Dinner and a Movie (5 page)

“You make me forget myself, Miss Bernie.”

She nodded.
“You, too.”

“Shall we go?”

Bernie sat up, ran her hand through her curls and nodded.
“Mr. Clarke, if you don’t fuck me within the hour, I just might go insane.”

He got out of the car, rested his arms across the roof, and waited for her to appear. “Miss Bernie, I intend to fuck you until you can’t think anymore.”

* * * *

This was a very serious problem, Liam realized. Somehow during the evening, he had stopped worrying about where his interactions with the lovely Miss Bernie might lead. That didn’t matter. All he wanted, no needed, was her body wrapped around his.
Her heat searing his cock.
Juices making embarrassing noises.
Like some ape, he wanted the whole fucking world to hear what he could wring from her lovely mouth.
Pants, groans, screams…
it wouldn’t be enough. A bed wasn’t
needed,
such luxury indicated sweet, soft emotions were involved. That simply wasn’t so.

Her boots clicked against the pavement in a hurried tattoo.
Eager, teasing, full of abandon.
If this was a fantasy, he hoped it would never end. But it would. The sun would rise, and with it the pleasant buzz of constant arousal would vanish in a pop, the bubbles of hunger disappearing with the night.
Which meant it remained up to him to build memories for both of them.

She slowed, stopped, and drew his attention back to the present. Bernie stood in
line,
her arms crossed over her chest, a preoccupied expression tightened her mouth. Such responsive lips… His cock thickened. What would it feel like as she swallowed around his engorged member? He’d dig his hands into her scalp. She’d be naked, those large, peach colored breasts bouncing as she bobbed back and forth, taking him deep. He’d bump the back of her throat. She’d gag.

He wanted to see her nipples—red, hard, hungry for his mouth.

“Bernie,” he whispered.

Her shiver almost brought him to his knees each time.

“What?”

“Drop your arms.”

Her head snapped to the side, her eyes full of angry flame. “No.”

He let the moment stretch as they sidled forward with the line waiting to purchase tickets. “You said anything, anywhere.”

Her cheeks flushed, looked back down at the sidewalk and then finally let her arms fall to her sides.

Liam’s balls tickled with pleasure. Her nipples poked through the thin blouse, pointed and proud. Nobody could possibly miss the two examples of her arousal if they gave this tall, striking woman
so
much as a glance. Pride and hunger swirled through his veins. He lured that reaction from her body. What else could he do? The challenge spurred his pulse on.

He asked for a pair of tickets to some action flick, giving the choice only enough thought that the sound effects might hide some of his planned activities.

Once inside, he placed his hand around her hip and pulled her close to his side. The Friday night crowd made it easy to keep her near, rub his thigh against hers and maintain her awareness of his body. At the concession stand, he ordered popcorn and a large
Icee
. Bernie remained silent. Was she looking forward to the close, dark confines of their seats or afraid of what he might ask of her? It made little difference.

At the door to the auditorium, she paused.

“What is it?”

“I need to visit the ladies.”

Liam nodded, noticed the location and replied, “Of course. I’ll grab our seats. I’ll be at the top.”

* * * *

Bernie leaned against the counter in the restroom and stared at the ceiling. The air from the A/C unit cooled her flesh and calmed her nerves. In here, away from all the people, she could think—almost. Her pulse still hammered in her ears. Her skin rose in bumps all across her body. Between her thighs, slick, hot evidence of her need reminded
her this
was not over. Did she want it to be?

All the films must have started, she realized, as the restroom remained deserted. A few minutes ago somebody came in to clean, smiling at the lady who stood frozen by the sinks.
That’s me,
Bernie thought. Like a deer in the headlights, unable to conceive of what might happen next. She wanted to find out, and yet knew that following Mr. Clarke in this sexual escapade, she was giving up some part of herself she never realized she possessed.

Was control over her body something she would miss?

In the restaurant, with his fingers planted inside her body, all she could think about were the sensations he could draw from her.
Nothing else.
She felt…

Bernie turned to look at the bank of mirrors. For that moment she had felt desired, wanted, a man hungered for…her. It made her feel beautiful.

Too tall, too fat, too loud, too bold Bernie Watkins had never been the belle of the ball. She looked down at her hands. Her nails shone under the bright, white light. She spent time taking care of her hands. Unlike the rest of her body, her fingers remained slim, long and shapely. The weekly manicures left her pleased with at least one small part of her…

“Hey.” His deep voice echoed in among the white tiles.

“Hey,” Bernie answered.

He stood by the entrance, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows gathered in a frown. “What happened?”

She shook her head a bit. “I guess I lost my nerve. Can we go?”

“No. Not yet.”

