Two to Tango (Erotic Romance)

by Strong, Mimi

  “Really?” He crossed his arms and tapped his toe. “Looks to me like I can.”

  The two movers set the table down and walked swiftly to the apartment door.

  The older man said to Charlie, “We’ll just get the chairs now, Mr… ?”

  “Call me Charlie.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They shuffled out the door, heads ducked down.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Charlie said. “I see you caught up on your beauty sleep.”

  “Are you doing this to annoy me? Because it’s working.”

  He crossed to me and took my hand, then led me over to the table. With his hand on my wrist, he stroked my fingers right and left across the table’s surface.

  “Feel that,” he murmured. “The wood isn’t varnished. It’s oiled. There was a restaurant up the street selling off their tables to get new ones, but I bet the new tables don’t have the character of these ones. Battle scars and character.”

  “Character.” My fingers found swirling lines, graffiti dug into the surface of the wood. There must have been a hundred names embedded in the table top, along with initials and hearts. So many hearts.

  “Tell me you don’t love this table,” he said.

  My throat pinched momentarily. “This is a gorgeous fucking table,” I whispered.

  He stood behind me, swaying and wrapping his arms around me. I leaned back against his body, so solid and sure of itself, like a wall of determination.

  “Imagine what we can do with this table,” he said.

  My annoyance at him bringing in furniture while I was napping drifted away.

  “This table seems sturdy.”

  He took both of my hands and placed them palms-down on the wood table. Still behind me, he leaned forward with me, slapping his palms down outside of mine.

  “Real sturdy,” he agreed.

  Hopping on one foot to avoid putting weight on my aching leg, I twisted around and sat on the table, facing him.

  “What’s your game?” I asked. “Are you really planning to make me breakfast? I was so sure you were gone for good, that you couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

  He breathed deeply, his green-brown eyes fixed steadily on mine.

  “Where else would I go?”

  “You have a life. Hey, did I meet some other guy last night? He was with you? Longish hair?”

  “My best friend. Duncan.”

  I sought the memory from my addled brain, but most of the previous night was still a blur. It would all come back to me, but eventually, and not at once.

  “Charlie, did I… say anything to Duncan? Anything rude? I have a bad feeling.”

  “Rude?” His eyebrows lifted, and he seemed to stifle a laugh. “You may have showed him some interesting sign language.”

  “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. Did I hit him?”

  Now he laughed. “No, you didn’t hit him. You passed out before you could. Thankfully. And lucky for Duncan, because he’s not much of a fighter.”

  I frowned at the bruise on the inner edge of Charlie’s eye. “Was there a fight?” I reached up and touched the bridge of his nose.

  He closed his eyes, melting against my touch.

  “Not much of a fight,” he said. “Last night was a shit show, though.”

  My voice not much more than a breath, I asked, “Did you see me?”

  “Of course I saw you. I found you on the ground and carried you out of that warehouse party.”

  “No, I mean…” I looked down at my hands, twisting together on my lap.

  “Knock knock,” said one of the movers at the door. “We’ve got your chairs. You know there’s only three, right?”

  Without taking his eyes off me, Charlie called out, “That’s fine. We only need two, so that’s perfect, plus one extra.”

  The guys brought the three chairs into the apartment and set them around the new table. My new table. Our new table.

  “Excuse me,” Charlie said to me, then walked the guys to the door, where he pulled out his wallet and handed them some money. The older guy said it was too much, and tried to give the money back, and they argued until the younger guy elbowed his partner. They took the money and left, thanking Charlie.

  I stayed sitting on the table, swinging my legs. I’d pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt, with a black sports bra underneath. I thought about changing into something cuter, but I didn’t dare move.

  Charlie stood in the kitchen, opening grocery bags and then cupboard doors. He pulled out my frying pan and set it on the stove.

  “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.

  “Did you see me dancing last night?”

  He looked up and blinked at me. “No.”

  “Do you have any questions? Maybe about what I was doing there at the party?”

  “No. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Why’d you go there?”

  “My friend Duncan knows the DJ. He says the guy is really hot right now. I can’t even remember what the music sounded like.”

  “Charlie, if you’re a groundskeeper, why do you drive such a nice car?”

  “That’s Duncan’s car we were in last night. He’s not legally allowed to drive, so I take him wherever he wants to go. He can be abrasive, but he has a good heart.”

  “I don’t remember what he said, but I don’t like him.”

  Charlie clicked on the stove, then started cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. “You don’t have to like my friend, but you should give him a chance.”

  “I don’t even know if I should give you a chance. I try to take a nap, and you’re redecorating my apartment.”

  “You had nowhere to sit or eat. That was a problem, and I solved it.”

  “Am I a problem? Are you going to solve me?”

  He looked up from the eggs. “What do you think?”

  Instead of answering, I looked around the apartment, trying to see everything through his eyes. I could see the bare walls, and the cords hanging out of the wall where a TV should have been. I could see every square inch of the place, every streak on the windows that needed a washing, but I couldn’t see what Charlie did when he looked at me.

