The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  “Thank you.” My mouth turns wet from the power of her touch.

  “Are you in a lot of pain? Do your stitches hurt?”

  “No. Just my gut where Ed slugged me.”

  “Your hand?”

  “It’s better.”

  She spins me back around and soaps the stubble on my neck and face, managing to keep all but the ends of her hair dry. My thoughts of pressing against her deepen when her eyes lock back on my erection. I rinse off and moisten my lips for a kiss, but she raises a finger to take it slow, lowering it when my wine-sweetened mouth meets hers. My kiss stirs a whimper, but she only gives in for a minute, her splayed fingers on my chest breaking us apart.

  “You need to understand something first,” she says.

  “What?”

  “There’re other ways to play. Sex has little to do with just sticking it in me.”

  I smile. “I’m not going to just ‘stick it in you,’ Autumn.”

  She takes my hands in hers so they don’t wander. “It’s been a long time for me. I want to be touched first.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I want to experience all of you, not just your six-incher.”

  “Eight,” I correct. “And that’s fine with me.”

  “Six.” She looks at it. Her mouth twists as if she could be wrong. “And you have to understand that I’m afraid once we do it, everything else will disappear. You know, like long kisses. Touching. Fooling around.” She squeezes my hands. “All the fun will be gone. I know that for a fact.”

  I tilt my head, sensing she’s had a bad experience. “I promise, I pay attention to the women I’m with. You’ll get plenty from me.”

  She turns off the water and hands me a towel. “Dry off and come out to the living room. I’ll finish warming you up out there.” She puts on her robe and picks up the two wine glasses, leaving the room without toweling off.

  Tough women like Autumn know how to win over men like me. She knew I wanted her when we first met, so she kept her legs closed. A test. She’s smart and doesn’t put out. I respect that more than anything. Self-control is always a good hook. And once I knew she wasn’t an easy lay, I was sweet on her. Now a kiss or whatever I can get is fine because I just want us to hang out together.

  “I’m waiting,” she says.

  “Don’t get dressed,” I call out.

  “Stay hard,” she calls back.

  “That’s not a problem.”

  I walk into the living room with the towel wrapped around my waist, leaving footprints on the hardwood floor. After handing me a second glass of wine, she closes the blinds and takes a swanky walk over to the sofa, reclining with her back against the arm and her knees spread. She sips her wine, robe half-open, one breast uncovered, patting the sofa beside her.

  I stare between her legs, lured by her beauty. “You have such a killer body.”

  “Good, come over here and touch it.”

  I put my wine on the coffee table and kneel between her legs, placing my hands on either side of her waist. She removes my towel and taps her lips, wanting a kiss before I begin.

  “Anything you desire, just ask.” We share a potent kiss, both of us desperate for air when I pull back.

  I find a comfortable spot between her legs, coiling my arms under and over her thighs so there’s no escape.

  “Gorgeous,” I whisper. I kiss her inner thigh, glancing up at her. Her grin is magnified twofold by the wine glass. I don’t plan on that glass staying in her hand for long.

  “Dylan!” I didn’t think so. After my first taste of her, she sets it on the floor and tightens her lips. “Go slow, please. I said it’d been a while.” She shifts and prepares for more, placing her feet on my shoulders and curling her toes into my back. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

  I scooch closer and restrain her swinging legs. She shifts again and grips my hair, tossing her head back. I’m absolutely thrilled she can’t sit still.

  “My God!”

  I stop and grin. “Too much?”

  “No.” Her legs shake. “Keep going.”

  I’m patient, sensing when it’s too intense, knowing when my tender tongue movements are just right. She loves gentle licks with a soft blow of air on her wet skin.

  “Dylan.” My name breezes out between shallow breaths. “Dylan.” She yanks my hair while ramming her feet into my shoulders. For a moment, I think it’s a sign to stop. Then she says, “It’s coming.”

  And I say, “Let it.”

