This was crazy; she never went out. She liked things quiet, under control. Peaceful. Not that she was some shy wallflower who hadn’t seen the bright lights and her share of the action. Lord no. She’d definitely spent some time in the black light glow of a club or two, pressed between the hot bodies of men and women alike, slipping into that groove so easily with the right song, the right body. Definitely. But that was college, before all those pesky responsibilities, all those people and errands that demanded just a little bit more of her time each day. Not so long ago, not at all, really. Just not now.
But how could she refuse? Offers like this came once in never. Imagine it, seeing Depeche Mode in a club half the size of grocery store with just a couple of hundred people? God. She couldn’t imagine it. And there was no way she could refuse. After all, the woman who had given her the pass was a client. A good client. And you just don’t burn networking bridges like that. It was bad for business. Yep. Bad for business. Right. OK. FINE! She’d go.
There were always moments in her life when realization came like a bright light, flashing in the back of her head, like that time on the corner when she was 15 and saw him, that boy. So cute, across the street with his messy hair and smirky smile. A small hesitation, a thunderous, deafening downpour and everyone scattering for cover. She’d stopped midway, running for shelter only to look back to a rain-filled street. Sometime, she’d realized, hesitation came at a price. Standing in front of her closet in a towel, a light dew from the almost too warm shower still clinging to her supple skin that light was flashing again. What the fuck was she planning on wearing to this thing?? It’s not like she kept a closet full of skin-tight leather miniskirts, and halter tops. And even less probable that she would wear something like that even if by some miracle she did have it. Sexy did not have to mean hoochie-mama. Think. It’s right there in front of you. Sexy. Hot. It’ll come to you. You have three days.
It’s funny how fast three days goes by when you have so damned much to do. Some how, three days had become three hours and the cab would be there whether she was ready or not. Standing naked, in front of the mirror, wet hair sticking to the elegant lines of her neck and shoulders, she smiled a devilish little smile and listened to the silence of the finally empty house. Why had she shaved everything off? She wasn’t really sure, but she liked the way it felt, the way her hands slid over the newly slick curves, so smooth and clean. She really liked it.
The cab would be here in two and a half hours and she was still naked, a light dampness new on her skin, crumpled sheets beneath her, wet fingers still in her mouth. Damn it! Concentrate. Underwear! That’s a good start. The thought slipped over her mind not to wear any at all, but she actually liked the way they looked on her, the way they made her feel. Black, blue, hot pink? She did love pink, but for some reason, pink just didn’t seem to fit Depeche Mode. Black it would have to be. Black and lacy, a satin thong that felt just this side of perfect over her newly smooth flesh. So smooth…Focus! Jeans. Something dark, as close to black as she owned. Not tight, not baggy, just the right fit so that when she moved they moved against her curves and accentuated instead of strangled. They slid over her naked thighs the way a man’s hands should, touching everything with equal importance until reaching the top, then staying there and holding on. The thought made her smirk as she fastened the closure on her new black bra. It held everything in just the right place and made her laugh out loud as she looked back at the mirror and said, “Damn, I’d do you.” The laugh was still in her throat when it hit her: she knew just what to wear up top, and just how to wear it.
Carefully down the stairs, lip stick a deep delicious red, hair thick and full, laying where she’s flattened it, lashes long and dark, a little extra eyeliner that looked damned good, she took a final look in the mirror by the door as the cab pulled up, horn all but breaking her peace. The new dark wine dress shirt was feminine and perfect, sleeves open, and buttons done up for the neighbors. God she looked good.
Downtown. Dark, looming buildings hiding the moon and promising darker things towered over her as she undid the buttons down just past the bra, a pale slash of flesh silvery in the street lights cut across the middle by the black lace. She paid the driver who looked a little longer than he thought he should but just long enough for her and walked to the nondescript door in the gray alley. There was nothing but a number on the steel door that looked small next to the enormous man standing next to it. Everything about him was big. Not fat, just big. And everything means everything. There was a brief moment, standing there in front of him, eyes way too low when she blinked herself back to reality and thought her face would burst in to flames as she met his. But there didn’t seem to be a reason to be embarrassed. He was the one wearing skin tight leather pants that showed exactly what he was made of and by whom, and his smile said he really didn’t care. She had a feeling some girl was going to have a good time tonight and wake up sore. More power to her.
