"So let's leave."
Several of our fellow tablemates glance over, annoyed. I raise my eyebrows in apology.
"Somebody's eager to get home," I say quietly.
She says nothing. Just stares ahead at yet another anorexic young actress wining the Vacant Vegan of the Year award. I'm a firm believer in rewarding people for the useful things they do. You don't want to eat animals? Fine. So how come the whole thing turns into a back-slapping circus where people congratulate themselves on the things they don't do? It's just fucking lazy.
Montgomery isn't a happy bunny tonight. His usual smarmy dialogue is missing; cat's got his jowls. Gretchen Piers is just a couple tables away; maybe she's making him antsy? There's an air of eau de pissed around his wife too, who has downed enough champagne for three Tuijas but barely says a word. She's an improvement on dried-out Wife Number Two—looks like one of those Amazonian Swedish tennis players, all lean long legs and white-blond hair—but her nerves get the better of her.
On several occasions tonight, she's cast a glance my way. I guess she picked the wrong media mogul, huh? I wonder, given the opportunity, how many girls would let a man like me cut them if it kept them away from a grotesque old cunt like Montgomery...? He's noticed his wife looking at me. Hates it.
I drag Leo's hand to the strain of my stiff cock, and lean into whisper again. "You're gonna take care of that for me as soon as we find the car."
"Oh really?" She drags her thumb across the bulbous head of me.
Ah, fuck. I grit my teeth. "When the speeches are done, we're leaving." She's been busy with work, with letting her wound heal; I've been busy having secrets. We've both been waiting for tonight.
The speeches break as the presenters switch, and a waiter in a white tuxedo stops to take drinks orders.
"I'm good," I tell him, patting the top of my half-empty glass.
Montgomery fiddles with his tie, eyes me, and then smiles at the waiter. "Do you have Glen Fiddich? I could murder a single malt."
Unintentionally, my hand crushes down on Leo's and she yelps, shaking me off. Heat scrapes my cheeks, makes my skin prickle.
"Sorry there, Aeron. That was insensitive of me." He gives a vague smile. "Too much champagne. What can I say?"
Wife Number Three winces in apology. She may as well have sorry he's a dick written across her forehead. I give her my best yeah, and he's your dick sigh of acknowledgement.
"You know, Leo and I should be making a move," I tell the table. "We have plans."
It's childish to stomp off when you've been insulted; it's crass to drag your girlfriend away for a very blatant fuck. But I pick number two because I know it'll only grate on him further. He sees me touching beautiful Leo; he sees his wife squirm with envy. And he might not be getting hard for her—I know his boy-shaped secret—but this kind of public show is humiliating.
I win.
"You could have been a little more subtle," Leo scolds me as I lead her out through the opulent lobby.
"I don't care about subtle." Unless it serves me in some fashion—which subtle rarely does. "I care about getting you alone." I catch her around the waist and pull her closer. Lower my voice so it vibrates against her flesh. "And naked. And spread out."
She wriggles in my grasp. "Aeron."
"I'm going to eat you up. And then I'm going to put you on your belly, and—"
"Sir? Your car is here," the bell boy interrupts.
I turn my gaze to him, his narrow shoulders and fresh young face and cow lick of gelled red hair, and then I run my tongue up crest of Leo's cheekbone. She makes a soft sound of protest, but doesn't exactly shove me off. Our boy doesn't know where to look.
The cab has a privacy screen which I yank across with a shrill creak as soon as I climb in after Leo. Then we're sinking back on the cool leather, Leo reaching for her seat belt and me pulling it away. I've been fighting my unusual proclivities all evening.
The engine buzzes beneath us. We pull out into flickering lights.
Sweetheart, I've been waiting. So patiently. Does she understand what an achievement that is for a creature like me? She wakens strange cravings that will not shut up.
"You smell like cake," I mumble somewhere into her collarbone—one of the few places her strapless dress leaves exposed. Her skin is addictive; how can something so soft be such a hard drug?
