Ditched_A Left at the Altar Romance

by Holly Hart

  She leans back, eyes closed. “Too tired to wash it.”

  “So I’ll do that, too.”

  “Really?”

  I don’t think this is quite what Carson had in mind, in terms of taking care of one another, but.... “Yeah. Come on. The tubs are huge in this place.” I take her by the hands, waggling my eyebrows to get a smile. It takes a while, but her lips twitch, and a little chuckle breaks loose. Still, she doesn’t move. “Listen, it’ll be fine. We’ll slip back into that DC bubble—it’ll be like it never happened. Only, we’ll be squeaky clean for the flight home.”

  “This is a horrible idea.” Kate plants her hands on my shoulders and uses me to heave herself upright. “Let’s do it.” She turns her back on me and heads for the bathroom, shedding her robe en route. Her slip follows, and I pick it up, rubbing the silk between my fingers. It’s thin, slightly rough. I lift it to my face, breathing in the subtle scent of her skin. For the longest time, I couldn’t remember what that was like.

  Kate pauses with her hands on the taps. She’s looking right at me, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I freeze, embarrassed—what the fuck was I just...?

  “Sorry.” I set her slip on the countertop, and it immediately slithers to the floor. “And...sorry again.”

  Kate laughs, a quick, wheezing hah. She looks me up and down, presses her hand to her stomach, and laughs again—a real whoop this time.

  “Okay. I’m officially mortified.”

  She flaps her hands in negation, but she’s still giggling, shaking with it, peals of laughter echoing off the walls. “You—you....”

  Shit. Now, she’s got me going. I tug at my tie, as if that’s why my face is bright red. When she staggers, breathless, I catch her in my arms, and we hold each other up through gales of helpless mirth.

  “It’s not you. Not really.”

  “I know.” I’m panting, dizzy—feels like everything I’ve been holding back is stampeding loose, and there’s no slowing it, no stopping it, only riding it out. I can’t breathe, can’t stand, and we sink to the floor together, leaning against the side of the tub. The bathmat’s ridiculously soft, some kind of luxuriant shag that makes no sense in a hotel bathroom, and that has me cackling harder, chest heaving. My eyes are streaming, and it’d be the worst thing ever, if Kate weren’t in exactly the same state, clinging to me through the storm.

  At last the snickers die out, and we’re left loose and legless, curled into each other for support. Kate wipes her face on my shoulder. I use my sleeve. She sniffles, chortles, and nudges me in the ribs.

  “I went to this wake once....”

  “Yeah?”

  She relaxes against me, toying with my buttons. “It was... I barely knew her, the....”

  “Corpse?”

  “Oh—that’s dark.” She nudges me again. “But, yeah. Anyway, there were these two old biddies by the refreshment table, ninety if they were a day, and one says to the other—and she’s looking at the coffin the whole time, so there’s no doubt who she’s talking about—”

  “Yeah?”

  “And she says I saw her in Trafalgar Square the other day. Wearing that boy like a cardigan.” Kate covers her mouth, stifling a giggle. “And you know what the other one says?”

  “I can’t even hazard a guess.” I’m grinning in spite of myself. This is the worst story ever, worse than my mortician one-night stand, but I’m hanging on for the punchline.

  “She says...at least she wasn’t wearing him like a skirt.”

  I can’t help it. I double over, bellowing laughter. “That’s awful.”

  “Now imagine you’re standing there picturing it, in front of her entire family, not to mention a good slice of London society....”

  “That’s...worse.” I twist around to check on the bath. “And we’re about to have a flood situation in here.”

  Kate struggles to her feet and shuts off the water. I stay where I am, loosening my belt with rubbery fingers. It takes me a couple of tries to pop my fly, and ridding myself of my jacket and waistcoat’s turning into an odyssey when Kate steps in. I lean back and relax as she frees me from layer after layer, finally tugging my undershirt over my head.

  “Can you get up?”

  I groan. “Help me?”

  She holds out her hands. I haul myself up, shimmying out of my pants. Kate pushes my boxers down, and I step out of everything, kicking it toward the door.