The club was dark the way the Montana sky is big; as much of a feeling as a visual, and the instant anonymity of it washed over her, releasing so much of her tension. The band was already playing, people were already moving and before she knew it, her eyes had adjusted and she was moving, too. Music throbbed all around her as she worked her way across the dancing throng toward the neon and glass bar. The room had been designed well, and she could stand at the bar without being crushed by the dancing masses, and by some magic property of architecture she could actually hear and be heard. It didn’t matter. The bartender was slightly shorter than her, with shiny black hair cut short that moved with her, like part of some erotic wave. It was mesmerizing to watch her, jade eyes, so fluid, covered in curves that matched her body and seemed to be accentuated by the throbbing music and lights around her. She couldn’t remember if she had ordered the Cosmopolitan being handed to her or not, but she knew her bottom lip was firmly between her teeth, and so did the bartender. What the hell was that about? She watched those green eyes follow the line of her cheek all the way down her shirt, undone button by button, and felt the flush come over her as she turned, knowing where she was looking now, the shirt hiked up slightly to make sure she could see.
Off to the side to watch and enjoy the show, and the complimentary drink. She really had good clients. She was still thinking about writing a thank you note for the pass when a man asked her to dance. She hadn’t been there long enough to even let her drink sweat. Good. He was slightly younger than her, all smiles and dark hair in almost ringlet curls. Harmless enough. Down the drink went, the empty glass scooped up by the staff before it had time to drip on the hard wood tabletop.
“Sure, why not?”
Dancing in a group like this is less like dancing and more like having sex with a hundred people with their clothes on. It’s hot, and you perspire, and everyone moves like a pulsing wave of flesh. It’s erotic, bodies grinding against one another, hands caressing and brushing against you, your hands as free as they want to be. Mr. Ringlets wasn’t bad, but the girl behind her, she was incredible. When the crowd shifted, she could feel her body against her own, pressed hip to hip, moving like some giant turned-on cat. There was something different about her, though. It wasn’t that she didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd so much as that she seemed like she would fit in anywhere. The man watching them both from across the room would not. Her shirt was white, dressy, and undone enough to show that there was nothing beneath it without showing everything. She wore a black skirt that hugged her and moved like some kind of liquid cloth. Probably silk and definitely expensive. Ringlets moved on, disappointed when she turned to dance with the silky brunette who’d been doing just about everything she could to get her attention. He’d survive.
It had been a little while since she’d danced with another woman, and quite some time since she’d danced with one like this. It had been a really long time since she had danced with another woman knowing she was being watched, and hoping it was having the right affect on the watcher. From the moment she had started to move her body against that white shirt and silken skirt she had seen him. He was in the crowd, moving with the others, or against the wall, a drink in his hand. He looked dangerous, though thinking back she would not be able to pinpoint why. Just something about the way he moved, like a predator hunting gentle prey. But the prey he was hunting now wasn’t anything close to gentle. It was sensual and pulsing, liquid sex in heels, denim and silk. They danced, ever closer, one body brushing against the other’s at every possible chance, hands exploring hips and curves, the necklines and she thought she’d lose it right there on the dance floor if the brunette’s hand slid over her ass once more. As it was she was practically dripping.
Before the song faded they were walking, that bright white shirt a beacon to follow in the flashing lights and noise, off the dance floor, past a knowing smile and nod from the jade-eyed bartender and into a barely lit room. The room was small, no bigger than the average bedroom and held a large chaise lounge, a lamp draped with something to kill all but a glow and a small bar with drinks already poured on it. She thought about the alcohol but instead pulled the other girl toward her then pressed her against the wall with a kiss before the door finished closing. Hands in her hair, holding those soft lips against her, she explored, tasted and before she knew it, she had moved to her neck, biting in, feeling her body tense beneath her teeth, releasing when she felt those delicate hands rip open her shirt.
They moved backwards, almost dancing again, almost like one was stalking after the other, toward the chaise. She fell back on it with a laugh, lost in the game and in unfamiliar surroundings and her new playmate laughed, too. It was easy and light and said everything was good. Short heeled boots slid off before the laughter died and kisses across her naked belly followed, warm, wet, her small mouth sucking on all the right places, nibbling at all the right moments. Playing.
One of the great things about jeans that fit right is that they aren’t impossible to take off. True at home, true here. One of the great things about a silk skirt is that if you don’t wear anything under it, you don’t have to take it off. The last thing she saw before the silk caressed her face was her jeans in a pile next to her on the chaise. She couldn’t help but think they looked good there as she felt the first press of that warm tongue against her, through black satin. That warm feminine scent was there, close to her own mouth, so much like her own. This was new, and at first she wasn’t sure. She knew what to do, that wasn’t too hard for a girl who knew what she liked to figure out, she just hadn’t done it before. It’s funny how clear and simple some things seem when someone slips the thin layer of lace separating their mouth from your lips to the side and takes that softest flesh gently between their teeth. The girl had the tiniest bit of hair, just at the top, hard to see in the darkness beneath the skirt, easy to feel when it settles over your mouth. She began doing all the things she would like done, the way she would like them to be done, sucking gently, playing, drinking, moving her tongue gently, though firmly over each spot that made her body respond…finding just the right spot that made her back arch and her hips press in a little more. She was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else, her own body being devoured with an expertise that rivaled only one other person she’d ever known. She did her best.
