Two to Tango (Erotic Romance)

by Strong, Mimi

  His reaction was similar to when I’d spat on him in the tub: a very determined, very careful non-reaction.

  He took two more sips, maintaining intense eye contact with his hypnotic hazel eyes wavering between green and brown.

  I opened the cupboard door and pulled out the other cup of coffee, then wordlessly replaced the one in his hand with the good one.

  He took another mouthful, swishing it from side to side in his mouth before swallowing.

  I finished my tea, then crossed the room to the new armoire. The top was the almost as high as my shoulder. I opened the two doors. If he was going to fuck me on every piece of furniture, how would we tackle this one? With me crouching inside the upper compartment?

  He grabbed me roughly from behind, and I shrieked.

  Once I caught my breath, I said, “You snuck up on me.”

  Pulling me toward him, he closed the carved wood doors, picked me up in his strong arms, and set me on top of the armoire as easily as a potted plant.

  Now my crotch was at the level of his face, and the top of my head popped up between two wooden rafters. In this part of the apartment, the ceiling sloped up in an arch, matching the roof shape of the old house. The apartment would have felt tiny if they hadn’t lofted the space by removing the old attic floor and exposing the rafters. I grabbed onto the thick rafter with both hands for support as he pulled down my panties and tossed them on the floor.

  Charlie buried his faced between my legs for the second time that day. He lavished the area with attention, kissing and licking. My clit throbbed as he rubbed his entire lower face on me, his smoothly-shaved cheeks like heaven on my inner thighs.

  Gasping, I rode the sensations higher and higher.

  He pulled me off the armoire and carried me over to a small antique table that had been placed near the front door. He held me about four inches above the table and let go. My butt landed on the surface, hard.

  I opened my mouth in surprise, and he leaned in and stopped my complaint with his tongue and lips. He kissed me fiercely, then tenderly, stopping briefly to pull my camisole up over my head.

  He bent down to tongue and nibble on my breasts. His voice husky, he said, “Just keep putting on clothes so I can take them off. I like that.”

  I reached between us and pulled at the twisted edge of his towel, unfastening it. His cock sprang into my hand.

  I tugged him forward, then guided him into my wet pussy.

  As he pushed inside me, I groaned and shook with happiness. His shoulder was in front of my face. I reached up and traced the horseshoe-shaped outline of his tricep with my finger, and then I gently sank my teeth into his shoulder.

  He pumped into me, burying himself balls deep.

  I wrapped my legs around him, and my arms around his shoulders, using his own body as leverage to ride up and down.

  He pulled us both away from the small table and carried me into the bedroom. His cock still inside me, he bypassed the mattresses on the floor and set me on the dresser.

  In that room, he alternated between fucking me and fingering me, telling me I wasn’t allowed to climax until he said so.

  After some more of this, my whole back was damp, and I was trembling with each stroke, on the verge of coming.

  He seemed to be close as well, slowing down and breathing through clenched teeth.

  He paused, using his forearm to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead.

  “We could save the coffee table for another day,” he said.

  “What?”

  He grabbed the bottle of lube I’d left out on the dresser.

  “Let’s skip the coffee table for tonight and jump right to the main event. The new leather sofa. My cock. Your ass. Planting that flag and claiming my territory.”

  I kissed him, inhaling deeply and enjoying the scent of exertion on his skin.

  I was too scared to say no and too scared to say yes, but I could kiss him.

  With a sigh, he withdrew and stepped back, his gaze sweeping over me.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he said. “We could try just the tip.”

  “Just the tip,” I agreed, nodding.

  I started to shimmy off the dresser, but he picked me up again and carried me out to the couch.

  Taking his time, he arranged me how he wanted me, kneeling on the seat doggie style, my arms wrapped over the arm at the side, which was the same height as the back.

  “This is such a great couch,” I said, running my fingers along the creases between the deep tufted buttons.

  Charlie went into the bathroom and returned with a dry towel, which he laid out under my legs.

  I giggled. “Planning to make a mess?”

  “I tend to drool when I eat your pussy, because it’s so good, and I can’t get enough. Now spread your legs wider.”

  Leaning forward and resting my cheek on the leather, I nudged my legs apart. Nothing touched me for a few seconds, and I could feel air on my backdoor, then even more when firm hands pulled my cheeks apart.

  I bit my lower lip, bracing myself to be boarded.

  Something soft licked up my split, from my clit to my ass. Tongue.

  I sighed and relaxed. We weren’t going for land claims immediately. I made happy noises as he gently caressed me from behind, licking places that were familiar with being licked in such a way, and other places that were new to the experience, but not minding one bit.

  Kneeling on the couch behind me, he drizzled the lube on his fingers and rubbed my back door, massaging the tight circle. The whole area tingled, and by the time he nudged the head of his erection between my cheeks, I was begging him to stick it in.

  “You want this?” he teased, chuckling.

  “I really do!” I pleaded.

  With steady pressure, he penetrated me. My pulse pounded, blood rushing into my head.

  “Oh fuuuuuuuuuuck,” I said, hugging the arm of the sofa tightly. “Don’t stop.”