Her knees wobbled. God, she wanted this man. She didn’t understand this electric response.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you.” He allowed the door to the restroom to swing shut and walked toward her. “Didn’t you?” Green eyes speared into her soul, demanding an answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Hands flat on the counter. Face the mirrors.”

Unable to resist, like a soldier she slapped her palms on the cold, white surface. She stared at his face, perhaps for the first time really studied it, even as her breathing felt trapped. Passing him on the street, Bernie figured he would appear almost pretty, with those soft, round cheeks and smile lines around his eyes. His mouth, however, told a different story.

Firm, strong lips flattened with concentration. A grin threatened to break the expression, tugging at his right cheek. He rose up on his toes…in anticipation, perhaps?

“Spread your legs.”

She shuffled her feet apart, the heels of her boots clacked on the tile.

“Wider.” He kicked at her ankles.

Her womb clenched. The stance left her unbalanced. She’d fall right over.
Or…

His hand raised her skirt up to her hips. Cool air washed over her exposed ass.

The
tink
of a drop of water threatened to shatter her focus. She wanted his flesh on hers…hard.

He raised his left hand. She watched him stare at her ass in the mirror. Any trace of grin had vanished, replaced with sharp, graven angles of stress. What was he going to do?

The hand came down. She hissed at the sting of the slap. Her cheek burned, and then the sensation slid into her pussy. Hungry for more, her arms began to give way. What would it feel like—cold counters against her breasts, pressing against nipples that required attention.

“Push yourself back up, Miss Bernie. I am not done.”

She started a silent chant in her head. Please, please, please…for what she didn’t know.
Oh ,yes
she did.

He leveled another strike against her quivering flesh.

“Ah!”

“
Shhh
.”
His searing breath whispered at her ear. “You wouldn’t want anybody to hear.”

Bernie bit her lips and settled for a small whimper.

He laid on two more strokes, each one a little stronger than the last. “Are you ready for me, Miss Bernie?”

Lost in a haze of lust, she managed a low, “Yes, Mr. Clarke.
Anything.”

“Good girl.” He
kneaded
the sore buttock with those long, strong fingers. Each motion reminded her of the restaurant, the sound of glasses clinking and her inability to give completely into the moment.

There, that was it. Her arms shook with the effort to hold back as he worked one finger through her juices. He played around her tight rosebud. Wild Bernie Watkins…that’s what they all called her. But never had she truly been permitted to reach deep inside and let that animal loose. Would Mr. Clarke let her? Her body needed this. She felt empty, lost…

Fabric rustled behind her. She rested her head against the cold glass of the mirror. The sound of a condom wrapper competed with the drip of the faucet.

“Wider, Miss Bernie.”
He pushed her feet farther apart again and then placed something on the counter; a small tube of lube.

“You keep that on you?” Her voice sounded low, raspy, hungry…

“You’d be surprised at its many uses. Now, look at me.”

He pulled her blouse up, exposing her large, ripe breasts. Her nipples remained two peach colored points. He pinched them between firm fingers, and did not let off.

The pressure felt lovely at first. Bernie hummed. And then it sharpened.
Heated.
Hurt.

Just when she felt the cry of pain collect in her gut, he released her and began a slow circular motion around the pulsing tips. “What else will you let me do, Miss Bernie?”

Panting, she answered without thought.
“Anything.”

His cock pressed against her entrance.
Big.
Strong.
Hot. And surged inside, filling her. One large arm wrapped around her stomach and pulled her against his body. She felt the ripples begin inside and out.

He massaged her breast for an instant longer, took one sore nipple between his fingers and pinched, hard. At the same time, he thrust.

Lost, Bernie could do nothing more than tremble as the orgasm began. She rode the lovely soft, black sensations, resting her head against his shoulder. But more, she wanted more and
he
…

Mr. Clarke moved his hips against her
ass,
his cock stretched her pussy, delightful sparks burst through her body. “Focus, Miss Bernie. I’m not finished.”

The words urged her to collapse in a sweaty puddle.

He hauled her up and gave her breast a small slap. The sting opened her eyes.

“What did I say?”

She licked her lips and swallowed.
“Focus.”

“Very good.
Lean forward.
Hands on the counter.”

This was hard.
So very hard.
She locked her elbows and waited for his next move.

* * * *

God, she was perfect. Liam reached forward to find her clit, still hiding under its hood. Shit, she climaxed simply from his invasion. Granted, it wasn’t a big orgasm, but if he let her ride the high, pushed her…he might have to carry her into the auditorium.

He pressed against the nub, drawing a low moan from her throat. Her passage still clasped him tight in its heat. He began to build the rhythm, slow and steady. With each quiver and eager response to his demands, she just drew him in deeper. Could he unlock that place most women kept safe?