Soft sighs became heavy breaths as he slipped quietly into the room. He watched, leaning quietly against a wall, as dark as the room itself except for the smirk on his face. Despite being lost between this woman’s soft thighs, and having someone lost between her own, she noticed him a few moments after he slipped in, and for some reason, did not care that he was there. She sucked a little harder, her tongue playing in a more even rhythm, using her hands to lift the skirt so he could see her performance in all it’s slippery glory. Between her own knees another show was going on and quickly coming to a close. It’s hard to breathe with your face buried so deeply but somehow they managed, and as heavy breathing became ragged gasps, fingers took the place of mouths so that each could enjoy the full effect of the other’s efforts. There would be plenty of uses for mouths after the waves crashed through them.
He watched. He watched as still as stone as they climaxed, first the one on top, a final gasp, her face pressed against the blonde’s thigh, her nails digging in, leaving five perfect marks across smooth skin. Then the blonde, soft sighs reaching a crescendo, muffled as she bit into the other’s inner thigh and dying down in short ragged breaths as the release subsided. His only movement was involuntary, a tiny, quick lick of his lips as he watched the clear dampness on the blonde’s inner thigh disappear beneath the other girl’s mouth.
She lay there in her damp underwear, her bra open beneath her ripped open shirt, legs apart, nearly exhausted.
“Damn that was fun,” was all her new friend said as she got up and crossed the room toward the door, smiling briefly as she past the waiting man.
…Now let my body do the moving…And let my hands do the soothing…Let me show you the world… pulsed through the door as she left, muffled as the door sealed shut with a click.
He didn’t say anything as he moved away from the wall. He wore all black, and forth first time she noticed that his shirt was a dress shirt, and that it was untucked and open. His hair was crazy, like people had been playing with it and he need a shave. Everything about him said he was trouble, the kind of boy you never bring home to mama, because you just never know. A wicked grin seemed permanently etched on his face but it suited him. She tried to think of something to say, something to fill the space, but the look on his face said it all. It told her that he was going to please her, to make her scream, that he was a very bad man who was good at naughty things and that everything was just fine. She decided to spread her legs a bit further apart, playful and inviting instead of saying anything. Sometimes a gesture carries the perfect amount of voice.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the soft frown when he looked down at her underwear. It was almost pouty, and for a moment she nearly mistook his playful ruse for disappointment, but the quickly returning smile, and overly dramatic shaking of his head set things right. She was even less prepared for the very, very sharp looking knife that he slipped off the bar. Why had she not seen it before? “Hesitation comes at a price” popped back into her head. Kick him square and grab your clothes or see where this is going? Think fast.
Before she could decide he said “Trust me.” There was no reason to. None whatsoever. Nope. But she was a pretty damned good judge of character, and damn it if he didn’t look good enough to eat. Sigh.
The blade was a kitchen knife, and it was shiny, almost ethereal in the dim light. Someone had it out to cut limes, but hadn’t used it yet. He handed it to her. Trust. It was fascinating in the odd light and heavy in her hand, the way good expensive knives are. She dragged it slowly across her chest, between her breasts, carefully, only leaving a light mark as he watched. Playing with it excited her and him, too she could see. He had already been swollen beneath the black dress pants, but things were on the move again and she liked it. She toyed with the edge of the blade playfully, pressing the cold hard steel against one nipple then the other, watching them stiffen beneath the cool metal, watching him stiffen beneath the soft cloth. She wondered what he would be like, the thickness of him hard to ignore. She handed him the knife and leaned moved up against the back of the chaise to watch him.
The handle was warm in his hands, the blade cool. He liked the way it looked against her skin, an entire industrial age pressed against perfect soft flesh. He dragged it gently the way she had, tracing soft red lines in her skin, across her belly, down her thigh. Her eyes would close as soft moans escaped, opening again with a focused intensity, that look you only see before something devours you. The band of the thong was firm against her skin, but only the simplest of challenges for skilled hands. He slipped his fingers beneath, lifting it slightly and slid the cold blade beneath. She looked utterly thrilled, her lower lip nearly bleeding between her teeth as he cut away the left band with the smallest of motions. Her hands slid from behind her head, over her chest, thumbs pausing to idly glide over still hard nipples, over her belly. One hand pressed over that soft mound, momentarily bringing closed eyes and that wicked grin, the other slipping beneath the right hand string of her underwear. Biting that lip again. He would have to try that, too. He slipped the blade between her fingers and cut away the thin strap. The edge had grown cold in the cool room and she jumped slightly as it touched her, making the smallest of nicks. Nothing that would scar, but just tiny enough to bleed a little. The knife disappeared to the table, she gasped slightly and he fell to his knees seemingly all at once, his mouth covering the small wound, his eyes closed, a vampire lost in it’s prey until the bleeding stopped.