She giggles. The champagne has gone to her head, making her voice light and breathy. "And cake turns you on...?"
"You promised to take care of me."
She pushes her fingers through my hair, alighting the nerves of my scalp one at a time. "I think you'll find you put those words in my mouth."
"Well, we both know where that pun's going." I drag her hand down to my cock again, press it closed over the length of me. "On your knees. Before I put you there myself."
To her credit, she moves swiftly—lurches, first, when we turn a sharp corner—but she lands on my lap, her arms around my neck, her groin falling to smother mine and her teeth grasping my bottom lip in a savage mockery of a kiss. The position puts pressure on her healing wound, and she whimpers quietly, her face twitching to a flinch. Sometimes, I think this girl was made for me. They rubbed her with honey in heaven and smoked her to shadows in hell.
A push to her shoulders and she slips down. The cab is full of blotted, disturbed sounds as if we're suddenly under water: the fabric of her dress rustling, my belt buckle clinking, our uneven tide of breath. She has to navigate the bulge of my cock to unzip my pants, and I groan every time she brushes me. I can't cut her here, so I must be a good boy...and this is my reward.
The air hits my cock first, cool and heavy. Then she's leaning over, hair spilling around her face, her breath pouring over my tight, bare skin. A beat, then she glances up to smile at me. To bite her lip.
My hand comes down on the back of her head like a slap. "I'm all out of patience," I say through my teeth.
"Oh." She draws a finger along the length of me, her painted nail making chalky scratches along my shaft. They are the sweetest of aches. "I didn't mean to be naughty." Then she's sucking me into this wet, wet heat, her tongue lashing down like rough velvet, and it's all I can do not to yell.
We don't have long until the cab pulls up at Leo's apartment. God knows, I'm done with being teased and I want her to know how I like it, so I hold her head back with a fistful of hair and fuck up into her mouth, thumping bluntly at the back of her throat. At first, she gags a little, but then the pupils of her black eyes begin to gloss over with familiar desire. Half of me wants to put my head back and just let go; the other half can't tear his eyes from the sight before him, the thick cock disappearing into the painted, swollen mouth of this dirty girl while street lights cut through the dark in strobes. She has me soaked in saliva to ease traction, and I glide in and out, over and over, shining and throbbing and almost red raw. The last time I was this hard, I had my tongue shoved so far inside her that I was nose deep in clit.
I don't care that I come quickly. This is what happens when I'm denied my Leo for several days, and I won't apologise or make excuses. I just want further down her throat, to be sucked harder; she knows, and she submits. The muscles of my thighs tighten, and then the tension turns to electric, liquid heat. Her mouth is excruciating pleasure. It's all I know.
When I come, I hold her head down and spasm on the back of her tongue, cursing quietly. She makes soft, encouraging sounds that ripple along my sensitive shaft, saliva soaking into the scratches and warm breath clouding against my pubic bone. We come down together, me still gasping and Leo trying to breathe and swallow around my still-hard cock. I don't want to let her up yet...but then the car stops.
Leo pulls off and gives me those big, black eyes as she wipes her sticky mouth with the back of her hand. Faint smudges of lipstick feather around her lip line; it's obvious that we've been bad back her. I love that she's already tainted with it, already marked.
Earlier this evening, I got ready at Leo's. It meant I could watch her dress and groom—which was the most painfully intimate tease—and that I could leave a bag. Though the scalpel remains on her bedside table, presented in its box like any other lover's token, I need my kit for...repairs.
Back in the apartment, I put in the alarm code while Leo dumps her keys.
"You want a drink?" she asks, kicking off her heels before padding toward the kitchen.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
"The fridge. Is that okay?"
I grin at her. More and more, I find intrigue in the shadowy swamp between force and submission. The between. And here she comes, walking right into it, her breasts pushed high in her fitted gown and her lips still plump from giving head. She stills before me, reaching up to play with my silk tie.