Boom, boom, boom, we drank and made notes and chatted. Between Marc’s excellent tastebuds and my excellent recall—we were nine out of ten by the end. Our drunkenness was probably a nine out of ten, too, I thought to myself as I emptied the crostini tray into my purse.
Go figure. It turned out Marc was right all along, learning the descriptors of different varieties actually really helped me discern what I was actually tasting. I saw Brandon heading our way with a stern look on his face, but I had prepared for this possibility earlier, when I was more clearheaded. I handed him a sketch of himself I had made on a cocktail napkin and thanked him.
Then Marc thanked him even more profusely. I used the distraction to grab a roll of crackers, as well. And then the Uber driver was calling from out front and another night had passed in Overland Park, Kansas in the bottom of a wine barrel. There were worse ways to spend an evening. This time, though, we really couldn’t return. For one thing, Brandon was probably printing Wanted posters with our faces on them even now.
On the drive home, I lay in Marc’s lap and ate crostini from my purse while he knocked out the crackers. I think both of us were feeling loads better by the time we unlocked the front door. We were for sure feeling better once the coffee was made and poured. And by the time we were in pajamas and drinking our java on The Couch That Will Never See Action Again, life was beautiful. We high fived again, and agreed that we had conquered wine.
“Truly, you impressed me tonight. And I impressed me, too,” I told him. “We work really well together.”
“We’re a good team,” he said. Which reminded me, of course, that being a team was not a sexy thing. It was a practical thing. And that I had sworn to keep the pieces of my heart intact, if a little bruised. So I scooted myself a little farther down the couch. Accidental touches would only increase the difficulty here.
There was no room for flirting. There was only the path forward, which diverged sharply from his.
“Welp. Guess we’re totally done with each other now,” I said. I looked at my coffee mug instead of Marc. “Which is good. Things are going to ramp back up at work, so I’ll need to really focus.”
Although both of those things were true, the odds of me not spending all my shifts mooning around seemed slim.
“Me too. Lots of work to finish up before France.” He was silent, and so was I.
“Totally done,” I said again. It bore repeating, to myself, at least.
“Completely done,” he repeated. “I guess I’m just going to go to bed, then.”
“Yup.” I mean, what else was there to say? We’d had a fun night. We’d had a fun month, actually. I hoped he’d look back at it as fondly as I would. At least we’d always have Screwmates. Well, me and my thousands of new fans would, anyway.
Assuming that wasn’t a mistake, of course.
We walked into our respective rooms and closed the doors. I walked over to my bed, thinking maybe I’d sketch. Or maybe just read. Or maybe—fuck it. Thirty seconds after I’d closed my door, I opened it again, and found Marc doing the same thing down the hall. There was still nothing else that needed saying as we attacked each other with breath and lips and hands.
Nothing that needed saying when he made that noise that said I’d given him a nip.
Nothing that needed saying as our pajamas started flying around the hallway.
Our bodies said it all for us. And our bodies said it better than our mouths ever could have.
Fourteen
Except, of course, that mouths can do other things that say a lot, too, and within another thirty seconds, Marc’s mouth was telling me all sorts of things. Namely, that he was an oral god. But also that he somehow found me as irresistible as I found him. Whaaaaat. Did I say life was beautiful? No. Life was transcendent.
As I bucked against his tongue, I wondered why on earth I had sworn this off. What was a little heartbreak in the face of—yes, yes, yes another orgasm? For this feeling, for the pleasure of his scruffy face in between my thighs while my fingers curled into his bedsheets, I could stand to suffer a little. If he wasn’t going to That Place for another few weeks, I would seduce him at every opportunity between now and then.
After all, it wasn’t like he was making any sort of effort to stay away, either. Right? I may have been rationalizing a bad decision, but I didn’t care.
Especially not when his tongue was doing that.
And even more especially when his finger joined his tongue to work me in tandem.
No amount of resolve could stand in the face of such an assault on my defenses. No one’s could. It wasn’t my fault.
Surely all our neighbors could hear the yelps I was making. Well, they could darn well get used to it. My tipsy, horny self was going to write many checks her screwmate wouldn’t cash before it was all said and done. I could do it. I could do whatever I wanted. I was a strong, independent lady, and I wanted meaningless sex that mean something to me.
And then he hit that spot that made my toes curl and I stopped bothering to justify anything at all. When I came down, he was peeking up at me with an undeniable smirk. Well, he’d earned the right to a little cockiness, with all his sex-godliness. But I was not prepared for what he said next.
“Madison. Remember how we agreed that books are sexy? Let’s get some now.” I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. That was it? We were quitting before the main event—to read? I knew he was studious, but this took things to an unacceptable new level. I wasn’t going to be able to focus on any written words when I was this revved up to focus on his dick. My horror only lasted a moment, because then he bounded back into bed with a copy of the Kama Sutra in hand.
Did I say life was transcendent? Life was nirvana.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and leaned into him as he opened the book on his lap. Thank goodness I had decided we would do this more often, because the feeling of his hard body against my softness was the stuff dreams were made of. And the little excited grin on his face as he handed me my glasses to look gave my heart a little extra pitter-pat.
We had to flip past a few position ideas that looked just plain weird and acrobatic. The fourth page was very promising, though. Ascent To Desire relied entirely on his arm strength. I side-eyed them again just to double check that they were as ripped as I remembered. Yep. They were.