A cheery, light jingle erupts into the night like a barrage of gunfire.
“No,” she breathes, stiffening against me, her chest rising and falling on her harsh breaths, breasts trembling. The same words ricochet inside my head like a loud, wailing siren. I slap my other hand up against the wall on the other side of her head, burying my face in her neck. Better so she doesn’t see the tears springing to my eyes. Okay, no tears, but goddamn, do I feel like crying. “That’s my alarm. My break is over,” she whispers.
My body is one big, pounding throb, but underneath me, she trembles like a leaf on a storm-whipped wind. It reverberates through me, and I clench my jaw. As hard and aching as I am, no way in hell can I leave her like this.
“Give me the go-ahead, sweetheart,” I growl in her ear, nipping her lobe. “You’ll be late getting back to work, but tell me to, and I’ll take care of you.” I slowly lower her until her feet touch the ground. But I leave her tits bared to the night air. To me. Slipping the tip of my finger beneath the hem of her shirt, I trace the band of her jeans, brushing the soft skin of her stomach. Damn, this woman. I bow my head and rub my mouth over her exposed nipple one more time, and her grip in my hair tightens as a shudder rips through her. “Tell me,” I order. Plead. Whatever. As long as she lets me get her off.
“Yes,” she breathes, shifting her stance, spreading her thighs wider. Not waiting for me, she tears at the top button of her jeans and yanks the zipper down, exposing a wedge of black lace-covered skin. “Do it.”
The two words are hoarse, riddled with need, but not a request. And damn if I can even put up the pretense of disobeying the direct command, of making her wait. Recapturing a hard peak between my lips, I wrap my tongue around it as I flatten my palm on her belly. And slide down, down, until hot, wet pussy fills my hand.
Her cry bounces off the brick walls, the dingy windows, the fucking sky. Jesus, she’s soft…so soft and silky. It takes every scrap of control I’ve managed to scavenge not to drop to my knees, drag her clothes down, and bury my face between her thighs. But if I did that, no way in hell would I hurry. Screw being late; she might not make it back to work, period.
Switching breasts, I take as much of her into my mouth as I can and, stroking a path up her soaking slit, circle her clit. It leaps and pulses under my finger. How is it possible that I’m jealous as a motherfucker of my own finger? Groaning, I set up a firm, relentless rhythm over her sex, mimicking the caress on her nipple.
She writhes and twists against my mouth and hand. Hips bucking, she drops one hand to my wrist, encircling it. Not to remove my touch, but to hold it there. As if there’s a chance in hell of me leaving.
“Oh God,” she rasps, a cross between a sob and moan throbbing in her voice. “Please. I need…give it me.” The words trip over themselves, tumbling from her.
She’s close; her clit stiffens under my touch, and licking my path up her chest and neck, I demand in her ear, “Jay. Say it when you come.” I give her the shortened version of my name, craving that small connection that escorts this from anonymous to something intimate. Something that’s mine.
Loosing my wrist, she grabs my head between both hands and tugs it up. Reluctantly, I release her nipple, but she isn’t giving me much choice. I straighten, and though she’s at least half a foot shorter than me, it’s her who has me in complete check. Though I issued her a command, it’s me who’s at her beck and call in this moment, and I crave her go-ahead, her permission.
“Jay,” she damn near purrs. That’s it. Just my name, like I asked. Asked, hell. Just like I begged.
A rush of fierce hunger, satisfaction, and exhilaration blasts through me, and it’s almost heady. Crushing my mouth to hers, I thrust two fingers inside her, grinding the heel of my palm against her clit.
She screams into my mouth, and I swallow it down, already craving another. Already wanting another chance to have her slick, firm walls squeeze my fingers, milking them. No, no, I need her pussy clutching at my cock, even my tongue.
I just need it again.
I continue to thrust slowly, as much as her jeans allow, rubbing her clit until the last shudder eases from her frame. Only when she wilts against me do I remove my hand, and unable to resist—who am I kidding? I don’t want to resist—I slide my fingers between my lips.
God, her taste. It’s sweet, tangy, fresh like ripened fruit. I lick every evidence of her from my skin. And I still want more.
“I need to get back, or my supervisor’s going to fire me for taking too long on my break,” she says, voice husky from the screams that still resonate in the night air, in me. She stares at me, that gaze settled on my mouth as I savor her. Then she shakes her head, hard. Once more, before I can tend to her, she quickly adjusts her clothes. Shrugging out of my jacket, she extends it toward me. “Thank you, I—”
“Keep it,” I say, stepping back. Then another step. Not so I won’t change my mind and accept the coat. No, I don’t trust myself not to grab her and finish what we started out here, job be damned. Because I don’t want this to end. For the twenty minutes we’ve been out here, the relentless, encroaching loneliness disappeared. She pushed back the shadows for a little while, and I’m selfish enough to beg for more of it.
For more of her.
“What?” She glances over her shoulder at the door behind her, then returns her attention to me, frowning. “I can’t just take your—”
“Give it to me later,” I interrupt her again. “Tonight, when I pick you up after you finish here.” Her frown deepens into a scowl, and her lips part, probably to tell me in vivid and succinct detail where to go and how I can get there. But I beat her to it. “Come home with me.”
Surprise flares in her eyes, but then they narrow, hiding any emotion from me. I still move forward, reclaiming the space I inserted between us, and brush the backs of my fingers down her cheek, following the delicate line of her jaw before letting my arm fall to my side.
“I’m not trying to insult you or imply that because you let me touch you out here, you owe me something. Believe me when I say that was all my pleasure. But I want more than a quick finger-fuck. One night, sweetheart. Give me one night with you.”
For several long moments, only the sounds of Chicago’s nightlife filter into the alley, surrounding us: the murmur of voices, scattered with occasional bursts of laughter and curses; the faint chime of the bell over the door of the convenience store as someone enters or exits; the rush of cars passing on the street, including one with bad need of a new muffler.
One thing missing is the rasp of my breath. All the air in my body is trapped in my lungs, suspended. It shouldn’t be this important. I just met her. Don’t know her last name. She doesn’t even know my real one, first or last. Yet getting her to say yes to letting me have her for several more hours has become vital. Necessary.
“I don’t get out of here until two a.m.,” she finally murmurs.
I silently exhale, my chest aching from the lack of oxygen. “I’ll be here.” She could’ve said six a.m., and my answer would’ve been the same.
She nods, her scrutiny on my face unwavering, hooded. “All right.”
