"I bet by the time we get outta here, you'll feel like a million bucks. A superstar. A porn star, even."
"Oh fuck you, Hodge. Not all girls want that, y'know?" She says, hanging off him. "Find me some place where we can make out for a while, and that's all I need."
"That's all you need, but what do you want?" He asks. He's got a voice like brandy and her toes curl in her heels, the way he says it makes it sound so much more philosophical than it really should.
'A boyfriend' would be a nice answer, she hasn't had one of those for a while. 'A steady gig' would be nice too. 'Another glass of Champagne', 'to get out of this stupid party and these stupid heels', 'to take this damn makeup off'. But instead, she simply says, "I want to come."
His face stretches into a cocky smirk, and he shuts the door behind them, sealing them into a dimly lit joke of a back-room. "Well, Miss McCoy, let's see what I can do about that."
He's skinny: lithe and leaner than she's used to after the muscle men she usually courts. Still, his hands around her wrists feel right as they pin them behind her back, and his mouth presses warm, wet heat against hers. He kisses her with teasing, closed mouth pecks until her lip gloss has gone sticky-lip-balm-matte, until her body bows under his, her curls a nest around her face. She feels tiny and warm and fragile and like he's not out to break her. That's a comfort, she thinks, until he's pressing her jaw open and breathing hot in her mouth. He pulls away and she gasps, low underneath her breath.
"Hold on a second, I'll be right back."
He's not afraid to look stupid, his head burrowed underneath her bandage dress, an obscene moving bulge under nude fabric. Her eyes unfocus as he moves her panties aside with his teeth, a breathless moment. She thinks he makes her look knocked up.
"C'mon, C'mon," she groans, bucks up against him but she's pretty much anchored against the wall. She can barely see his body, from the way she's pinned, but she can imagine his bent knees, the scuff of dirt against his suit pant legs. His tongue curls around the knot of her clit for the split second that shoots down her spine, and he pulls away to trace the parallel lines of her labia, appreciating the geometry of her.
She's not wearing a bra, and she can feel the dress' rough material against her nipples as they harden, her hands curling around his wrists in cheap symmetry of his.
He appears again, his face wet with her, licks the taste of her wetness from his lips and growls. She goes bow-legged, rubbing her thighs together, feeling the trace of him as she rolls her hips from left to right, back and forth.
"Have fun down there?" She asks.
"A little," he shrugs teasingly. "Wish I had more space, though."
She bites her lip at that, knows a blatant come on when she hears it. "You'll have to wait for that. You pushed us into a copy machine closet, remember?"
He chuckles at that, all cocky and infuriating as he rises to his feet. "It's okay. I got you right where I want you."
He lets go of her completely before gathering her face up in his hands and kissing her silent again, his tongue begging for entrance, to show her what he can do, so eager like they've hated each other forever, like he wants to prove her wrong. His hand drops, pushes up her skirt, and grabs her thigh, lifting it around his hip. Her hands grope for the front of his pants, undoing the zipper and belt, letting them drop to the floor. His underwear's a beautiful tan against his dark skin, formfitting enough against his ass that it feels like second skin when she grabs his rear end and brings him closer, his erection dragging against spit slick soft skin. Her raised leg slots into place against the dramatic cut of his hip, and even though she can't see his abdomen, she bets he's defined there, too.
She likes definition, it means they're willing to work. Her thoughts get interrupted by his smart hands again, as they grab her wrists and pin them against the wall. The the thud of her knuckles, her costume jewelry hitting stucco make her moan out loud, a mindless sound that bounces off the walls.
"He told me about you. About all the little things that made you wet for him, all the little things that drove you crazy," Aldis smiles, whispering in her ear. Sandy's ready for this fight, but mentioning Jared's a low blow, one she can't quite return, one that almost kills this little game before it gets good. He rubs his cock against her again, breathing down the angle of her neck. She snarls, tries to shrug him off halfheartedly, but his hands double down around her wrists, like he's trying to tell her something important. "Thing is, I can make you come any way I please right now. You can eat out of the palm of my hand. I can make you forget about him, make you come so hard you don't even remember who he is. That's what you really want, right?"
She can't bring herself to words beyond a whine and a nod, as she tries to break his hold. He pushes her flat against the wall, ruts into her another time, so right against her clit it makes her see stars.
"Now, you gotta breathe if you want this, baby. Ain't doin' this with a dead girl," he says, matter of factly. He breaks his hold and turns her around, hustling her flat against the wall. His hands manhandle her more lovingly than anyone else has, urging her hips back, rolling her skirt up. It's like a Rumba, constant sexual motion that wraps them around each other. She goes with him, his little pushes back and forth, until it feels like she's doing the work of gyrating, her dress folding neat and loose, her body revealing itself all over a push in the right direction.
It's hypnotizing, how he moves with her, the connection of them becoming stronger, the foreplay like a lover's illicit knowledge instead of yet another he-man's thesis on dominance. The thought rattles in her brain and lights a fire in her belly. She knows he can have any part of her, then. There are pauses and she tries to help him, reaching backward to shimmy down his underwear to give his cock a needy tug. Still, she cooperates with him, knows it's better to see how he'll run the show, this first time.