  I get in the bath first. It’s hot, but not too hot, and the jets are soothing. Already, I can feel aches and pains I didn’t know I had fading away. Kate steps in after me, and I pull her down between my legs. I feel her tension ebb as her head lolls on my shoulder. My cock stirs hopefully, but I ignore it in favor of running my palms up and down her arms. It takes longer than it should for her breathing to even out. She’s tighter than a spring, wound to the limit.

  “That feels good.”

  I sweep her hair forward and rub her neck. A muscle spasms and goes lax. I soothe it with my thumb. “Pretend we’re in one of those natural hot springs. Iceland, maybe, or Switzerland. Somewhere north—and there’s a snowstorm. Total whiteout: no prying eyes here.” I breathe deep, imagining it myself. “And the air’s mountain fresh. Not all steamy and shampooey, but....”

  “Salty?”

  “Healing.” I tap her skull gently. “Lean forward.” She does, and I flatten my palm between her shoulderblades, kneading the knotted muscles. The sound she makes is gratifying, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. I can feel her relaxing by degrees, letting her head droop and her fists unclench.

  When she sinks back against me, I loop my arms around her waist, enjoying the closeness. Can’t remember the last time I held anyone like this, without expectations. Her weight on my chest is comforting, like she’s anchoring me in place. Her pinky curls around mine; her hair fans out in the water, tickling my shoulder. A warm calm wells up in me, washing away the grim resolve that’s been holding me together since...since Dev.

  Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blats. Kate jumps a little, knocking the shampoo into the water. I chase it with my foot till it’s close enough to grasp.

  “Good timing.” I squirt a dollop into my palm. It’s chilly, and my shiver seems to transfer to Kate. She squirms against me, pressing even closer. I tilt my head back to keep her hair out of my mouth as I start to work the suds through her heavy curls.

  “Forgot how nice that feels when someone else does it.” Kate stretches, and I pause in my movements, not wanting to pull her hair.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “They already are.” She leans back to let me see, and I find myself cradling her, holding her head above the surface. My fingers are still moving lazily as the shampoo bleeds out into the water, runnels of soap streaming over her breasts and floating away. I watch, mesmerized, as the bubbles shimmer and burst.

  I lean down and kiss her temple. She kisses back lazily, catching me on the corner of my mouth. Foamy suds cling to my cheek, and I wipe them away.

  I take my time with her hair, lathering thoroughly, teasing the conditioner through till I can’t find a single tangle. Far from protesting, Kate leans into it, following my every touch. Her hands haven’t left my body in a while: she strokes my forearms, my thighs, reaches back to trail her fingers over my abs. Her legs brush up against mine. I squeeze her inner thigh, her hip—warm and yielding. Relaxed at last.

  I shift as the water starts to cool. “We should probably....”

  “Yeah.” She rolls her head to the side, eyeing the towel rack. “Stay the night?”

  I nod. Sleep’s been hard to come by lately. Company might help.

  We towel each other dry, and I snag her brush off the counter. A profound sense of nostalgia rolls over me as Kate settles into my lap. She’s like a big, lazy cat, practically purring as I comb out her curls.

  “Remember the first time I did this?”

  “Hmm....” Kate’s hand stills on my knee, where she’d been absently petting me. “Junior yea
r. We hadn’t even kissed yet. I got that gum in my hair....”

  I hold a hank of hair away from her head, working through a knot. “It was like hypnosis, or something. I got my hands in there, and you were all....” I slouch down, miming bonelessness. “Used to wonder if you and Wes would’ve ended up together if he’d been the one to help you.”

  “Wes?” She blinks.

  “Yeah—he was there too.”

  “He was not.”

  “You seriously don’t remember?” I drag the brush through a silky-smooth section of hair, and I swear her toes curl. “He was sitting there the whole time, carving formulas into his calculator with the point of his compass. I was beaming evil thoughts at him, like fuck off—we’re having a moment, and he was all...eee, eee, eee.”

  “I have no recollection of that.” She laughs. “I remember the cheat calculator, though. That thing was legendary.”

