Hail Mary (13 page)

The evening had been lovely. Michael had been quiet, but gracious. Engaged. Reticently charming. She’d noticed some glances at the two them while they’d been dining, but one of the nicest things about Portland was that its citizens gave the resident athletes their space. People had recognized Michael. A few had turned, pointed, and whispered among themselves. Heads were nodded by diners and patrons in their direction and a few folks had even pointed their beer bottles, wine glasses, and high ball glasses in their direction when they’d caught their eyes, although Michael hadn’t acknowledged anyone else.

Which she
loved.

For his part, Michael had been a complete gentleman, opening doors for her all night, waiting for her to be seated before he took his own, engaged in her life, giving her his entire attention all evening from the time he picked her up until taking Max outside.

Michael came back in, rubbed Max’s ears, put his leash up on its hook by the door, placed his suit jacket on the back of the loveseat, and joined Mary on the couch. She was in one corner and he was in the opposite end. Sitting next to him, she was intensely aware of how male he was.

How strong.

How
quiet.

The air was ripe with expectation and not a little trepidation. On both sides.

“Come here,” he ordered.

“Why?” she asked.

“Come here,” Michael directed, his lips twitching as though amused by her question.

She kept moving closer until she couldn’t get any further without sitting right on top of him.

Which sounded pretty darn nice right about now.

Finally, Michael pulled her the rest of the way towards him, putting her in the vee of his crotch, took her face between his hands, and planted one on her. He methodically coaxed her mouth open until she let him all the way in. He tasted like the tiramisu they’d finished their meal with. Sweet with a slight hint of coffee. His tongue invited hers to come out and play, advancing and retreating. He moved his hands from her face to her waist, pulling her closer as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though she couldn’t be close enough, without ever once breaking the kiss.

Mary was adrift in sensation. Michael felt good. All hard angles, strong hands, and a persuasive mouth. His tongue would enter and retreat, repeat. Enter and retreat. Tease and plunder. In and out. Mary loved everything he was doing to her and she was desperate to return the favor. His body had been flirting with her all night…beckoning to her, begging her to touch him. She wanted to run her hands through his short, dark hair. Then place her hands on his broad shoulders spanning practically the entire back of her couch. From there, she’d move to his biceps and his pecs, going all along from north to south until she hit pay dirt.

~ * ~ * ~

Slowly Michael left Mary’s mouth to focus on her neck, nibbling all along, from her ear to her shoulders, sending shivers coursing through her, just shy of full-on body shudders. As Michael made his way all along her collarbone, he loved the way she smelled. Sweet and spicy. Girly. In his fantasies, this was the way he always imagined Mary smelled like. Soft in all the right places. Pliant. Supple.

The evening had been…perfect. Better than he could have hoped for or ever imagined. It was perfectly normal. This was what normal people did. It was what men and women did. It was what he and Mary did. Michael and Mary.

God, didn’t that sound perfect? He loved the sound of it.

Michael and Mary Santiago. Hello, we’re Michael and Mary Santiago. We have 2.4 kids, a house in the suburbs, a dog, and an SUV.

The sound of it settled in his mind, as though it was the way it was supposed to be.

He imagined this was what people did on a Saturday night rather than staying in, working out, checking out game footage, making notes, and going to bed. They went on dates to restaurants. They talked. They ordered dinner. They made out on a couch at the end of the evening as a prelude to sex.

All night it had been hard for him to fight against his natural disposition of silence. He didn’t like to talk about himself or much about anything, but he owed it to Mary to make nice. To actually
be
nice. Which actually hadn’t been hard since Mary was so kind and looked so good.

He loved looking at her. He could have looked at her all night. Her dark hair shone in the light, full of various complex shades of mahogany and golden honey browns. Michael loved the fact she didn’t wear make-up. She didn’t need any stuff mucking up her natural appeal, although she’d applied something glossy and pink to her pretty lips, which had spurred his fantasies all night. Her lips on his. On his cock. On his nipples. Anywhere she wanted to put them, he’d be on board.