  “You want more than the tip?” He pushed in further, lighting up new areas of sensation. Groaning, he said, “I’m going to come.”

  “Not yet,” I pleaded.

  “When you beg me and act all sweet, you know that just makes me feel weak and out of control. Say something mean. Call me a fucker again.”

  “Pull my hair, you fucker. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Grab my hair and fuck me good, or that ass isn’t yours and I’ll offer it to your friend, Duncan.”

  He gathered my damp hair in his fist and tugged my head back. “You wouldn’t.”

  He pulsed back and forth, diving deeper. My body went numb everywhere but between my legs. I couldn’t feel my arms.

  Rocking my hips and pushing back against his shallow thrusts, I moaned. “I don’t want to, but I guess I’ll have to, if you can’t do the job, so just, oh, oh, oh-my-sweet-lord, oh…” I trailed off into incoherent, hysterical moans.

  Charlie grabbed hold and slammed deep, shaking me.

  I started to come, one of those embarrassing powerful orgasms where you lose control of yourself and babble incoherently.

  He grunted behind me and let go of my hair so he could get both hands on my hips. His fingers dug in so hard on my hips, I could almost feel pain over the waves of my orgasm.

  He came, and then collapsed on my back, dropping his weight on me as he shook, his voice pitching up to a strained squeak.

  I thought he was done, but his body jerked, and he thrust a few more times, setting off aftershocks all through my hipbones.

  As our breathing slowed down, he withdrew slowly and then helped me to lie down lengthwise on the long sofa. He snuggled in behind me, his back to the tufted leather back, and draped his arm lazily around me.

  Nuzzling the back of my neck, he whispered, “I claim this ass in the name of Charlie Ward.”

  I giggled and pulled his arm tighter around me.

  We’d had a long day, and now I was thoroughly fucked and wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep.

  Charlie Ward
.

  His last named seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it at the time.

  I closed my eyes and drifted away, a smile on my face.

  ~

  I woke up in my own bed, no memory of getting there from the couch the night before. My neck was sore, my head unsupported by a pillow.

  Charlie stirred behind me. I rolled over and found him blissfully drooling on my feather pillow.

  “Pillow thief,” I whispered.

  He made a smacking sound with his mouth and continued sleeping.

  I took the opportunity to pull the blankets down and take a good look at the tattoo around his upper arm. The design was a complex whirl of shapes, all dark blue ink, sort of a cross between flames and barbed wire.

  As soon as I saw the letter E in the shapes, the whole name clicked into place, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before. It was a woman’s name. Lorelei.

  Who was Lorelei?

  I ran my fingertips over Charlie’s relaxed face, his cheeks still smooth from the previous night’s shave with my pink razor. I drew a line along his forehead. If only I could pop the top of his head open along that line, and see what was in his brain. Who was Lorelei?

  ~

  I took a shower and got dressed in the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake Charlie, then I limped into the kitchen to make him breakfast. My knee felt better, but I knew I had to be careful.

  I got the water boiling for poached eggs and made coffee the same way I had the night before, minus the habanero pepper sauce.

  Charlie was just stirring when I crept into the bedroom, holding the mug of coffee for him.

  He propped himself up on his elbows, breathing noisily as he woke up. “What’s in there? Dish soap? Ketchup?”

  “Just coffee.” I handed him the mug and sat cross-legged on the corner of the mattress. “I figured out your tattoo.”

  “What did you figure out?”

  “Lorelei. The lines spell out a name, right?”

  “My mother.”

  A chill passed through me. Parents got tattoos of their kids’ names all the time, but most people don’t get a tattoo with the name of a parent or sibling unless they’re dead.

  “She must have meant a lot to you.”

  He sipped his coffee cautiously, swished it around his mouth thoughtfully, then swallowed, and took a bigger sip.

  “Big plans for the day?” he asked, looking me over.

  I was already dressed, in an A-line taupe skirt, white blouse, and the same cardigan as the previous day.

  “Big disaster,” I said, my voice trembling. I wiped my sweating palms on the blanket. “There’s a thing, but I don’t think I can go.”

  “Tell me.” He sat up straighter, practically slobbering over the slightest hint I had a problem that needed solving.

  “Don’t,” I said. “It’s nothing. Was nothing.”

  “You promised me three nights. Tonight will be the third night. I’m not giving you your keys back early, and I’m not leaving. Tell me what you need to do today, because you’re dressed up so fucking pretty right now, with makeup and earrings, and you look like you’re on the verge of tears, so obviously it’s not nothing.”

  “I have to face the firing squad.”

  “Something legal? From your possession charge?”

  “No. Something at work. About two years ago, I got my dream job. Teaching dance classes to little kids. They’re eight and up. Great kids. Really—” I had to stop talking and get my emotions under control. For the past several days, I’d been avoiding this pain, stepping around it with alcohol and drugs and partying. Today was the review meeting, where I either got my suspension lifted or was permanently fired.

  Charlie set his coffee down on the floor next to the mattress, shuffled toward me on the bed, and pulled me in toward him in a hug.

  “You’re wrinkling my blouse,” I complained.

  He patted my back, rocking me gently as he held me tightly.