  “Borrowed it for a test or two myself.”

  “Bad boy. Keep brushing.”

  I swat her lightly with the back of the brush, but I find myself obeying. Truth be told, I’m enjoying myself. I’d forgotten what it was like to share this kind of intimacy, beyond sex, beyond convenience.

  I lean in, as though to kiss her, and mouth a few words into her hair—words she’ll never hear.

  Why didn’t you want me?

  Chapter 26

  Kate

  * * *

  Max is arranging my hair into a loose braid. I’m not ready to go to sleep: I’m tired, but there’s nothing but tossing and turning and unsettling dreams waiting for me between those sheets. So I push him onto his back. He goes easy, spreading his legs a little. I push his towel aside, finding him half-hard already. He twitches when I crawl up on top of him, swells when a loose curl tickles his shaft. Curious, I lean closer.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rather than answer, I sigh, letting my breath ruffle his pubic hair. He groans aloud, and his hand drifts toward his cock. I trap it under mine.

  “Tease....”

  I smile and lick delicately along the seam of his balls. He stifles a whine. Good. If I can get him frantic enough, my lack of experience shouldn’t matter. I trace the crease of his thigh with my tongue, nip at the crest of his hipbone, rake my nails down his sides. Already, he’s lifting his hips, biting the back of his hand.

  He reaches for me again, trying to guide my head between his legs, but I slip free of his grasp, lavishing him with kisses everywhere but where he wants them. Tight muscles jump as I graze my lips over his lower belly. His cock presses against my chest, and I let it drag between my breasts. That draws another moan out of him, and I do it again till he’s slick and throbbing, rocking shamelessly against me.

  A dizzy heat surges through me: it’s a heady feeling, watching him tremble for my touch. Emboldened, I push up his leg, bite the back of his thigh, suck at the reddened skin.

  “Ah!”

  Max spreads his legs wider. I lick him from his taint to the base of his cock, savoring that thrill of power as I leave him hanging, neglected cock pulsing against his stomach. He’s flushed across his face and chest, breath coming fast and harsh. Another lick, and he’s biting his lip, sheets bunched in his fist. I keep his hand restrained in mine as my other hand migrates between my legs, teasing my lips apart. Eager bolts of pleasure shoot through me with every gasp I wrest from him, every jolt of his hips.

  I want to taste him. Want to take him apart with my mouth, see him undone for me.

  I want him to beg for it.

  I kiss my way up his body, stopping just short of his lips. He raises his head hungrily, and I pull away. “Tell me what you want.”

  He makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  He grips my chin, just tight enough to threaten. His voice drops, low and menacing—fuck, that’s hot. “You want me to beg.”

  “Oh? Too proud?”

  His gaze meets mine, hard and pitiless, but his hand drops away. “Please. Suck my cock.”

  Oh.... So much better than I thought. I want to hear it again, that gravelly plea, but my intent’s not to sting his ego. I sink back down, and he’s ready for me, head glistening in the dim light. I snake out my tongue and lap at the slit, encouraged when that gets an eager buck out of him. Completely unrestrained...that probably means he’s done this a lot, had better than me, but I’m past caring as I take him between my lips, letting him thrust against my tongue.

  His cock swells; I can feel the rush of blood under the skin, his tension as he restrains himself from fucking my throat. I wrap my hand around him to keep him from going too deep and glide my lips down, down, as far as I can take him. I undulate my tongue and he shouts. I can taste him, a little bitter, a little salty at the back of my throat.

  “You’re—you’re good at that.”

  I preen under his praise, letting my teeth brush against the tender flesh. He whimpers, so I cover them with my lips and bob my head faster. His hand comes up to tangle in my hair, setting my braid in disarray. He’s moving with me, matching his pace to mine. I rock against my own hand, fingers rough on my clit as he plunges into my mouth. I realize I’m moaning around him, and he’s responding to it, rhythmic tremors coursing through him with the rise and fall of my voice.

