He bent close, his IPA-scented breath carrying those same undertones I’d caught last time, when his mouth smelled like other womens’ pussies. I felt myself stir. “Every woman who sees you is jealous.”
“Well, yeah,” I murmured back, turning toward him, our faces just inches away. “Look who I’m drinking with.”
“Not what I meant,” he shrugged. “You’re sexier than the bride. It shows.”
“Not a fucking chance,” I scoffed, brushing back my hair. “This is a wedding, Steve. Nobody is sexier than the bride.”
“I think I might be the only man here in a position to judge between you,” he pointed out, tossing back another sip.
I let my lips curve into a smile. “I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I purred, definitely moist. “You’ve seen a lot more of her than you have of me.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “but you’re the one who made me cum.”
“Into her,” I cackled. This was fun, like a rollercoaster. I felt like someone else was in control of me, some little troll in my brain. And the troll was horny.
He tossed his head as if this was a completely insignificant little detail. “I wasn’t thinking of her when I came, though.”
I felt my heart lurch, as though a solid weight was plunging from there straight down to my pussy. I caught my breath again, the wind once more flapping my hair around. “This is fucking weird,” I muttered.
He smiled, as if we were talking about the weather. “I thought you should know. It’s why I wanted your number afterward.”
I laughed, giddy. “Still want it?”
“I want you to want to give it to me,” he told me quietly.
Fuck. I’d need to burn this thong, I realized suddenly: nothing like this had ever happened to me. I felt like I’d peed, there was so much cream down there. When I spoke, it came out subdued, almost grave. “You’re pretty confident, Steve.”
“You haven’t told me to move my hand yet, Nadia.” His fingers tightened on my hip. I wondered whether he could smell me. “Want to give me your number?”
“No,” I breathed, my beer and the sun and the wind and the crowd completely forgotten. The roller coaster began its descent. “I want to give you more than that.”
He nodded, his expression neutral, as if he heard that sort of thing every day. Which, I reflected, he probably did: the man was a stripper. “That’s convenient, I’d say.” He looked around, scanning the crowd, many of them now making their way back into the club for whatever dinner Ava’s parents had paid for. Probably chicken Kiev, or maybe prime rib… “Come with me,” he urged, smiling broadly, his hand whispering along my ass as he pulled it off my hips. He took the beer from my hand and set it aside, then laid that hand in his. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh… okay,” I stuttered, following him. Like I had a choice: his hand was warm and strong around my fingers, my mind and heart on fire with amazement that this perfect creature was talking to me, taking me by the hand, leading me… somewhere.
Anywhere. That’s where I would have gone with him.
He slowed as he pushed back through the door by the bar: the footman had, by this time, fled for some other namelessly obsequious gig, elsewhere on the premises. The arrival of the bridal party had shifted the yacht club’s gears. Everybody now would be prepping for dinner service, including the bartenders: only one of them had stayed behind to wipe down the deserted mahogany, and it wasn’t the cute one. “This way.” His voice snapped me back to attention, looking around at the opulence, the warmth, the sun through the skylights. He whisked me underneath the chandelier.
“What the fuck?” I hissed it, aware that I was in the literal grip of something I couldn’t control, but that I was rushing past a crystal-set dining room with high-class people at a high-class wedding reception, my boobs straining and my thong useless, and that I probably ought to draw as little attention to myself as possible.
“I have a plan.” He strode boldly, in control, into a side hallway past a deserted office. Three doors lined the hallway, with a bathroom at the end, and he selected the third one and opened the door quietly. “Perfect. Come on in.”
“What the fuck?” I said again, but I was a little louder now as I spun around, my eyes shining, to see him shut the door behind him. We were in a little room with institutional-looking sofas lining the walls, like you’d see in a library or something. Garment bags lay strewn around here and there, and a table by the door held a half-gone bottle of Hornitos tequila. “What is this place?”
“Just, like, a lounge.” He smiled. “We did an event here. PG, but still pretty sexy. They gave us this room to change in. They seem to have the groomsmen in here now.”
“Should we be here?”
He shrugged. “Why not? The groomsmen are busy, trust me.” He cocked his head. “Haven’t you ever been to a wedding before? They do introductions, a dance, shit like that. They probably came here first, got bombed, and they won’t be back until it’s time to change into their board shorts and sandals before they turn into a pumpkin.” He gestured around, then laid his shades on the table by the booze before he nudged the door closed.
He had amazing eyes.
“Want to know my plan, Nadia?” His voice had taken on an odd quality now: playful, sure, but also a little bit mocking. Almost cruel. “My good idea?”
“I can’t imagine.” My head was whirling, all of this happening so fast. I felt like I needed to sit down.
“I heard my buddy Prince Carlos, back at Ava’s house, tell you about our first-responder discount?” He moved toward me, a determined look in his eye making me back up a step or two. “Want to redeem yours?”
I felt my breathing speed up, my mouth grinning again. “What makes you think I’m interested in the kinds of things you guys do?” It came out as a wheezy mewl. I knew I’d be flushed scarlet from my forehead to my nipples; I could feel my own heat.
“Well, see, that’s the thing.” He smiled a little coldly. “You don’t know what we can do until you see it.”
I barked a coarse laugh. “I saw what you do.”
“You saw me fucking a client,” he shrugged dismissively, “but there’s more.” He tugged at his necktie, loosening the knot. “Sit down, Nadia.”
“Whoah.” I must have looked like some sort of Disney waif, all wide eyes and awe. “You’re going to dance for me?”
“Yep.” He was already starting to move, hips shifting slightly as he drew closer and closer… toe to toe… “If you’ll sit down.” His lips were close enough for me to feel his breath, his body in motion, and there was no decision to be made: my body did it for me.
I sat the fuck down.
He finished with his tie, hooking it almost contemptuously out from under the collar of a beautiful lime-green shirt, and let it fall to the floor like a deflated hose. His jacket followed, but he was a little more careful with that; he draped it over a chair. I was grinning like a moron. “No music, Steve?”
“You get what you pay for, Nadia,” he laughed, “but if you have any complaints at the end of this demonstration, I’ll be happy to take your constructive criticism under consideration.” His movements were hypnotic already, his body slithery as he parted his feet and worked his hips.