  “My mother did mean a lot to me,” he said. “She didn’t dance, but she did play the piano. She played beautifully. I begged her to teach me how to play, but I was just a kid, and not a very patient one. I didn’t want to play scales or practice with simple songs. I wanted to play like she did, with her eyes closed, one song running into another, all from memory, all by ear.”

  I closed my eyes, my cheek on his bare chest. “Did you ever learn to play?”

  “No. She died when I was ten, and I never touched a piano again, until I was fifteen, but by then it was too late.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  He chuckled. “You teach kids. Do you think a fifteen-year-old is going to be happy with lessons plans designed for kids half his age?”

  I puffed air out of my nose in recognition. “I get the idea.”

  “Why are you worried about this meeting today? You said it was your dream job.”

  “I got suspended, and I’ll probably get fired today. They found out that I used to be a stripper, and that I lied on my application.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Just listening. I’m not going to try to solve your problem, because you don’t like that. But I am wondering… exactly how many of these eight-year-olds did you teach stripper choreography to? And how many did you put in high heels to do dances at clubs for tips?”

  I snorted. “You’re a sick person.”

  “Was it zero? Feel free to mention that fact today in your meeting.”

  “You make this whole thing seem ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous. Go in there with your head held high and tell them your past is your past, and if they can’t see that you’re an amazing person and a great teacher, it’s because they’re a bunch of fucking dirty old perverts who can’t stop imagining you with your clothes off.”

  “My life is such a mess. And me. I’m a mess.”

  Charlie unwound his arms from around me and guided me back all the way, until I was lying on the bed before him.

  “You’re a beautiful mess to me,” he said. “Like wildflowers, growing up in the middle of a tire, along the side of the road. You’re not like prize roses, carefully planted in the right soil and pruned back at the right times. You’re wild, and you’re free. And you smell like heaven. When I look at you, I believe in… I don’t know. I just believe.”

  I held my arms up. “Come here and kiss me.”

  “I’ll wrinkle your nice blouse.”

  “Fuck my blouse.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.” He climbed on top of me and sank his lips down on mine.

  We kissed for a while, and then he slowly undressed me. In no rush at all, he slid inside me, and we moved together as though we’d done this endless times.

  He coaxed an orgasm from me, and then he gasped as I did the same.

  He pulled away and stretched out alongside me, tracing around my navel with one finger.

  “I’ll drive you to your meeting,” he said.

  “I’m not going. They’re just going to fire me. Who needs that humiliation?”

  “Are you really going to let go of your dream job so easily?”

  “I can get another job.”

  “This whole tough-girl act of yours… it’s cute now, but it will get old. You’ll get old, and it won’t be so charming for you to act like you hate everyone and everything.”

  I pushed his hand away from my stomach. “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll drive you to your meeting,” he said again. Then he got out of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

  I held up both of my middle fingers aimed at the door. The meeting was in two hours, and I had more than enough time to get cleaned up, iron my blouse, and go face the firing squad.

  I didn’t want to go, but at least there was an upside. After they fired me, I could rub it in Charlie’s face that plenty of things in life were unfixable.

  ~

  Charlie wanted to drive me to the community center for my meeting, but I wouldn’t let him. />
  “I have to bring Gloria back her car,” I said, then I explained about how she’d been thinking of selling it, and I’d wanted a car but couldn’t afford one on my own, so we’d been sharing it lately to both save money. Since I would be losing my job, I couldn’t pay for my half anymore, plus I wouldn’t be at the same workplace as Gloria, to trade off days.

  “How will you get home?” Charlie demanded.

  “Bus. Or walk.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’ll be in the parking lot, in Duncan’s car.”

  “Don’t be stupid?”

  “Just a figure of speech,” he said, looking more annoyed than apologetic.

  I finished ironing my blouse and got dressed slowly. I tried to rehearse in my head what I was going to say, but the words wouldn’t come together. The truth was, I didn’t deserve to keep my job. I had lied to get there, and everything was tainted by that lie. Everything was poisoned by my past.

  For the first time in my life, I felt some degree of sympathy for my mother. She had always tried to put her past behind her, but she couldn’t keep secrets, and the truth always came out. She’d wanted to go to college, to escape the poverty she grew up in, and she started doing a few tricks to save up money. She thought it would be a temporary measure, and she could quit any time.

  Like many people who grew up poor, though, she had a complicated relationship with money. Once she had a bit, she’d snap and spend it all, as though a zero balance was the same as a fresh start. Before I was born, she said she’d “started over” five times.

  The first man who tried to “save” her did so by getting her pregnant. He claimed to have had a vasectomy, and paid extra to not use protection. When she realized she was pregnant, she cancelled a date, and he knew why. He showed up at her apartment and put a ring on her finger, then he knelt at her feet and kissed her stomach.

  That was my father.

  I was inside her. I never asked to be born, but there I was.

  The ring he gave her wasn’t an engagement ring. He was already married, with several children—some of them full-grown.

  I was born on the same day as his grandson, in the same hospital. The nurses and doctors went back and forth between my mother’s room and his daughter’s, making jokes about the “lady next door” who was going to win the big prize if things didn’t move along faster.