  He grits out a warning—“I’m close”—but I don’t acknowledge it, don’t care. I want to swallow all of him, make him mine, mine, mine. Even just for tonight.

  Max brings his fist to his mouth, but he can’t repress his cry as he spills in my mouth. He bucks up hard, but I hold him in place, working him through every spasm, every shock. At last, he starts to soften, and I rise up on my knees, closing my eyes as I tease myself to my own climax. It doesn’t take long: the taste of him on my tongue, the triumph of having reduced him to this, made him beg for me—it’s overwhelming, and I sob out my own satisfaction, sinking down on my heels.

  When I open my eyes, he’s staring, open-mouthed. I blink, self-conscious. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing at all.”

  “No, really. What?”

  “I can’t believe you just did that in front of me.” He gestures at my hand, still nestled between my legs. “I love that. It’s... Nobody does that.”

  They don’t? Shit.... I feel my ears turning red.

  “Come here.” Max reaches for me, and I let him pull me on top of him. “Feels good, here with you.”

  I stretch out, enjoying the casual closeness. It does feel good. We fit together...always have.

  “We should get some—”

  Something clunks in the hallway, right outside the door. Against the door. I sit up so fast the blood rushes south, and I reel. “What was that?”

  Max is already on his feet, pulling my robe around him. “Stay right there.”

  Fuck that. I grab a sheet and follow him, sticking close as he creeps up on the door. My heart’s pounding in my throat—it’s two in the morning. Who...why—?

  He stoops to check the peephole. Turns to me and shakes his head: no one there.

  I’m not convinced. “Check the hall.”

  Max eases the door open. Makes a show of peering left and right, up and down the hall. His shoulders loosen with visible relief. “Nobody there. Must’ve been, y’know, when someone slams the door down the hall, and all the doors rattle. Old building.”

  “Yeah.” I look past him, doubtful, but he’s right. It’s deserted out there.

  “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got an early flight.”

  I let him lead me back to bed, but the sweet lassitude of my afterglow is shattered. Someone was out there—someone unfriendly. Someone who felt the need to hide themselves when we stirred.

  Max is still here, warm and solid at my back, but inside, I’m cold as ice. If that was him out there, the faceless blackmailer...will he throw Max in my face again? Have I just given him what he ne
eds to destroy us completely?

  Goddamn DC bubble.

  Chapter 27

  Max

  * * *

  “Let’s just go home.” Wes plops down on the plastic airport bench. His knee knocks into Kate’s. “I want to go home.”

  Kate shifts away from him. “You sound like a five-year-old.”

  Carson cracks one eye open, bleary and hung over. His lip curls halfheartedly. Our flight’s delayed, has been for hours, and everyone’s on edge. Wes, especially. He’s been running back and forth from the bathroom, pacing around the terminal, worrying at the cover of his paperback, a ball of nervous energy.

  “I just... The funeral’s over. We haven’t heard from you-know-who in a week. Why drag ourselves back to New York?” He looks around hopefully, trying to catch my eye, and then Carson’s. Finding no support there, he turns back to Kate. “Come on. What do you say? Malt loaf! Chips and vinegar! Proper milk! Aren’t you missing the comforts of home?”

  Kate’s lips tighten. She doesn’t look like she got a lot of sleep after I drifted off. “Go to one of those British stores, if you need that stuff so bad. My disaster happened over here. I’ve got to run damage control.”

  Wes toes at the carpet and says nothing.

  Carson tilts his head back, eyes still shut. “Gimme a couple of days—I’ll go back with you.” He grins. “Always wanted to ride one of those double-decker buses.”

  “I love going over bridges on those things,” says Kate. “You can’t see the railing: it’s like you’re flying.”

  Carson chuckles at that, then winces and rubs his temples. A robotic voice summons a June Parker to Customs and Immigration. I dig through my pockets, looking for the chocolates I bought at the duty free. They’re nowhere. Must’ve fallen out. This day just gets better and better.

  Wes picks the price tag off his book. It sticks to his fingers when he tries to flick it off. He starts to say something, stops, and spits it out anyway. “When do you think you’ll be done here?”