In Case of Emergency

by Jenny Bunting

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t need to marry a devastatingly handsome and successful man who wears a watch that costs more than my rent to be happy and complete and whole.”

  Raegan’s green eyes narrow on me. “Who said anything about getting married? I was talking about sex. Accepting lavish gifts. Being a sugar baby.”

  No,” I yell, and people look at me. I lean in. “It’s just not my journey.”

  “He’s still looking at you.” Raegan’s sharp elbow hits me again, and we look across the deck. Smith slowly sips his gin and tonic from the side, not through the straw. The way his lips cover the side of the glass throws a vision into my head of him. Between my legs, covering my clit with those perfect lips. Sucking, licking…

  “Did you just moan?” Raegan asks.

  “No,” I say, turning so I can rest my forearms on the railing and avoid his penetrating gaze.

  “You should talk to him. He hasn’t stopped looking at you,” Raegan says.

  After I get my breath under control, I turn back to her with a smile. “Okay, so who here is your type? What about that guy?”

  I covertly point to a good-looking guy in glasses and a patterned shirt.

  She scrunches her button nose. “Too nerdy.”

  “That’s not nerdy. You know what Smith told me in the elevator?” I say with a laugh. “He’s into Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So nerdy, right?”

  “Right,” Raegan agrees, eyes narrowing further. “I think you need to talk to Smith.”

  “About what? There’s no reason for me to talk to him.”

  Raegan now folds her arms against her chest and flicks an eyebrow. “Didn’t you kiss him?”

  “So?” I say.

  “You don’t kiss random people. You haven’t kissed anyone the whole time I’ve known you.”

  Smith’s eyes still glaze over my skin, causing shivers. No, that’s just San Francisco.

  “Think about it. I need to do a lap. I heard somewhere that women are easier to approach if they’re alone,” Raegan says. She takes me in a warm hug and kisses my cheek. “Just talk to him.”

  “Maybe,” I say as Raegan leaves me all alone on the deck.

  The minute Raegan walks away, the men notice and hone in.

  The first brave man approaches, and I tilt up my chin. Turning down men can be very satisfying.

  “Your dress is really pretty,” the man says.

  I look down at my navy blue maxi-dress and back up. “Thanks.”

  “You know where it would look even better?” he asks. I close my eyes to brace for the blow. “My floor.”

  “Okay, enough,” Smith says, sandwiching himself between the pickup artist and myself.

  “Hey man, I was just getting started.”

  “You need a lot more than that for this caliber of woman,” he says.

  The pickup artist points to Smith. “Are you okay with this?”

  Smith being so close to me, his pheromones making me powerless?

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  “We have business to attend to,” he says, offering my arm like we’re going to a ball. I take it, and he leads me into the warm air of the cabin.

  We find a gender-neutral bathroom, and he pulls me in.

  Another enclosed space. I should escape.

  Instead, I cock out my leg from the slit on my dress like I’m Angelina Jolie.

  He locks the door, and I cross my arms across the cleavage I’ve got, which isn’t much.

  Smith turns around, his breath oddly rough.

  “You changed your phone number,” he says.

  I lift an eyebrow in surprise. “I got a new phone six months ago.”

  Smith places his hands on his hips again, turning around to face the door. Since I’m a weak woman, I check out his ass.

  “How did you know I would be here?” I ask.

  “Vincent,” Smith says. I’m not sure whether to call Vincent and yell at him or Venmo him twenty bucks.

  Smith pivots, and I almost melt. His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled, and his eyes crinkle at the sides. His shirt is doing some work since his muscles are straining against the fabric.

  I hop on the sink, the countertop barely large enough for my butt. I’m wearing a dress, so I cross my legs, but they could open at any moment.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, looking at the ground. “I thought I was fine and then I saw you again at the wedding and all the feelings I’ve bottled up came rushing back. That kiss made it worse. You said men don’t chase you, but I am.”

