Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration (13 page)

He stepped behind her, until the front of his thighs touched the back of her legs and rounded bottom.
 

“Put your hands on the glass,” he said in a low voice.

She made a broken sound.
 
“Johnny.”

“Do it.”

She did it.

“Lean your hips back.”

He shifted and nudged his erection into the hot space between her inner thighs.
 
They were so wet and slick, it was like being sheathed inside her.
 
He nudged in and out a few times, then shifted higher and made sure his next push slid into the swollen slit he’d just licked to an orgasm.
 
He bumped the rounded head of his dick against her clit.
 

She stamped her foot and arched her back.
 

His balls tightened, fire surged inside him. His blood was pounding, his head barely clear. He pulled back, gripped himself, and shoved inside her with a single, unstoppable thrust.

He let his head fall back with a guttural cry.
 

So did she, her hands splayed on the window.

Placing his hands firmly on her hips, he guided her backwards as he moved forward again.
 
They met in a slow, rocking thrust.
 

Her head dropped down between her outstretched arms.
 
He shifted on his feet, gripped her hips, and sank into her again.

This time her head jerked back, her red lips rounded around a hot, broken moan.
 
Dark hair spilled across her pale, arched back and her face. Unable to resist, he reached forward and slid two fingers into her open mouth. As if she was greedy to be filled, she began sucking, turning her head to the side, her teeth grazing his knuckles sharply.
 
She kept sucking, her lips curled around his fingers, as he penetrated her deeper, with his fingers and his cock, deep into the wet, tight heat of her.
 

Stifling a curse, he slid his fingers out of her mouth and picked up the rhythm, holding onto her waist.
 
She bounced with every thrust, her hair flying, fast little gasps and low moans sliding helplessly from her body.
 
She bent her arms, pressed her elbows to the window, stretched her forearms up the length of it. He gritted his teeth and rocked into her slower, watching his dick sink deep into her tightness, the dark curling hair around his cock scraping against her pale bottom, his balls slapping against her flesh.

She threw her head back and moaned with each deeper penetration, her curving hips locked beneath his hands.
 
He bent his knees, lowering himself slightly, and placed a palm between her shoulders, pushed her down a little.

“Oh, God, yes,” she whispered brokenly. He surged into her again.
 
She stamped her foot, shoved her ass up higher for him, and stretched her forearms farther up the window.
 
“Oh, God Johnny, please,” she whispered raggedly. “Oh, please.”

He bent over her back and whispered in her ear, “Touch yourself.”

She gave a gasping cry and pulled a hand off the window, pushed it between her legs, and started fingering herself.
 
He knew, because he could hear her gasps get sharper. He knew because he could see the faint, transparent reflection in the window, of her slim finger pushing into her cunt.
 
He shifted, put his foot against the inside of hers, and made her spread her legs further.
 
She did it for him, rolling her forehead against the window, her body moving in a tell-tale rhythm, her breath coming in short, breathy gasps.

That was the end of playtime.
 
Johnny repositioned himself on his feet, put a palm on her lower back and stood up straight.
 
He looked over to watch them in the high, tilted mirror behind the bar.
 
She was getting close; her cries were getting more ripping and random, her body tensing in jerks, just shy of orgasm, whispering, “Oh God, oh yes, oh please, Johnny.”
 

“Someone might see us, Juliette,” he whispered.

She gave a broken whimper.

“Yeah, I hear someone.”

“Oh no,” she moaned, but her hips pushed back for him faster, and her fingers stayed between her legs, sliding through the slickness, matching the rhythm of each penetration.
 

He gripped her hips and plunged hard, again and again. “Yeah, he’s watching you now, babe,” he rasped.
 
“He can see you. He likes it. He’s jerking off.”

She came in an explosion of whimpers and cries and head-flinging shudders.
 
Her forearm was flattened against the window, her hand fisted as she cried out Johnny’s name, her body clenching and releasing around him, and he came too, hard and powerfully, an explosion of him getting into Juliette.
 

Moments later, when he felt her knees start to buckle, he curled an arm around her waist and took her body as it crumpled backward.
 

He backed them up, to collapse into the chair, Juliette on his lap, his blood coursing, his body pulsing, his mind empty of all thought and any awareness except that he was holding Juliette.
 
He hadn’t yet got to the thoughts of,
‘Now, what the fuck?’

They would come, though.
 
They always did.
 

‘Now, what the fuck?’
was practically Johnny’s mantra.

Chapter Ten

JULIETTE WAS PREPARED to feel crushing guilt.
 

She sat on Johnny’s lap, his arms around her, and decided she’d just have to roll with it.
 
No use fighting it; guilt always came, and it always won.

The things Johnny had done. The things she’d let him do. The things
she’d
done.
 
The things she’d
wanted
him to do. She would melt the confessional. If she still went to such places.
 