She could hardly tell where the would had been. No battle scar from this night. He rose again and she did, too, moving forward to undo that button that was keeping what she wanted from her. It came undone so easily in her skilled hands, popping it open and unzipping in one smooth motion. He practically exploded out of the material as the zipper came down, nothing beneath to hold him in, and a tremendous desire not to be pent up any longer. He was in her mouth before his pants it the floor. God it was warm.
A man can always tell when a woman likes what she is doing, and man could he tell. Could he ever. Her movements were smooth, and powerful, like she would take him all in at once, though some of what she was doing was with her hands, holding him to the base, only the tip swelling in her closed mouth. His eyes wanted to close, to let go, but he couldn’t help but hold her hair from her face and watch her move. It was a show worth watching and only a fool would miss it. She wouldn’t bring him now. Her intent was to tease, to make sure he was going to be all he could be. He was.
She lay back on the chaise, one leg propped over the back, one foot on the floor, watching as he slipped the latex over that ridge and slipped himself down over her. He wouldn’t compete with the brunette, there was no reason to. What he had to offer she hadn’t come equipped with and right now it was what she wanted. Suspended above her, one hand on the back of the chaise, one next to her, he watched as she took him in her hand, gripping tightly, feeling just how hard he was, and guided him to her. She was swollen from her earlier adventure, open, deeply wet and ready and everything fit like a glove. He moved slowly, her hand remaining on him as long as it physically could, feeling him enter her not only from the inside but from the outside as well. Savoring every fold he crossed, every soft silken bit of her he entered, holding his breath until he could go no deeper.
She wanted to watch, to see him moving in and out of her, piercing that softness. She wanted to see how wet the length of him would be each time he slipped partly out, to see that ridge slip in again each time he toyed with her. He knew she wanted to, he was paying attention to everything. Good. He kept his body suspended above hers, coming down occasionally to kiss her neck, to slide his teeth over her damp skin and he thrust. Slowly at first, getting a feel for her body and how deep he could go, a little deeper her thought, she can take it. She really could. He watched her excitement, trying to concentrate in the low light on the sight of him moving in and out of her, that slick wet sound growing louder with each successive penetration. Eventually she pulled him down closer, unable to keep focused, but very able to focus on being the best thing that had ever happened to him. She wrapped her legs around his body, hooking her ankles together behind him. The movement made everything tighter if that was possible and his movements became stronger, practically lifting her ass from the chaise with each stroke, the sound of his body colliding wetly with hers filling the room. She braced her hands against the arm of the little couch for leverage and pushed back. Hard. If he planned on moving her body, she definitely planned on moving his, too. She wasn’t the only one going home sore tonight.
He would never know if she was really a screamer because when she came, her teeth were sunk so far into his shoulder that he would have a mark for three weeks. He was ok with that. He didn’t need to know. The claw marks would heal, too, as would the bites on his neck and left nipple. He hoped. Actually, he wanted them to stay. Battle scars like that he could live with. The rhythm had grown fast, sure and powerful and with each passing moment they nibbled on each other a little more, him being careful not to mark her, her marking him in every way possible. She pressed him slightly away as the momentum built, looking down one last time at the incredible sight of them moving together, then looking up at him , knowing they were both close. Her teeth were clenched, lips parted almost in a sensuous snarl, his face was getting red in the darkness and his eyes were so focused on hers that she could hardly look away. They were very close. With both of them, the moment usually came as a build up, reaching a breaking point and then bursting over them. Not this time. The climax came with a vengeance, crashing over them simultaneously, multiple bursts, one after another, instantaneously. Deep sighs escaped them, and exhaustion set in so quickly neither could do anything more than lay there. She slid over slightly and pulled him down to fill that space, still filling the space inside her as well. They lay there breathing, enjoying the quiet until he gently eased himself from her body. Why was it quiet?
Dressed once more, they left the tiny room to find the lights on, and the place all but empty. The bar was closed, the sexy bartender sitting on the lap of David Gahan. The rest of the band bantering on the way bands do. For the first time that night, she blushed. He just laughed. The band just smiled. She started to smile, too.
Leaving now would be bad for business, she thought. Yep. Bad for business. Right. OK. FINE! She’d stay.