  I expect him to rush me, take my lips with his. My lips are parted; I’m waiting. He still stands there.

  “That kiss was pretty great,” I say. I lean forward, letting my neckline gape. I’m not wearing a bra.

  He runs his tongue across his lips, and I almost gasp.

  Why am I like this?

  I spent the last week actively avoiding any obsession over Smith, and now, I’m giving in after two sips of an alcoholic beverage.

  I uncross my legs, and I lean back onto my palms.

  I hope he doesn’t make me beg.

  “What are you doing?” Smith asks, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just getting comfortable.”

  “I’m not going to do anything until you say so.”

  “I thought you were an alpha,” I say, my legs parting more. Smith hasn’t touched me yet, but if he doesn’t soon, I will.

  “I am,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m also a man with values and scruples.”

  “I want your scruples all over me,” I say, then wince because that makes no goddamn sense.

  He laughs, and I crook my finger. Smith crosses the room in one step. His mouth covers mine, and it’s the kiss in the elevator times one thousand.

  He kisses me like he’s starved, nibbling on my lip, sweeping his tongue against mine in a torrid dance. My hands go through his hair as he presses his hand into my lower back, fingertips inches from my ass. Smith pulls me closer, his hard length pressing against me, and my hips buck involuntarily, like our bodies recognize each other’s.

  I can’t breathe, but I can’t come up for air. A tiny moan leaves my mouth, which would usually embarrass me, but I don’t care. All that matters is his hands on me, his cock against my clit, his mouth on me.

  His touch is hesitant, but I want no doubt in his mind. I dip my hand between us, feeling him through his pants. He groans, low and guttural, hips bucking against my palm.

  Holy shit, he is long and thick, growing stronger in my hand.

  I grab his hand and place it on my breast. His thumb plays with my nipple.

  I pull down his zipper, but he wiggles away.

  His eyes lock with mine. “You first.”

  Biting my lip, I watch Smith trail down my body, licking the top of my breast, pulling aside my dress strap to take a nipple in his mouth. My head rolls back, slamming against the mirror.

  I might have a concussion, but I don’t care.

  I gather my dress hem, and he pushes my legs wider. I’m panting, I’m so turned on and ready. He says nothing but drapes one of my legs over his shoulder and leans in.

  In my experience, men removed the underwear as soon as possible, but Smith takes his time. He kisses the fabric where my clit is and she responds. A first spark of flame swirls within my core, and my eyes flutter closed.

  His finger dips in, and I hope he feels how slick my walls are, how ready I am for him as he continues to suck my clit through the underwear.

  “God, yes,” I whisper. His mouth knows just what to do. I buck against his mouth, silently begging him to pull my underwear to the side, pull them off, rip through them.

  Just get them off me.

  “Stop teasing,” I say.

  “What?” he looks up, pulling his fingers out of me and licking them. “Do you want me to taste you for real?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  He says nothing but leans down again. He hooks his thumbs and
pulls the underwear down my legs, excruciatingly slowly. I shake my legs to kick the underwear away, and his kisses on my inner thighs makes my body pulse.

  When he licks my bare clit, I arch my back and moan, louder and more primal.

  “Fuck yes,” I scream as he bobs his head like the professional clit jockey he is. His tongue laps and swirls and sucks and drives me to the brink of being a mad woman.

  It’s been so long since I’ve had a tongue on me, much less a tongue that knows what it’s doing. It’s not long until I come undone, the payoff long and violent, my body vibrating as he continues to indulge. When my orgasm settles, he kisses my thigh and flips my dress to cover me.

  His cock is in my hand when there’s a loud knock at the door. We freeze, his lips covered with my arousal.

  “Madam and whoever is in there with Madam. This is Barbara, the owner of Love of Your Life Bay Cruises. We were alerted that there were some loud sounds coming from this bathroom of a sexual nature. Please make yourself decent and exit the bathroom immediately.”

  7

  I believe no woman should be embarrassed for receiving or giving pleasure.