He hadn’t actually kissed a woman since…Tracey.

Don’t go there,
he cautioned himself. Wherever he was going to go in his fucked up head, it wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t pollute his time with Mary with thoughts of Tracey. He would never let his ex have that power over him again.

He wanted Mary. And it appeared the feeling was mutual. He’d made the decision to have her when she’d invited him in. It had been over six years since he’d been on a date with a woman, but he still remembered it was a good sign when they invited you in after the date.

He was tired of being cold. Alone. He could pleasure her, take care of her for tonight.

“You like this?” Michael asked as he moved his mouth from her neck to her right breast, playing with her nipple through the fabric, alternating between pinching and rubbing it.

“Yes,” she breathed, while his hands untied the wrap portion of the wrap dress, baring her breasts to him, the pretty mounds above her bra soft and lovely. Peachy-pink.

“Good,” Michael replied, moving his warm, heavy hands around her waist and upwards to cup her right breast and roll her nipple through her lacy, frothy bra before placing his mouth right where he wanted it.

“What is this?” Michael asked, finding the black lace garters securing her hose, threading his fingers between the lace and her warm flesh underneath.

“They’re-er-er garters,” she answered.

“I like them. But I think I’d like them off even more,” Michael murmured, a wicked smile splitting his lips as he unhooked the garter from her panties and lightly rolled her right hose down her leg and followed the trail it left with soft kisses. Butterfly soft. From the tops of her thighs, to the backs of her knees, until he reached her ankles.

Throwing the stocking over to the loveseat, he began having his way with Mary’s left hosiery, moving it slowly down, kissing each new sweet spot of skin revealed a second at a time. Michael had forgotten how soft women were. Had any woman in the history of the opposite sex been as sweetly soft as Mary? Every part of her was fragrant. Her neck tasted like sweet, feminine flesh. Her thighs had a slight lemony scent that was the sexiest scent he’d ever smelled. And he hadn’t even reached her core.

Her dress was unwrapped, leaving her front wide open. She now laid back in the comfort of the couch while Michael settled himself between her thighs, lifting her left leg high towards her chest while he gripped her right one with his left hand, effectively immobilizing her. She gazed at him as if there wasn’t any other place on earth she wanted to be. No other place existed except right here, right now. With him.

He stared back at her and crooked his lips slightly. A bashful feeling came over him, but he felt hopeful at the same time.

“Is this okay for you?” he asked.

“It’s more than okay,” she responded. “Except….”

“Except what?” Michael tensed, worried he’d done something wrong. Something which couldn’t be undone, something that was going to spoil this, his most perfect fantasy come to life this evening. Something that would stop this train they were both on before they were ready to get off. Figuratively and literally.

“I want to touch you too.”

“Let me take care of you tonight. That’s all you need to be concerned with.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Michael. I want to….” She looked down. “You know. I want to touch you too,” Mary said, indicating with her right hand the remainder of his body as it was poised over hers.

Michael couldn’t stop the broad grin. “I think that can be arranged. But let me take care of you first,” he responded, reaching down and resuming his kisses all along her thighs, planting the sweetest of kisses all along the way until he reached her center.

He was humbled. And ashamed. Deeply ashamed. Mary was a woman who deserved nothing less than a picture perfect husband, smart as a whip who would give her the white picket fence, baby blankets, babies to play on the blankets, strollers, and 401(k) plans.

The image sure as shit wasn’t him.

The loss almost choked him.

But despite that, despite the fact he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, give her anything she wanted, everything she deserved, and everything meant for her, none of it was going to stop him now. He was going to live up to be the bastard he’d always been. The prick he’d been born as--Don Santiago’s son.

Enough. He could give her a big, fat orgasm. That was pretty much all he was good for.

~ * ~ * ~

Michael’s fingers continued up and down in an agonizing imitation of what it would feel like once they were removed. Strong and sure, each of his strokes sent a bolt of wet heat straight to her center.

“These are pretty sexy panties, Ms. Richardson,” he teased her, flicking his eyes to capture hers as he moved his two fingers all along the outside of her panties, tracing her slit through the black silk causing her to whimper and involuntarily move to rub up against his fingers.