Something riotous and improper and uncontrollable had been unleashed tonight, and her body still pulsed with of it.
 

More please,
the errant thought jostled its way to the front of her mind.

She went still in surprise.
 
That was a new one.
 

It was worth it.
 

Well.
 
That sure wasn’t guilt talking.
 

“Oh brother,” she murmured.

Johnny’s hand was stroking the side of her head absently. At her words, he stilled, then said in a fittingly raspy, post-sex voice, “Oh brother, what?”

“Just…oh brother.”

He was quiet a moment, then he tipped her face up and searched her eyes.
 
“Did you have a good time?”

Heat raced to her cheeks but she said politely, as she’d been trained, “I had a very good time.”

He laughed and pressed a swift kiss on her mouth. “I guessed,” he said, then added in gentle command, “Up.”

She struggled to her feet.
 
He rose behind her and reached for his jacket, then laid it with surprising care around her shoulders. She slid it a bit further forward, and a bit further down, and used it to shield the front of her body. Surely having to cover herself with the wooly green pea coat of a man she barely knew, while standing naked in a deserted banquet hall, would open the floodgates to guilt. Regret too.

So far, though, nothing.

Johnny prowled the room, picking up their discarded clothes.
 
He scooped up the shredded red remains of the underwear they’d agreed to destroy and shove them into the front pocket of his jeans. She appreciated the chivalric gesture, even though it didn’t help one iota right now.

Well, maybe
one
iota.

He came back and handed over all the items that were hers. They were mostly hers.
 
Without a word she took them and turned away and got dressed in silence. Was there anything more awkward than this moment?

And…where was the guilt?

Her body was still sending out little tremors of pleasure, remnant tremors, like it didn’t want her to forget what had happened. Her skin felt scorched. Her cheeks and inner thighs were scraped and raw from Johnny’s beard.
 
All in all she felt…really good.
 

Just like he had said it would be.

Where was the guilt?

She buttoned and zippered herself back into some semblance of order, then turned to find Johnny with his back gallantly to her, packing up their cups and coffees and all the Billings’ paperwork—
oh right, work,
she thought dimly—into neat piles.
 
His and Hers.
 
His hair was mussed, his face far less hard than it had been a few hours ago.

How long
had
they been at it?

“Did someone really see us?” she asked softly.

He looked over his shoulder, shook his head.
 
His green eyes were a lot less cold than she remembered.
 
“I don’t have any idea. I was pretty focused on you.”

She took a step forward. “Do you
think
anyone did?”

“No.”
 
He straightened and turned.
 
“No one did. Your secret is safe with me.”

A little shiver went though her.
 
“Which secret?”
 

He reached for her. “That you’re a fire looking for a spark.”

She let him pull her to his chest, shocked by the hot flow of emotion that went through her as she rested her cheek against his chest. She had no idea what she was feeling, except that it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, guilt.
 

She stood in Johnny’s embrace for another moment, then, being a realist at heart, she took a step back, and another, because that’s where this was inevitably going anyhow.
 
The stepping back, the confusing compliments that meant nothing. It was over. It should be over. Thank God it was over.

She blew out an uneven breath. “So, what now?” she said, pleased at how calm and reasonable she sounded, how so very
‘none of this matters to me’
she appeared.

He considered her a long second. Too long.

She moved for the table. “So, well, this has been great, Johnny—”

“Juliette.”

“—and I had a great time and all—” She grabbed her coffee mug.

“Juliette.”

 
She shoved it into her bag. “But it’s getting late, and I guess we took care of everything,” her face flushed, “so—”

“Juliette.”

His voice kept getting lower, so that she had to stop moving if she wanted to hear him, and she very much wanted to hear him.
 
Also, he’d put a hand on her wrist, and that stopped her short.
 
He could probably feel her trembling. She stared down at his hand. She felt so out of control. So uncontrollable.
 

He put his fingertips on her chin and made her look up.
 
Their eyes met.
 

He considered her a second, then grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and handed it to her. “You’re coming with me.”

She ignored the coat. “What?
 
Where?”

When it became apparent she wasn’t going to take the coat, Johnny laid it over her shoulder and turned to heave her monstrous bag up off the floor next.
 

“Holy shit, this is heavy,” he muttered, hoisting it onto his shoulder.
 
Then he reached down for his own bag.

“Johnny, come with you, where?”

“My place.” He wrestled his bag over his other shoulder.
 

“You have a ‘place’?”

“I have a place.”

“But…why?”

“Because I like Destiny Falls.
 
Actually, the whole Tahoe area,” he added thoughtfully.

 
“No, I mean, why go there?”

He paused in grabbing his phone off the table. “Because I’m not done fucking your brains out yet?” He looked over and added slowly, “Are you done fucking mine?”