"Please," she groans as he presses the pads of his fingertips into the flesh of her ass for an appreciative moment, and then rolls her spine up and pushes right into her. He's rough and quick and handsy, turning her upper half just a little until their lips can meet as he's driving into her. Save for the flickers of pressure against her clit, against her g, against her cervix, she can barely make sense of anything and the feeling makes her squirm and whine at the very idea of him. He goes deep on every stroke, pulling out fast just to return. His hips slide in, and swivel as they curl back out, the kind of movement that shouldn't tease her as much as it seems it does. He's thicker than she expected and he stretches her well, fills her up in a way that most of the 'roid-ragers' she usually sleeps with never really could. Her hands itch to reach down and press against her crotch, to feel his rhythm right under the skin.
His other hand comes around, clawing rough at her dress, nails sinking in until she's moaning in his mouth, tongue flicking at his teeth. Her hands scratch for purchase, but she doesn't want to let go, standing here in the dark. Not when she's getting fucked for the first time in what feels like forever, no complicated feelings of 'love' involved. His thrusts get more needy, the noises coming from his mouth wounded and hungry. She can feel his want as it fills up the room.
He comes quick, like she's been teasing him all night. She wants to make a smart remark as he clutches her close, drops his head into her shoulder and bites like someone told him she was edible.
She doesn't have time to snark at him for leaving her hanging, not the way he drops to his knees and kisses and licks her until she's bearing down on his tongue, leaking the mixture of the two of them into his mouth. She arches deeper as he swallows her whole. She rests her head against the wall as his tongue draws tremendously complicated figures against her clit.
"C'mon, c'mon," she groans as his fingers sink in to pump at the entrance of her, play with her G-spot. It's a funny feeling, him pumping back and forth inside her like he's trying to find something that will make the want to come too great. It's working, she realizes frantically: she's so ready to give in, to have it all. She's done with feeling like she's holding back to make sure she looks good and moans right. It makes her crazy, her breath coming fast while her whole body locks into place.
"You ever done this before?" he asks.
He pushes against her g-spot just right, and she comes harder than she ever has before, convulsing against the wall. She squirms, her hands flying everywhere for something to grab onto and she comes up short, only able to roll back onto his fingers and come even harder. She can hear the sound of herself squirting against the wall, the splash of her ejaculate hitting the industrial tile.
"My, my, Sandra. How incredibly thoughtless- and absolutely nasty of you," he drawls, all tease. She sags against the wall feeling the heat in her cheeks as her blush grows, "I bet with a firm hand and a bit of discipline, we could get you doing that all the time."
Other men would embarrass her over this, or play up that slight 'discipline' angle and treat her like some naughty little girl. A little voice in her head counts the seconds as they pass without a smack on her ass, a hand in her hair, the word 'punishment' flying into the thick air. Somehow, Aldis isn't like that, not when he could be rubbing her clit gently, watching her cant her hips and softly, slowly, gently come again, shivering against him as he rises to his feet once more, holds her close and pushes her clothing back into place. She grabs his wrists as they settle against her waist, as the lace of her panties starts her off again and she breathes, open mouthed like a lovesick idiot against the wall.
"You're cute when you come, you know that?" He tells her.
"How would you know, you couldn't see my face?" she asks breathlessly.
"You just move like you think the world's about to end, is all. Can imagine your eyes getting all squinty and your mouth falling open and maybe your nostrils flare," he shrugs, doing a hysterical impression of her orgasm against her backside, rutting and gasping and writhing. "I bet your O-face is really unattractive."
"Jerk," she grins. Her hands fit on top his his right, and he doesn't think twice about folding his fingers into hers.
"Maybe once you get comfortable, you'll even start making real words like 'yes,' and 'Aldis.' I'd like that."
"If we do this again, I'm sure I'll say all the words you want, as long as we're in a place where we don't get caught."
"If you come home with me now, and maybe let me tie you up, I'll make sure you come so long your brain will start to leak out of your ears," he grins in her ear, warmth and comfort in his voice, his whole body suggesting he's only barely joking.
"I come like that again, first, and then you get to tie me up," Sandy grins, a firm demand if there ever was one. She turns and gives him a kiss, open and messy, tongues flicking at each other in plain sight. He smiles against her mouth, kissing like he's been dreaming of this chance to have her, and will stop at nothing to please her now that he's gotten her attention.
"Deal," he says, as he walks to the door and pulls it open to reveal hallway, the way out on one end, the way back to the party on the other. "After you, Madame."
It's a pleasant surprise when yanks her back into the party for a second, how they dance and somehow she knows all the steps- real steps and a real frame and real close like he knows she's a dancer and wants to test his own skill. It's even more shocking as he puts a friendly arm- one she could always shrug off- around her shoulders after he grabs her coat, but it's a no brainer when they walk out.
She didn't really expect that he was going to tie them together, though.