I smile and nod. This is fun. The dark red room is almost empty now.
One of the servers makes her way to us. “Hello. Did you have a nice evening?” she asks in broken English. In other words, she means,Get the fuck out. The show is over and we’re closing.
“Oh yes,” I tell her. “Lovely show. We were just heading out.” We both stand and gather our jackets, and I fling my purse over my shoulder.
She smiles as she ushers us out. We walk at a leisurely pace, and I’m thankful that we’ve avoided the go-and-stop that goes along with following the crowd out of a show.
The night is chilly as we step out. I hug myself to keep warm. Oscar wraps his long arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. “That was hot.”
I smile into the soft corduroy fabric of his spring jacket. “Yeah, I loved that.” I can hear his heart beating against my cheek. I revel in the heat of him. He cups my chin in his hand and draws my face to his. He stares down at me for a beat, and presses his hot mouth on mine. We get lost in a kiss, right there in the middle of Boulevard de Clichy. Thankfully the crowd has already dispersed, and there are just a few people milling about in the distance. I’m breathless, wanting more. His erection presses against my belly and I know he wants more too.
How long until we get home? I do the calculations in my head — not fast enough. He grabs my hand and pulls me along with him, down the street. There’s no one around, and he grabs me and snakes his way down a small dark alley, like a dangerous man abducting a woman in the dark.
I find myself pressed against the cold bricks of an old building. The night is dark and quiet… not a person in sight. All I’m aware of is Oscar’s warm body pressed against mine, the beating of his heart and mine, and the scent of him; tangy and citrusy, Fierce by Abercrombie & Fitch.
He slides his hot mouth along the edge of my jaw. “God, all I could think about in there was fucking you. You’re just as sexy as any of those women.”
“Not quite as flexible,” I joke.
“Oh, flexible enough.” He nibbles on my earlobe, tickling me. “I’ve had your legs completely bent over, remember?”
I laugh. “You kinky boy.”
His mouth travels to mine, and he bites at my bottom lip. “You love it.”
“I do.”
His warm hands trail under my jacket and dress and find their way onto the flesh of my cold legs. The heat of them feels heavenly, and when he travels up and explores my sweet spot, I completely lose it.
“God…” he mutters, his words lost against my hot cheek.
“We can’t…” I say, my words pleading, my sex aching. “Not here.”
“Fuck, we can,” he whispers. “Fuck, we are.”
