by Poppy Parkes
Making sure I’m holding adequate tension in my leading arm, I sending her spiraling out from my side, back in, then around again the opposite direction. Amelia’s curls fan out over her shoulders as I sweep her around the floor, eyes alight, and I’m overwhelmed with a powerful urge to sweep this woman off her feet as well.
With one last tight turn, I reel her back in, rocking her close to my chest, one hand pressing firmly into her lower back so that I can feel her pelvis sway with mine.
I suppress a groan. I want to make our hips move in a different way. I want to make the most delicious love to Amelia, to watch her hips buck and lift as I nudge her pussy into climax after climax. I know she’ll taste so sweet.
“I like your moves,” she purrs, lips so near my ear that they brush my skin. Again I shiver, and hold her tighter.
“Thank you.” I gaze down at her. Sweat is already beginning to glisten like fairy dust over her forehead. “I like yours too. And, well, all of you.”
I watch a sudden storm of emotion crack through her blue eyes. My stomach twists as I glimpse fear and sorrow. But there’s a warmth mixed in with the chill, too — and a hunger.
At least, I think there is. I hope to high hell that I’m not fooling myself, falling prey to my own wishful thinking.
“Why?” she asks, lips trembling around the single syllable. She shakes her head. “I mean, how do you know that you like all of me? You hardly know me.”
I circle a wide hand over her sacrum, seeking to soothe her. “I have a feeling.”
Her lashes fly wide. “A feeling?”
I nod. “A good one.”
Amelia lids her eyes. “I do too. About you.”
Sweeping a lock of her hair behind an ear, I smile. “I’m glad.”
“I’ve never felt anything like this before.” She continues as if she’s talking more to herself than to me. I have to strain to hear her over the music.
“That’s a damned shame. You’re a beautiful woman — although I get the sense that you’re a lot more than that too. You deserve to feel good things — to have good things.”
Her eyes fly up to meet mine, and now there’s anger in them, although I don’t think it’s directed at me. Her chin sets for a moment, determined. “See? That right there — that was a lovely thing to say.” Amelia’s talking to me, but it feels like she’s having an argument with somebody else.
My jaw tightens as I wonder what dumbass had the gall to go and hurt this woman. Whoever he was and whatever he did, he was a fool. I barely know Amelia, but it’s clear as day — she’s special, and somebody treated her like shit.
I draw her closer, and she allows her curves to mold to the ridges and valleys of my body. My blood rushes hot, but I order my body — and specifically the part of me currently trying to tent my jeans — to keep cool.
“I didn’t say that to be nice,” I tell her. “I said it because from where I’m standing, it’s true.”
She cocks her head at me, taking the measure of me. “Well,” she says at last, “I still think it was nice. So thank you.”
“Fair enough.” I murmur the words into her hair, and thrill that it makes her wrap her arms tighter around my neck.
“Now,” she says, pulling back to arch an eyebrow at me, mischief brewing in her voice, “spin me again.”
Amelia
One song turns into ten more quickly than I would’ve thought possible. Somewhere around song six, I take a break to check in with my friends. I’d noticed Emmy and Hattie dancing together, and Kate sashaying around the dance floor with a few different gentlemen.
I slide into the cramped booth they’re occupying. Kate slides a glass of ice water my way and I gulp it gratefully.
“Having fun?” Hattie says. The smile playing over her lips tells me she already know the answer.
I nod, wiping a bit of sweat away from my upper lip. “He’s a really good dancer.”
“So are you,” Emmy points out.
“Yeah,” I nod, “but he’s better. And because he’s better, he makes me better.” I’ve had the privilege to dance with more skilled partners a couple of times in my life, and it always blows my mind how their expertise enhances my own.
“Kind of like Randall. Except in the opposite way.” Emmy’s words are gentle, her eyes full of apology, but the sound of his name sends frost down my spine. “He wasn’t great, and he brought you down.”