  However.

  Try getting caught receiving oral sex from your former boss in a boat bathroom, when you’ve vowed to stay single forever. Mortification does not even begin to describe what I’m feeling right now.

  Smith offers a hand, and I take it to jump off of the counter.

  “Come out now,” Barbara demands from the other side of the door.

  “One moment,” I yell.

  Smith’s face is bright red, and mine doesn’t look much better.

  He takes his time, splashing water on his face. I arrange my skirt so it falls evenly and I double-check my ass in the mirror. Smith smacks it, and I give him a flirty glare.

  “Did I just hear spanking?!”

  “Oh, get your panties out of a twist, Barbara,” I say, and Smith laughs, covering his mouth. His arm looped around my middle makes me all gooey like caramel.

  “You have to cover me again,” Smith says. I look down, and I grin. He has a hard-on, just like last time.

  Aw, memories.

  He presses his body against my backside, kissing my neck before we open the door. His arms around my waist, his body glued to me, we walk out like our ankles are tied together. I don’t know how pressing his cock into my ass crack will settle him down, but I’m not complaining.

  A small crowd of people have gathered, with a severe-looking woman with a lip snarl and crossed arms at the center. That has to be Barbara, missing her calling as a harsh headmistress in a movie with a spunky child protagonist.

  There are other people, including a janitor whose inner dialogue I want to hear so bad and a few women either proud of me or disgusted I snatched up such a good-looking man.

  “Barbara,” Smith says with a respectful nod.

  “Babs,” I say.

  “This is a wholesome singles event, and you two…you two…” she reprimands, clearly not able to find the words. An exasperated huff comes out from her red lipstick, slightly smudged around the outline.

  I truly wonder when the last time she got laid was.

  “We apologize if we’ve made any guests uncomfortable,” Smith says. “I’m just crazy about her.”

  He squeezes me to him, and electric currents flow through me. I never believed people when they claimed sparks when they touched their lover, but I am proven wrong. Everything I know for sure is shifting.

  Maybe I didn’t know anything at all.

  “Come with me,” Barbara says.

  Smith pulls away from me, and we follow Barbara into the belly of the boat, down carpeted stairs to a non-descript white door. Barbara motions for us to go inside. We find a tiny office with two chairs for visitors. We sit down, careful not to touch each other.

  Barbara sits down slowly in her chair. “We can’t go back to the dock until the event is over, but you two must separate.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Smith offers. “She came with a friend, and I’ve gotten what I came here for tonight.”

  Remembering that beautiful head of hair between my legs, I blush. Hard.

  Barbara’s eyes flick between the two of us. She looks at me like I’m the biggest harlot to ever step foot on this boat. “You won’t find another man? Or woman?”

  “She better not,” Smith says.

  I didn’t know it was possible to blush even harder, but I do. Usually, I would be disgusted at such a show of alpha possessiveness, but it’s intoxicating coming from Smith.

  I need distance right now.

  “Okay,” Barbara says, her shoulders and face relaxing. “Sir, you will stay here, and miss, you can go up to the deck. No more funny business.”

  “I promise,” I say. Before I leave, I drop my head down and steal a kiss from Smith.

  Now, he’s blushing.

  “Wait for me!” I yell dramatically to him as I leave the office.

  I walk back up the stairs on wobbly legs, the heat still present between them. I mill through the crowd, looking for my friend.

  I pick out Raegan’s purple hair immediately. She’s talking to a man who wears desperation as a cologne.

  “Hi!” Raegan says. She pulls away from the man, her smile disappearing once we are away from him. “Thank goodness. His breath smelled.”

  We walk away, and I fluff my hair since I don’t know what to do with my hands.

  “What happened?” Raegan whispers. “You look different.”

  “Well…” I begin, putting my hands on my hips. I cannot contain my smile. and Raegan’s eyes go as big as quarters.

  “Did you have sex? On a boat?”