  I couldn’t see the girl he was so fascinated by.

  ~

  We sat together at the table and ate toast and eggs.

  “Poached,” I said after a few bites. “You asked how I like my eggs, and the answer is poached, not scrambled, but these are almost as good.”

  “I guess today is all about making changes. You like poached eggs, and I like coffee made in a coffee maker, not made by pouring boiling water over a paper towel full of freshly-ground espresso roast.”

  “I don’t have a coffee maker, because I drink tea.”

  “You don’t have a lot of things. Did you just move in here? What’s the story?”

  “I made a bad decision and was punished for it.”

  He frowned down at his black coffee and plucked out some floating coffee grounds. “You can’t live like this.”

  I sighed around my mouthful of toast. I wanted to argue with him, but my head was a mess from whatever I’d taken the night before. I took a sip of my green tea, noting the irony that I’d quit coffee so I could be healthier, yet I’d been living off vodka and juice the last few days.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I said. “And the table.”

  “Don’t thank me like I’m leaving. I’m not leaving.” He looked around. “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Give me back my house keys.”

  He smirked. “Why don’t you try to take them from me? They’re in my pants pocket. Come dig around.”

  I pushed the chair back and stood, careful to keep my weight off my banged-up leg. I hopped over to Charlie’s chair, pain shooting through my leg. I could feel a film of sweat on my back and forehead from the pain, but I didn’t let anything show in my expression.

  Charlie tipped his head to the side and pushed his chair back, watching me with inter
est.

  “You can’t even walk,” he said. “This is why I can’t leave you. I’ll be your human crutch, until you can walk again on your own.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “Not today.”

  “I don’t want a human crutch. Give me back my keys.”

  His hazel eyes twinkled with mischief. “No.”

  I reached down and pulled my white T-shirt off, over my head, then dropped it to the floor. The black sports bra I wore wasn’t the sexy kind, but I ran my fingers down my neck and around my breasts the same way I would have if I’d been wearing a show costume.

  My sheriff costume had a black bra, and a faded denim skirt. The best part of that costume was the star-shaped badge. I would pin it onto someone shy in the audience, and then kiss the badge. If there was a girl in the crowd, I’d always pin the star on her. Girls were easier to deal with, and people liked seeing another girl brought up on the stage, but you couldn’t bring some guy up there—not with his gut sticking out over his boner.

  Imagining my sheriff music, I swayed, ran my fingers across my skin, and pretended to draw pistols from my holsters to shoot my audience.

  Charlie’s lips pressed tightly together, and the look on his face was a familiar one. He had a tense, designated driver look—the friend who was there at the strip club to drive everyone home.

  I pulled the drawstring to loosen my pajama pants and let them slip to the floor.

  “Is this how you’re planning to get your keys back?” he asked.

  “This is how I get anything I want.”

  “The last time I saw you, you said you weren’t a stripper.”

  “At the time, I wasn’t.”

  His eyes pulled away from mine and traveled down my body.

  “If you weren’t working, how did you afford this lavish lifestyle?” He raised one hand and swept it around, showcasing the empty apartment. “Oh, wait. I just answered my own question.”

  “I had a job.” I hopped toward him, gingerly using my sore leg for balance. “An honest job. A good one. But I lost it when they found out about my past.”

  “Come on. Are you serious? Does anyone actually care about that these days? You don’t have a criminal record or anything, do you?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Just possession.”

  He rubbed his hands along his thighs, breathing in through his teeth as he grimaced.

  “Yeah. There’s a problem you can’t solve,” I said.

  “Don’t talk like that. And don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.”

  I gasped in outrage and hopped the rest of the way forward and onto his lap, facing him.

  “Wrinkles,” I snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys, who points out a girl’s flaws while she’s just trying to earn twenty bucks from an honest lap dance.”

  He leaned back on the chair, wrapping his arms behind him. Either he’d enjoyed some lap dances and knew the etiquette, or he was just a reserved, polite guy. The way he’d pulled my hair in bed, though, I doubted the latter was true.

  “Only twenty bucks?” he asked.

  I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face down into my breasts, using my upper arms to push the girls together. At the same time, I rocked my hips rapidly and suggestively. Most first-timers will gasp at that first move, not expecting a girl to move like that.

  Charlie didn’t react, except to stick out his tongue and lick my cleavage.

  “Mister!” I pressed my hand across his face and shoved him back. I slid back to his knees, blinking innocently. “I wasn’t expecting you to touch me like that! I’m in shock.”

  He tilted his head to the side, looking more adorable than ever. Where had this guy come from, and how was he in my apartment? I wanted to eat his face off, he was so cute.

  “Against club rules?” he asked.

  I nodded solemnly. “I don’t mind, but my boss does. You know how it is.”

  “Is this how you work guys over?”

  “Willing parties.”

  He grinned. “Naughty and nice. Okay, I get the allure, but you should know I’ve only been to see, um, exotic dancers a couple of times. I don’t actually enjoy this.”