Hattie and Kate are nodding, and Kate takes my hand and squeezes it. “You deserve better,” Kate says. “You deserve someone who makes you feel good.” My eyes widen as my friend unknowingly echoes Tatum’s words.
“In more ways than one, if you know what I mean.” Hattie waggles her eyebrows at me, and a giggle bursts from me. “One of those preferably being in your pants.”
“You know,” Kate says, eyes narrow in thought, “a man who dances like that is probably skilled in other, um, areas of life.” She winks at Emmy, who blushes but nods in agreement.
Hattie leans forward, staring me straight in the eyes. “She means in bed.”
I laugh. “I got that, thanks.”
“So do you think you’ll go for it — sleep with the hot dancer man from the dive bar?” Kate asks.
From the way my nether regions heat and my knees seem to loosen at her question, I know my answer before I even speak it. “Yes,” I say, testing how voicing the intention out loud feels. “If he wants to.”
Hattie makes a sound of indignation. “Oh, he wants to.”
“How do you know?” I ask, heart suddenly hammering.
Emmy smiles. “The way he looks at you, how he touches you — it’s obvious.”
I look at Kate, always the most logical of the four of us. “It is?”
She squeezes my hand again. “It is.”
“But,” Emmy leans toward me, “are you sure this is what you want? We all support you if it is —“ Hattie and Kate nod their heads fervently — “but are you ready? Are you okay?”
“It’s been a day, that’s for sure,” Hattie adds. “It’s okay if you need this, and also okay if you’re not there yet.”
“We can stay until you’re done dancing, and make sure you get home safe,” says Kate. “It’s no problem.”
My eyes fill with tears, and my friends all press in as close as the table allows, covering me with their hands and their love. “I’m so lucky to have you,” I snuffle, trying to blink away the tears.
“We know,” Hattie chirps, making us all laugh.
“But,” I say, voice more steady, “I’m ready. Randall kept me on the hook for so long. I want something lovely. I crave it. And I want it with him.” I look across Desperado’s at Tatum. He’s lounging against the bar, watching the dancing. His eyes snap to me, as if he can feel my gaze on him, and his face blossoms into a smile so warm I can feel my insides melt.
“Oh,” Emmy breathes. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”
I try to shrug it off. “I don’t know, I just met him.” But I don’t quite believe my own words. Tatum is growing on me, and quickly, in a way that has me dreaming about more than just tonight.
Which is ridiculous. Right? I said it myself — I’ve only just met Tatum. I know nothing about him, and he knows nothing about me. Hell, I’d planned on being married to Randall and rocking out at my wedding reception by this time of the night. Hoping for anything with any man at this point seems like a little much.
But then I steal a glance at Tatum through my lashes, and my belly twists in pleasure at the sight of him resting his elbows on the bar, one leg crossed over the other, eyes traveling the dance floor only to find their way to me.
Randall never made me feel this, not even when we were new to each other and attraction was all we had to go on.
In fact, now I’m wondering if there was ever any attraction between us at any point. Sure, I’d made compromises to be with Randall, but I’d thought that was what a successful relationship took. And yes, he became less and less willing to make compro
mises of his own, and today’s events schooled me in how foolish I was to overlook that. But I’d never felt like I was missing anything with Randall.
Until this moment.
Fuck it, I think. I’m going to let myself feel everything that I’m feeling with and about Tatum. I’m going to allow myself to entertain big dreams about him, about us. I’m going to enjoy this ride, be it long or short, because I do deserve something lovely, like everyone keeps saying. And being with Tatum, whatever it means, feels lovely.
I want everything that he has to offer me.
“Yes,” I answer Emmy at last, lips curling into a smile as my gaze locks with Tatum’s once again, “I think I’ve got it really bad.”
“Then what are you waiting for, tiger?” Hattie says, giving me a playful shrug on the shoulder as we all begin to slide out of the booth. “Go get that handsome hunk of human.”
“And if you change your mind, or need a friend, just call,” Kate says. “No matter how late it is. Okay?”