  Her body turns to stone. She stops breathing and makes an o-face. But that’s just the beginning. After a long silence, the orgasm rips through her, causing her muscles and feet to twitch.

  “Enjoy,” I whisper with a proud smile.

  I make my way back to her lips, the taste of her still lingering in my mouth. She gladly accepts my tongue, thanking it with a roll of her own.

  “Again,” she says.

  I laugh and kiss her chin. “Can you handle another round?”

  “No.”

  We laugh together.

  “That was… wow.” Her face is a mixture of daze and bliss.

  We kiss, and I lie on top of her for what seems like an hour, aching to slide inside her warm body. I have to stop myself a few times from humping her like a hormone-crazed teenager. But then I come to my senses and think, screw it, screw it, screw it. I almost died tonight. Why should I wait to make love to her?

  “Do you have a condom?” I whisper, nibbling her earlobe.

  “I love it that you’re a horndog.”

  “A horndog?” I blush. “I’ve been a saint around you.”

  “Yeah, but only because of everything going on.”

  “Definitely because of everything going on, but also because I’m not gonna mess this up.”

  “With me? Don’t worry about it.”

  We kiss, and I ask her again. “So … do you have a condom?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” I put my forehead on her shoulder. “Too bad.”

  She wriggles out from under me and gets up, leaving her robe behind, spread out in the shape of her body. She takes a sip of wine and picks up my towel before walking out of the room.

  “Hey, did I offend you?” I ask, sitting up.

  “No,” she says from her bedroom. A door opens, then a cabinet, a drawer, and another cabinet. She returns with a plastic jar and a pack of cigarettes. “Lean back and put your feet on the floor.” She sets the cigarettes on the coffee table and straddles my hips.

  “What is that?”

  “Coconut oil.” She holds up the container. “Or we can call it lube.”

  “Nice.” I recline and put my hands behind my head.

  She opens the jar and dips two fingers inside, extracting a glob.

  “Autumn, what are … uh, I see.” My hands drop to her hips as she rubs it on me.

  “You’re close, aren’t you?” She smiles.

  “Y-yeah. I’ve been worked up for an hour.”

  She looks at her watch. “Twenty minutes, babe.”

  “No. It’s been way longer than that. Don’t forget about the shower.”

  “Forty minutes.” She beams.

  “I’ll give you that.” My hips rock up and down. “You gonna ride me?”

  “From the outside.” She bites my bottom lip. “Outercourse. You game?”

  I look down at her palm rubbing the outline of my erection. “Think I’d say no?”

  “Nope.” She crosses my arms over my chest. “Keep them there.”

  “No touching?”

  “Not with your hands. You can use your mouth, especially on my neck, I like that.”

  “Okay.”

  “And let me do most of the work. I like that, too.”

  “Even better.”

  She kisses the scar over my eyebrow and the bruise on the bridge of my nose, then traces the outline of my lips with her tongue.

  “I’m powerless,
” I whisper, hands nestled in my armpits.

  She nods. “Feeling powerless is also about what’s in here.” Her hand moves over my heart.

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  She nods again, this time with a sly glint in her eyes.

  “You’re so damn sexy, Autumn.”

  “I know,” she responds, pinching my nipple.

  I’ve found my weakness—a strong woman.

  The pressure of her body set to mine is a sensation like screwing without a condom. Skin to skin—the coconut oil forms an excellent glide. She’s comfortable, I’m comfortable, and she wants to do all the work. Outercourse is spectacular. She’s spectacular.

  “You’re so hard,” she whispers in my ear.

  She parts her lips slightly and exhales my name, as I inhale the scent of her sex. I’m high on her seductive words and lost in her breasts swaying over my chest.

  Her mouth curves into a loving smile when my legs straighten and hips rise off the sofa. The tightening of my muscles and rhythmic thrusts triggers her to lean back and stroke my dick. I manage to say Autumn about a hundred times as the sudden rush of my orgasm releases onto my stomach.

