I can’t help my smile. “What’s your maiden name?”

  “Beckwith.”

  “Beautiful and smart Sadie Beckwith.”

  I clamp my teeth together. It’s been a while since anyone called me that, and I don’t even know that woman anymore. I’m Sadie Hunt through and through. “Do you have any siblings?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “No. You?”

  “An older brother. Andrew. You’d like him.”

  He perks up. “Yeah? Why?”

  “If there were an artist in our family, it’d be him. He runs a garage, but he also loves tattoos. Giving and receiving. And he’s a dad to a daughter, like you.”

  Finn smiles crookedly. “I’d love to meet him.” Before I can protest, which I’m about to do, he adds, “One day. Not now, obviously.”

  I’m already picturing it, though, what it would be like to introduce them. I may have spoken too soon. Andrew is all kinds of fucked up when it comes to the opposite sex, but he wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing. In fact, I think if Andrew found out about Finn, he’d take pleasure in wringing his neck.

  “What’d I say?” Finn asks. “I meant down the road, Sadie.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s something,” he says. “I’m sorry. I just get excited when I think about a future. For us.”

  I can’t even hear the words without panic rising up my throat. In an attempt to stop the direction of the conversation, I wave my hands and say, “No. It wasn’t that.”

  “What then? Something about your brother?”

  I’ve backed myself into a corner. “It’s just that Andrew, well—he really likes Nathan. I mean, he loves him. They’re brothers. Andrew doesn’t like many people.”

  Finn’s eyebrows sit low. He flits his green eyes over my face. “So you were wrong just now. He wouldn’t like me.”

  “You have some things in common. Art, fatherhood. Stuff like that. You know?” I swallow dryly. “Andrew’s protective of me. Of Nathan too. I’m sure if the circumstances were different—”

  He looks away. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

  “Yes.” My relief comes out in a long sigh. “Let’s take a step back.”

  “All right.” He shifts on his feet and scans the faceless crowd. “Can I kiss you?”

  I blink up at him, surprised. I shouldn’t even be considering it, but I feel bad about our awkward conversation. And it’s true—I can’t imagine a single person I know coming here. “Okay.”

  He tilts his head. “Thank you. It’s just that in the theater, things got a little intense.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It was just what I needed.”

  “Well, I feel like I need to kiss you now. So that you know, even when it’s like that, it means something to me.”

  He looks nervous. And adorable. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. His hair messy from our romping. I slip into him—my arms underneath his coat, my body against his.

  He bends his head and brushes his lips over mine. He whispers into my mouth. “In so little time, you’ve lit up my world like the sun. And you’ve warmed me just the same.”

  His words melt like butter on my tongue. He kisses me thoughtfully, like the way I read my favorite books, fearful of missing even one word. This thing with Finn isn’t just sex. Something else will bloom if I nourish it. He feeds my newly hungry soul, but he isn’t afraid to show me his fear. It’s obvious in the way he grips me.

  We part to look at one another. Times Square suddenly sparkles. The neon signs are reflected in his eyes. I’m grateful for the cold that keeps us close. I touch my mouth, burnt by the small shrub on his face.

  He catches my hand and thumbs my lower lip. “I’ll shave.”

  “No. Don’t.” I smile and repeat what I said to him years ago about his long hair, “You look like an artist.”

  He studies me a moment and smiles. “Are you hungry?”

  “I guess.”

  “Your stomach grumbled.”

  “No, it didn’t.” I laugh. “Did it?”

  “I felt it. You’re pressed up against me, after all.” He kisses my palm. “Come.”

  He takes me to a chain restaurant with burgers and beer. It’s dim inside, night or day. Each table has its own yellow lamp. At this odd time of afternoon, the bar and restaurant areas are crowded, but not full. The hostess hugs two menus and shows us to a table.

  Finn stops her. “Can we get a—”

  “Booth? No problem,” she says. She’s been at this a while.

  A minute later, we’re nestled into one corner on the same side of a squeaky, springy bench. Our waitress wears a black polo and a nametag that says Ashley! Albuquerque, New Mexico. Finn orders us some greasy food and two hot chocolates with whipped cream.

  “If you’re going for romance . . .” I start. Families populate the tables around us. A crayon flies by our booth. “You nailed it.”

  He winks. “Romance isn’t really about atmosphere, is it? Maybe for some people.”

  “Not us?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “For us, romance is these s
tolen moments to ourselves. It’s taking you in a theater full of people because I can’t survive another second without being inside you.”

  He looks as though he expects a response, but he’s robbed the breath right out of my lungs. Breath I need to live, let alone speak. He’s right. Our time together is always charged by what we can’t say or do.

  “The pictures turned out exquisitely, by the way,” he says. “I’m going to hang them in my living room like art.”

  I wiggle against him. “You can’t.”

  He slips his hand between my denim-clad thighs and rubs. “My bedroom then?”

  “I don’t think Kendra would go for it.”

  He stops touching me.

  “Sorry,” I say and close my mouth to keep any other stupid comments inside.

  “It’s fine,” he says calmly. “We should be able to talk about them.”

  “Should we?” My stomach gets queasy, which doesn’t bode well for the heavy food he ordered. “I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah. We should. Especially if this might get serious. And it could. Is there anything you want to know?”

  Sex is the first thing that comes to mind. Now that I’ve been irreversibly intimate with Finn, curiosity about Kendra and him needles me. “Are you this insatiable with her?”

  “No.”

  “Were you ever?”

  “Not really. We’ve never lost control in a public place, for example.” His expression softens. “I’ve never risked everything just to be inside her.”

  I look at my hands in my lap. It’s the truth. He’s putting his whole life on the line for sex. I am too, of course, but I don’t have as much as I once did. Nathan might’ve already gone there with another woman. If I thought Nathan weren’t about to drop a bomb on me, I’m sure I’d do better at resisting Finn.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “Our sex life?” I bite my bottom lip. Nathan could fuck with the best of them, and he only got better with time. He isn’t as adventurous as Finn—up until the whole slut thing, that is—but my body is his well-worn map. He knows every curve of every road.

  If I were that candid, though, Finn would probably get up and leave. “I have no complaints,” I say, not wanting to lie. I look up at him from under my lashes. “I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”