“Got it.” I give her a quick hug, then move on to Emmy and Hattie. “Thank you.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Emmy says. “Always.”
“Love you,” I say to my friends as they depart, feeling the undaunted tenacity of their friendship that’s as certain as the earth under my feet. Like Emmy said, we’re there for each other, always.
I turn to Tatum, and he immediately straightens and begins to cross the room to my side. As he closes the distance between us, I have a sudden sense that in looking at this man, I’m looking at another kind of always. I grin, so damn ready for it.
Tatum
Amelia looks at me like she’s looking into the future and likes what she sees. It makes me quicken my pace, lengthen my stride, body hating to be away from her. Every cell in me is drawn to this woman. When I take her in my arms and swing her back on the dance floor for a slow three step set to an old time-y ballad, it feels like coming home.
“Everything okay with your friends?” I ask.
She nods, swaying with me, hands linking at the base of my neck. “They headed out.”
“Without you?” I hate to think that I interrupted Amelia’s night out with their friends.
“I told them to go when they felt ready.” She traces the line of my jaw with her eyes. Even though she hasn’t touched me there, I shiver with pleasure. “I’m not ready to go yet, though. Not without you.”
My body’s response is instant and primal. My low belly winds tight, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe slowly. Blood rushes into my cock, sending it straining against the denim that imprisons it.
Because Amelia has removed all doubt from my mind.
She wants me.
Tonight.
And that changes everything.
“I want to kiss you,” I rasp, spreading my hands wide over her sacrum. “May I, Amelia?”
Our faces are close enough that I can feel her breath quicken to match mine. Her lips part, ripe for the tasting. Lifting her eyes, she nods. “More than anything.”
I want to haul her from the dance floor and pin her against the wall, ravishing her mouth with mine in full view of all present. I want to part her legs with a knee, dip into her wetness, and make her clench in ecstasy around my finger. I want to make her mine, for now and for always.
But even though she says she wants me, I’m not sure that’s quite what she has in mind. So I cup her face in my hands, grazing her cheeks with both thumbs, and taste her lips for the first time.
Our mouths move carefully over each other, creating a rhythm together. Her lips are soft and pillowy. I can’t resist taking her lower lip between my teeth and tugging gently, just for a moment, before releasing it. The corners of her mouth curl upwards, and with mischief in her blue eyes, she turns our tentative kisses hard. She flicks her tongue over mine, dragging her teeth over my lips. Opening her mouth wide so I can explore her, Amelia is demanding, hungry.
I meet her, taking her hips in a steely grip and grinding into her. I want her to feel how much she arouses me, how ready I am for her. She’s not the only one who’s hungry.
She groans, sending fingernails trailing down my back. The sensation sends my lips crashing over hers all the harder.
Without warning, Amelia pulls her head away. She doesn’t step out of my hands, though, and her face is a storm. My heart pummels the inside of my rib cage so hard that, if I wasn’t so worried that I’m about to watch her walk away, it would hurt.
Just as suddenly as she put space between us, she steps close again, putting her lips to my ear. “I want more than your kisses.” Her voice is as rough as mine was a moment ago. “Will you give me more?”
I caress the side of her face, tucking one of those wild curls behind her ear. “I’ll give you anything you want.” And I mean it. I feel like I’m living out a fate that began with my parents’ love story. Unlikely as it was, theirs has stood the test of time. I dare to believe the same is possible with Amelia. Everything that I am is hers, if she wants it.
Without another word, she snatches my hand and whirls on a heel, tugging me in her wake. I walk after her like the devotee that I already am, willing to follow wherever she leads. But a large part of me hopes that, tonight, that means to her bed.
Amelia marches with purpose. She knows exactly where she wants to go, it’s a tiny booth with high wooden seat backs in the darkest corner of Desperado’s. She slides in without relinquishing my hand, so I join her on the same side.