  “God, yeah.” I rest my hand over my chest to keep my heart from breaking through my ribs, aware of every gushing beat.

  “Breathe, Dylan. Breathe.” She kisses my forehead. My nose. My mouth. “Stay here.” She heads to the kitchen, coming back with a wad of paper towels.

  I’d move to help her clean up, but I can’t. Really, I can’t.

  “I got it,” she says. “Stop panting so hard. You’ll get stuff on the sofa,” she teases.

  My laughter feels good, a lightness in my mind after days of unrest.

  She gets up and puts the towels in the trash, then opens the floor-to-ceiling blinds, carefree about the people on the street seeing her naked. She gives the telescope next to her window a spin before turning back to me. Amid the snow cascading outside the window, and her skin glittering in the golden glow of the city, she looks like a sequined queen.

  “All good, Dylan?” She lights a cigarette and gives me a smoky kiss.

  “On the mend, Autumn.”

  “Perfect.” She places the cigarette between my lips, offering a drag before setting it in a fancy glass dish on the coffee table. Her nipples return to light pink, and the flush on her cheeks fades to white.

  “Totally on the mend. Sit down.” I pat my legs.

  She straddles my hips and wraps her arms around my shoulders, grazing the nape of my neck. It tickles more than soothes, sensitivity from the orgasm. Still, I enjoy it because it’s coming from her.

  I slide two fingers along her inner thigh and up between her legs, but she captures my wrist before my fingers move inside her.

  “Still good?” she asks.

  I take my hand away, hearing the catch in her voice. She rubs her upper arms, somewhat timid.

  Then she asks me again. “Still good?”

  I kiss the heart tattoo on her finger while looking into her eyes.

  “What is it, Dylan? Should I drive you home now that you got what you wanted?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  I clasp my hands behind her back. “It’s what you said in the shower, about maybe falling in love with me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I feel it. Something’s happening between us. I’m right there with you.”

  Probably shouldn’t have said it right after sex, or could’ve said it differently, but at least her response is what I’d expect from a kick-ass girl like Autumn.

  “You’d better be.”

  21

  “So let me get this straight.” Sean rubs his eyes after emerging from his dark bedroom, Riley glued to his side. “You spent the night with Autumn, but didn’t talk about her dad or the mayor? What about Eddie? Or those guys who picked you up at the lake?”

  “You asked me these questions yesterday, and the answer is still no.” I turn away from them and look in my bedroom mirror, trying to fix my tie. “Autumn and I made out and then we got drunk. I didn’t want to bring up all that other junk and ruin a great time together.”

  They sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor like a couple of kids, staring up at me like I’m about to tell them a bedtime story. I’m not. I’m busy getting dressed for the mayor’s Post-Valentine’s-Shindig-Thingamajig. I have no time for questions about people like Ed Dorazio. I’m keeping Autumn in my head, no one else tonight but her.

  “Look at that huge smile on his face.” Riley elbows Sean.

  “I’m not smiling.” I draw in my lips.

  “Get real. You haven’t stopped smiling since Autumn brought you home yesterday morning,” Sean says. He holds his feet and rocks incessantly.

  “Do you mind? A little privacy would be great.” I lift my chin, concentrating on getting my tie the correct length. It’s my third try, coming out short each time. I’d have it by now if they’d stop yapping. “I said, do you mind?”

  “No, we don’t mind.” Riley flips her hair and kisses Sean on the cheek. “It’s fun watching you get all dolled up.”

  I give her the finger and she laughs. Her curly hair that usually reminds me of licorice twists has taken on the shape of lightning bolts, and Sean’s dressed only in his boxers and a trapper hat. I’m afraid to ask if it’s a sex thing—the mountain woodsman look.

  “Then what did you and Autumn talk about?” she asks.

  “We talked about my job at the bar, and then a little about her job.”

  “What does she do?” she pushes.

  “She has a degree in criminal justice.”