“I, ah, bought them recently,” she breathed, lost in the sensation of the magic of his hands as he manipulated her through the black silk.

“Did you buy them for anyone special?”Michael questioned, adding another finger to the mix, stroking the silk back and forth, up and down, driving her crazy.

“Depends,” Mary answered, moving her hands over his short trim, desperate to touch him and give him some of the same enjoyment he was lavishing upon her. She felt adored. Worshipped. And she wanted to return the favor.

“Depends.” A kiss on her calf stoked her desire from the inside out. “On.” Another kiss that began at the sensitive skin above her knee and traveled upwards. “What?” Still another kiss higher up, on her inner thigh, close to where she wanted his mouth, but not quite.

The man knew how to kiss.

And where to kiss.

“Do you consider yourself special?” she responded while his fingers began methodically removing her panties as Mary raised her hips to help him.

Michael stopped his task at hand and looked at her. He simply stared, as though dumbstruck.

“You bought…” he sputtered.

He tried again.

“You did…”

“This was for me?”

“Well, technically I bought them for me. But I thought it might be a nice bonus if you enjoyed them as well,” she said, reaching for him again, touching whatever part of him she could in order to kiss him.

“If you bought them for me, I’m glad I didn’t rip them off the way I wanted to,” Michael finally stated, looking at her eyes and still rubbing her hands.

Mary laughed. Okay, crisis temporarily averted. He wasn’t running fast and far away in fear.

“Would you have ripped them with your teeth or with your bare hands, Cave Man?”

“Well,” he said settling down with his head near her pussy, “if I’d taken them off with my teeth, I could have done this much sooner.” Without any further preliminaries, he put his mouth right on her.

Michael started by kissing her center, softly, all over. Up and down her slit, mimicking the action his fingers had taken earlier through the silk of her thong. Then his tongue was circling over her clit, back and forth, nipping here, licking there. He kept it up with the single minded determination befitting a professional athlete.

Both his finger and his wicked mouth kept repeating their flight path all over her clit, sending her higher and higher until she finally went over the edge, yelling his name all the way.

Michael nuzzled her before briefly kissing her sex, his mouth as tender as the softest silk. All too soon, he sat up, the physical and emotional separation beginning before he even spoke.

“I should be going,” he stated, in spite of the impressive and what had to be, painful erection tenting his suit slacks.

“But what about you?” Mary asked, drawing her dress closed, her green eyes confused.

As Michael grabbed his suit coat, he turned and smiled at her, a melancholy smile that whispered a thousand goodbyes in a glance.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, opening the door, stepping out of her apartment and out of her life.

Chapter 9

Mary fought the fog clogging her brain and nestled deeper into her firm, fluffy pillows, turning over to her left side hoping to prolong her night’s sleep a little bit longer. Just a few more minutes. She loved the stability of her teaching routine, the Monday through Friday schedule, but the payment the early mornings extracted from her, left her tired by the time Friday rolled around. She took advantage of sleeping in whenever she could on the weekends.

Her disorientation was minor, but distinct, as though something wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t identify what it was. Something tugged at the back of her mind. She’d slept well, not waking once, a rarity in and of itself.

Then it hit her. All of it from the night before. Michael. The drive. The dinner. The flirting. His shy smiles that made her feel more special than the rarest gems, as though she were something special by being on the receiving end. Not to mention that incredible orgasm.

Him leaving.

She remembered everything. Granted, it hadn’t ended quite like the time before, but she recognized her frustration for what it was.

They’d had a great night. As a date, it rated a definite fifteen on a scale of ten, from beginning to end. The silences were pleasant, not awkward. Because they’d known each other for so long, even though they hadn’t stayed connected through all the years, there was an ease to their conversation and time with each other. It felt easy to be with him, to tell him more about her parents, why The Go-Gos were the best ‘80s female band, and why she’d never been able to get into golf, either as a spectator or participant, an activity they both agreed shouldn’t qualify as a sport.