As soon as we’re in, she turns on me, burying her fingers in my hair and guiding my face to hers. My cock jumps when her touch trails over my neck and keeps traveling south. She releases the top two closed buttons of my shirt and spreads a palm over the heated flesh of my chest. I moan into her mouth, circling her low back with my arms and getting her pelvis as close to me as the cramped booth allows.
Her hand emerges from my shirt and wanders down my belly as she nips my lip. My breath catches when she finds the bulge in my pants and massages it. She smiles at my reaction, adding pressure to her hand movements. My jeans are fast becoming painfully restrictive, and my body demands that I free myself from such unnecessary vestments as clothing.
But I can’t. We can’t. Not here.
And not yet. I’m not in this for a hand job. I want to explode into Amelia, if she is willing. And before that, I want to watch her writhe with pleasure.
Her ministrations to my dick grow more insistent. I catch the orb of one of her breasts in a hand. My thumb finds the areola, and I pinch and twist at it through her dress.
The distraction works. Her hand grows still while her torso sways with each panting breath, attention wholly on my touch.
I’m not finished with her yet. With the other hand, I steal below the hem of her dress, brushing the top of her thigh. She shivers. To my delight, her legs fall open, an invitation.
I take my time trailing my fingers from between her knees toward her pleasure center, still fondling her breast. She’s not wearing pantyhose, making my job easier. When I reach the place where her legs meet, I encounter a lace barrier that’s already damp. I lean against her opening, loving how she shudders.
“Are you wet for me?” I murmur.
She nods. Her chest rises and falls like the ocean, her anticipation almost palpable.
“Do you want me to touch you—“ I apply more pressure beneath the table “—right here in Desperado’s?”
I can guess her answer, but I need to hear her say it. While I’m not a blushing virgin, this is so far outside the realm of my experience that I can’t go further without absolute certainty that she’s wants this as much as I do.
Another nod. “Yes, Tatum. Please.” Her voice hitches on the last word, trembling for a moment between desire and something like sorrow, and I hesitate. But then her hand falls back to my groin and kneads with insistence that urges me to give her what she wants.
So I reposition us on the bench, one arm curling around her shoulders as the other remains, co
ncealed by the table, beneath her dress. Taking a deep inhalation to soothe my own wild desires, if only for a little while, I pull her lacy panties to the side and dive into her wetness.
Amelia
My head falls against Tatum’s shoulder as he enters me for the first time. My breath is a cacophony as he explores the parts of me that have been so neglected. His fingers massage my outer lips, then tease inside my slit. His thumb finds the bundle of nerves at the apex of my opening. I clutch his leg on my one side and the seat on the other in an attempt to brace myself and keep my body from bucking.
My eyes want to slide shut so I can focus my attention on Tatum’s touch. But I know that I would lose all control if I did. So I keep them open, watching the bar scene without truly seeing it, attention turned inward.
There’s so much to feel. He spreads me, then slides deep before coaxing my clit toward a climax I can already feel building. Desire coils in my belly and spirals downward, homing in on where Tatum’s fingers work my most intimate place. The fact that we’re in public heightens every sensation, making the invisible hairs on my arms stand tall.
“Is this how you thought tonight would go?” he murmurs, lips moving against my ear. “With a stranger pleasuring you in public?”
I think over the day’s events, how Randall’s abandonment of me led to this moment. My stomach twists. If I’d married Randall, I wouldn’t have felt — wouldn’t still feel — so fucking hurt. But if he’d stayed by my side, I never would have met Tatum. The thought of missing this encounter slices through me with the sting of a knife.
I barely know him, but the possibility of never having Tatum in my life is somehow strange, impossible. We were meant to be, if only for tonight.
“No,” I answer honestly, voice jagged as he flicks my sensitive nub. “But I’m glad it has.” I crane my neck to look at him. “And you don’t feel like a stranger.”
Mischief simmers in his eyes. He works his fingers fast over my clitoris and I gasp while he grins. But when he speaks, his tone is serious. “You don’t feel like a stranger either. You feel like everything I’ve been waiting for, but never knew existed.”