  “Yes, but no penetration,” I say with a finger point. Leaning in, I whisper, “Smith went down on me in the bathroom.”

  “Up top,” Raegan says, holding up a hand for a high-five. I smack it, and then we both shake our hands out since it was an enthusiastic (and hard) high five.

  “We got caught, so Smith is in timeout in Barbara’s office.”

  “Who’s Barbara?”

  I point to Barbara, who is watching me like a rookie FBI agent.

  “Oh,” Raegan says. “She looks scary.”

  “She is,” I say. “I have to kill time before Smith’s sprung from boat jail.”

  “Let’s just have some fun. The two of us,” Raegan says.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say. “I need another drink.”

  “Me too.”

  Raegan speaks fluent French, so she spends the rest of the evening pretending like she doesn’t speak English when a guy approaches us. We find the bow of the boat and do our own Titanic reenactment. When they start playing music, we do interpretive dances, and most of the men stare at us. Some are intrigued, and I do not trust them for that since our dancing was awful.

  When the boat docks, I feel giddiness in my soul.

  Without a doubt, I’m going to get laid tonight.

  “You’re free!” I say with outstretched arms, waiting on the dock. Smith smiles shyly as he joins me on dry land. He picks me up and spins me around.

  “I learned a lot in my time behind bars,” he says. “Most of all, that I want to spend the rest of the evening with you.”

  “I feel the same way,” I say.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Go back to your place.”

  Smith looks down and then back up at me with a devilish grin. “Sure.”

  We have to wait for an Uber since the event just finished, but we get in one eventually. It’s a quiet ride, except for the rap music the driver plays, but Smith grabs my hand and holds it like we’re dating.

  It scares me and thrills me, all at once.

  When we arrive at his building, we step out, and the wind from the bay chills me to a shiver. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me to close to him for warmth. He buzzes himself in, and we walk across a carpeted lobby to the elevator bank.

  “I’m triggered,” I say, and he lets out a he
arty laugh.

  “When the elevator situation happened, I talked to my landlord about this, and they’re serviced way more frequently than the ones at the Octavo.”

  “Still nervous,” I say when the doors open.

  I walk in first, and he follows me. As soon as the doors close, his lips are on mine, his hands cradling my face, his thumbs playing with my earrings. It’s a kiss that turns my knees to pudding, makes me question every truth I know about myself.

  “One kiss in an elevator wasn’t enough,” Smith says. “Plus, this makes me forget that I’m terrified of being stuck again.”

  “It distracted me too,” I say.

  When it dings for his floor, the tenth, I breathe out a sigh of relief that we made it and follow him down the hall to his apartment. He pushes the key into the lock, looking back at me as he opens. When he flips on the switch, I gasp.

  It’s the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever been in.

  Clean white and neutral grays—simple, elegant. Large picture windows encompass the space, and the shine of the city overwhelms me.

  This apartment is complete opposite to my tiny four hundred square foot apartment with clothes and video props and video equipment strewn about and one tiny window.

  “Wine?” Smith asks, and I nod. He walks to his kitchen as I walk past his taupe couches to a side table with a vase holding white flowers and a single silver frame. I hunch down to get a better look.

  It’s a younger Smith, with dark ink hair in a graduation gown, flanked by two older people. He holds a smile wider than I’ve ever seen on his face.

  “Your parents?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Smith says, handing me a glass of wine. I take a sip and let the flavor roll over my tongue. Smith’s eyes stay on me as he sips his own wine. “That’s my law school graduation.”

  “Are you close to them?”

  “Very close,” Smith says. “They live in San Rafael. It’s where I want to settle eventually. When I meet the right woman and start a family.”

  That comment roasts my insides. The way he looks at me makes me think I’m on the short list for Smith’s future baby momma.

  No, he can’t be thinking that. A couple standalone kisses and an amazing orgasm don’t mean we’ll fall in love or even date. My future of adopting multiple foster children and having a farm with chickens and sassy goats is still possible.