  “No way.” Sean leans forward. “Nuh-uh.”

  “Finally, I got this damn tie right.” I sweep my hand down my chest and slip into my jacket, rushing down the stairs to escape their questions.

  “Dylan, hold up.” Sean darts after me, Riley a step behind. “Criminal justice? You’re joking. Is she a cop?”

  “She was.”

  “What?” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “You’re dating a cop!”

  “No. Stop it.” I wrench away. “For six months she was, back when she was twenty-one. But she quit because the men on the force were sexist pigs.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, they were. Just think about being in a squad car with Eddie every day. He’d be such an ass. I’d quit, too.”

  “No, I mean, no way, you’re dating a cop!”

  “She’s not a cop, Sean.”

  “Well, what is she then? FBI?”

  “Get real.”

  “A security guard? What?” His voice thunders through the house. “Don’t tell me she quit and wasted her degree. I won’t believe you if you say that. I’ll follow her and find out what she does.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just drop it.”

  “No. What if she’s lying? What if she’s still a cop and building a case against us? What if she’s using you? What if—”

  “Don’t go nuts on me. She’s not building a case against us.”

  I knew he’d flip. I knew because I did, too. But I was cool after she explained her new job.

  “This doesn’t bother you?” he asks. “You find out she’s the police commissioner’s daughter”—he smacks the back of his hand into the palm of the other—“and that she screwed the mayor. And if that wasn’t enough, she used to be a cop?” Smack. “You’re asking for it.” Smack. “This is crazy!”

  I open the front closet and pull out my black dress boots, taking a seat on the stairs to put them on.

  “Autumn doesn’t have the personality to take orders from anyone. She needs to be in control and do her own thing.”

  “Which is what?” He grips the earflaps on his hat, tugging them downward in a left-right motion. He looks at Riley, but she’s staying out of it. “Spit it out. What’s she doing now?”

&nbs
p; “She has her own business.”

  “Doing what?”

  “She needs more experience to get credibility, and I guess she’s working on a case that’s going to help her in the long run.”

  “Doing what?” He crosses his arms. “Doing what, Dylan? She can’t make enough just being a snitch.”

  “In a way she can.” I slide to the edge of the step, hands folded in my lap. “She does surveillance work.”

  “For the cops?”

  “For people … and yeah, sometimes for the cops.” Surveillance is a fitting word to use without scaring him with a label like “private investigator.”

  “Legally?” he asks.

  “Yep. She gathers evidence for divorce cases and searches for missing people. And she recovers stolen property, like the mayor’s wife’s car.”

  “But you haven’t pushed for more details about who the guy was who stole the car?”

  “I will. It wasn’t the right time.”

  “That’s cool,” Riley chimes in. “Can I hire her to find the blazer I lost last fall?”

  I roll my eyes and turn back to Sean. “Autumn eavesdrops for the cops for drug-related crimes. And she’s sometimes hired as a witness, just for being on the scene when something happens.”

  “You mean like when we killed those guys at the party? She’s bringing us down!”

  “She’s not bringing us down, Sean.”

  “Well, what’s surveillance? Like a private eye? Did her dad get her that job or does she work for the mayor? Who’s behind this?” He smacks his palm again. “Man, oh man. I wouldn’t go to that party tonight if I were you.”

  “Autumn doesn’t work for anyone. She’s a rebel.”

  He shakes his head. “That chick’s devious, out there in the city, pretending to be a snitch.”

  “Chill.” I stand up and put on my coat. “She’s not pretending. That bust was part of a case she’s been working on with Rick. He’s using her as a snitch, like us, but she’s in it for reasons of her own, not theirs.”

  “I smell horseshit, that wasn’t Rick’s district. She’s a tricky, sneaky…”

  “Stop it.” I smell my wrist, making sure the dab of cologne I put on isn’t too overwhelming.

  “Sean, leave him alone,” Riley says. “He’s in love and looks happy for once.”