Thanks to all who showed up yesterday. Here we go. Part two...
by Sommer Marsden
We had to pass the coatroom and a bank of restrooms. My father only rented the best establishments for his little shindigs. Apparently, his coat check person was out catching a smoke, though, because I saw nothing racks and coats, hanging like husks of people on the fancy wooden hangers.
“The wine is in a back room,” he said. His voice was rough and dark. It made me think of fist fights and poker games—running down back alleys and drinking things from brown paper bags. It basically made me feel that sting and bite of youth. The feeling of being a renegade—a rogue.
“I’m right behind you, Johnny,” I said. I tripped then, not the most graceful rich girl in the world. My black sling back heel caught on shredded lip of carpet and I staggered.
It was easy to catch myself on someone as big as him. I simply grabbed his shoulders on my way down like a woman snagging a buoy after falling off a ship.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Sorry.”
He turned fast and plucked me from my bizarre posture of almost falling but not quite. “No problem, Snowflake.”
I looked at him. “Snowflake?” But something in me thrilled at a pet name. Even as I pushed away the thought that that’s what it was.
He grinned, but it was one of those half grins that would look stupid on most people. “I don’t want to call you ma’am. Or Aurelia. Or even Really. Snowflake works for now. Until I can call you something more intimate.”
He had righted me—but he couldn’t manhandle the fluster out of me. His big hands still gripped my upper arms. A completely harmless touch, but the way it affected me he might as well have had his hands in my panties. Or my body.
“Pretty. Cold. One of a kind,” he said and turned his big back on me.
“Cold,” I growled. But deep down I knew what he meant, knew what he was observing. Waves of frosty indifference flowed off me on a regular basis. I really couldn’t blame him. Being married to a man you don’t love—hell, barely like—because Daddy maneuvered you into it doesn’t really make you a warm fuzzy person. The trick to living a life that you don’t want to claim as yours is insulation. Shut everything out, freeze it off. Live in your head.
We walked into a small cool room past the kitchen. Johnny leaned up against the wall while my eyes scanned the walls of wine bottles, all sectioned off into their tiny cubbies. Reds, reds, reds as far as the eye could see.
And truth be told—I didn’t give a shit if he brought me a glass of jug wine. It had only been an excuse to get him alone and his body language said he knew it.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, smirking.
This was not me surprising some intern by kissing him in the coatroom or getting him to fuck in in the copy room. This was a man who’d seen a lot, I thought. I suddenly felt naked and stupid and maybe scared.
“It’s fine. I…it’s really no big deal. I don’t…” I shook my head. The words in my head were getting jumbled en route to my mouth.
“I mean, I don’t mean to offend the boss’s daughter. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
There was barely controlled amusement in his voice and I randomly grabbed a bottle of wine and thrust it at him. “This is fine,” I said. Now I just wanted to leave. He’d called me on my chilly little ways and I felt really stupid and something I rarely felt lurked under it—embarrassment.
“This is white, Snowflake,” he said.
I grabbed the bottle back and shoved it in its tiny little nook. “Never mind. I don’t want wine. I just want to go home.”
I turned on my heels, momentarily remembering the feel of his broad shoulders under my hands as I’d fallen. The way he’d righted me as if my weight was no more than the weight of his jacket. My nipples pebbled and my pussy went wet and I shook my head. My body was betraying me. He’d made me feel silly, I wanted to hate him. Shut him off. Freeze him out. This wasn’t so much fun now that I was the one feeling like prey.
“Isn’t this the part where you kiss me?” he asked.
I blinked at him, my fingers curling into my black silk skirt, bunching the fabric like a security blanket. “No,” I snapped.
“Are you sure? It thought that was where we were going, Really.” The play on my name was not new, but it sure felt odd coming from a stranger who had me on edge. A stranger who—let’s face it—I could fucking fire if I chose to.
And yet…I stood there.
“I’m sure,” I said, finally. I sounded anything but. “You should get back to work.” I turned my back to him, intent on leaving, and his hand shot out—big, rough, intimidating as hell. It closed around my wrist and the fine bones there groaned with the pressure.
“I think it is,” he said, reeling me in. Johnny hauled me back and turned me and though being manhandled, though angry, annoyed, terrified and a million other things, I was also so turned on my heart was racing.
“Let me go.”
“In a minute.” He jostled us, wedging me between the monolith that was him and the wall of bottles.
“Now. Please,” I amended. Maybe this was where manners counted.
“In a second.”
“Now,” I breathed. I sounded like a woman breathing her last breath.
He closed me off from everything with just himself and pressed his mouth to mine. Those full lips almost too pink to belong to a man. He pressed them to my lips, forced my mouth open with the wet tip of his tongue and kissed me. Brutal hands on my timid skirt. His huge self pressed to the front of me. The front of me that was responding with a million different signals to give him anything, everything he wanted.
Right then. Right there. Anything.