  I slid forward in one motion, light as air and moving like a greased piston, bumping my pubic bone into the bulge I could see in his pants. He was definitely ready to go again.

  Holding onto his shoulders for balance, I arched back and shook my head until the loose bun holding my hair up came undone. Whipping my hair around, I moaned pleasure-sex noises as I ground against his thickening rod.

  “Liar,” I said, flashing my eyes at him.

  “I don’t like this at all,” he whispered.

  I held his face in my hands and licked all the way up the side of his face, from jaw to temple. He was salty, not having showered since the morning’s activities. I could smell the musk on him—his and mine.

  “Liar,” I repeated, whispering.

  He groaned.

  “Charlie, I’ll let you take your hands out from behind your back and touch me, but you have to be honest. Don’t tell me you don’t like this.”

  Feeling warm all over from the movement, and gasping from excitement, I rode up high on his lap, rubbing my panties against him and squirming desperately.

  I licked the other side of his face, trailing the tip of my tongue back down again to his earlobe for a nibble.

  “You can touch me all over,” I whispered near his ear. “Just admit it. Admit you’re a dirty, filthy boy. You want to get nasty, and you want a dirty girl who won’t judge you. Those rich girls at the club don’t do it for you.”

  “I don’t like this,” he said, his face buried in my chest again.

  “And you’re sarcastic.”

  His hands landed on my ass with a slapping noise.

  “I don’t like this, because I love it,” he said, his words muffled by my flesh.

  “I’m going to suck your dick until it falls off.”

  He chuckled. “Do you mean my dick would fall off instantly? Or like eventually, after a week of your abuse?”

  “I don’t think you could take a week of my abuse. You couldn’t last three nights as my play toy.”

  “That sounds like a dare.” His hands still gripped my ass, stinging from where they’d smacked down. He kissed my neck tenderly. “I made it through one night. I can last for two more. You don’t scare me.”

  I located his nipples, through his shirt, and pinched them both at the same time.

  “That wasn’t an invitation. I already told you, I don’t want you here, because you’ll try to fix my problems, and then we’ll both end up sad.”

  “You can’t even walk. How long before your leg gets better? Two days or so?”

  “I dunno. My knee feels better already. Sure, maybe two days.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll stay here for two more days and nights, and then I’ll give you your keys back.” He kissed me on the lips, as though that was the equivalent of a handshake for such deals. “And then we’ll decide what we’re going to do with each other.”

  “Fine. But I want you to do anything you want to me for two days. No holding back. Anything.”

  He licked his finger and stuck the tip in my ear, grinning. “Anything?”

  “Be serious. This is serious.”

  He wrapped his arms around me tightly and stood. I held on with my legs. He didn’t take me far—only two steps—and set me down on the wood table. Calmly, he pulled my bra off over my head, and then wiggled down my panties. Butt-naked, I sat on the edge of the table, waiting to find out what he’d do next.

  Instead of kissing me, or pulling down his pants, he reached over my leg and picked up his mug of coffee. He sat back down in the chair, facing me.

  “Spread your legs.” He took a sip of the black coffee.

  I leaned back, resting my palms on the table, and shifted my legs apart to reveal myself.

  He used one hand to adjust his erection inside his clothes, but
didn’t unfasten the button.

  Time passed. He sipped his coffee three more times, then pulled his chair in closer to the table. Reaching over my legs and leaning around me, he stacked the plates and dishes, then brought them over to the kitchen sink. He came back with a cloth and wiped down the table around me.

  “How thoughtful,” I said.

  “Get on your back and close your eyes.”

  I eased myself back on my elbows, and then all the way down. I closed my eyes. Something soft touched my face. Fabric. It smelled like Charlie, and I guessed it was his shirt. He tied it around my eyes as a blindfold.

  I heard footfalls as he walked away, then the fridge and freezer doors opening and closing.

  When he returned, he placed something cool against my navel.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  I attempted to move my hands over to touch the cool object, but he caught my hands and wouldn’t let me.

  The object was smooth, like a stone, and I had a guess but wasn’t sure. I pulled my abdominal muscles up, and then rapidly pushed them out. The object rolled off my stomach, across the wood table, and landed on the apartment floor with a tell-tale crack.

  Silence.

  “An egg,” I said.

  “You made a mess, you bad girl.”

  I giggled, pleased with myself for winning the round.

  Next, something poked my breast, drawing around the nipple. I shuddered, feeling exposed. The thing circled my nipple a second time, and then a third.

  “Honey?”

  “Do you keep your honey in the fridge?”

  “No.”

  “It is sweet, though. I think. Hang on.”

  A hot mouth descended on my nipple, sucking and removing the cool drizzle.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “You tell me.” He licked a line from my breast, up my neck, over my jaw, and into my mouth.

  His mouth was sweet, and acidic. Spicy.

  “You taste good.” I tried to catch him with my legs and pull him down on top of me, but he moved away too quickly.

  “Guess what that was and you get another kiss.”

  I licked my lips. What was in my fridge? “Mustard?”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  I sniffed the air and smacked my lips. “Mustard with honey and balsamic.”