The air is thick and heavy. Humid...the damp of New Orleans so different from the cold damp of London, which seeps into the bones and chills to the core. Bayou damp soaks into skin, beading up from the pores and flooding nostrils with the heady scent of jasmine. Mary fishes an ice cube out of the watery remnants of her scotch and presses it to the nape of her neck, revelling in the cool trickle down her back. The relief is short-lived.
Her gaze tracks over the smoky bar, the dim forms swaying on the dance floor, the red mood lighting that infuses the haze with an unearthly glow. Her eyes skim the scene, some far-off part of her brain assessing vantage points and exits on autopilot, barely registering the activity around her, until she lands upon the shapely figure bent over the jukebox in the corner. The round arse sways with the sultry music, and Mary is hypnotised by its subtle undulations. A short silk floral dress hugs every curve, clinging at the waist and flaring out at the hips, its thin fabric revealing the flagrant lack of panty line. Long tan legs taper to delicately heeled sandals, muscular calves and thighs flexing as weight is shifted from left to right and back again.
Her trance is broken by a squeal of delight as Janine jumps up on her toes, jabs her finger rather violently at the keypad, and spins on her heel to face Mary.
"Girl," her mouth curves around the word in a lush pout, hips snapping to the strums of the guitar. "You'll be a woman ... soon."
Mary quirks an eyebrow and unsuccessfully attempts to suppress a smile.
The lip sync performance continues, the heat in Janine's eyes growing as the song picks up speed.
"I love you so much, can't count all the ways
I've died for you girl and all they can say is—"
And here Janine clearly mouths, "SHE'S not your kind," and crooks a finger out to Mary, beckoning to join her.
Mary makes a big show of rolling her eyes, but she downs the last of her drink, slams the tumbler on the bar, and turns back to the temptress on the dance floor, still swiveling her hips in her siren's call. Janine winks at her, and it's all over. Mary feels her heart lurch and face flush, and knows she's been beat. She sighs, rises from her stool, and slowly makes her way across the bar. She can't help but feel clunky in her modest capris and practical shoes and plain ribbed tank top, as she approaches the flowing goddess before her, but Janine beams at her with shining eyes and radiant smile and everything else melts away.
"Girl, you'll be a woman soon."
Janine unfurls her fingers in a flourish as Mary closes the distance between them.
"Please, come take my hand."
Mary reaches for Janine's outstretched hand and pulls her close. Suddenly she can feel the damp heat pressed tight against her, can smell the sweet musk of shampoo and sweat and sex. Her hands grip soft full hips and her nose buries into thick fragrant hair. She slides her leg between parted thighs and Janine lets out a wanton moan and grinds down hard.
"Fuck," Mary whispers, which only makes Janine clamp tighter around her proffered leg and buck against her again. Mary can feel moisture seeping through the cotton on her thigh, and imagines the friction the fine twill texture is creating against Janine's bare skin. Digging her fingertips deeper into the supple flesh of Janine's arse, she rocks her hips to the beat of the song, rubbing rhythmically as the wet patch spreads across her thigh.
Janine's breath is coming in huffy little gasps, and Mary looks up from soft brown tresses to scan behind her gyrating partner. Jukebox flush against the wall, no other patrons in sight. Perfect.
She slides her hands up hourglass curves, thumbs wrapping around narrowed waist to firmly grab hold, pivot, spin, momentarily throwing Janine off balance as she turns her around to face the wall. Mary catches her from behind, steadies her against teetering centrifugal force, pulls her body back against her own heaving chest.
"Well I've finally found what I'm a looking for."
Drawing back the thick cascade of luscious hair, Mary traces her nose along the curve of Janine's arched neck, tongue following close behind.
"But if they get their chance they'll end it for sure."
Salt, gardenia blossoms, the sweet-sharp tang of spiced rum and grenadine, and underneath it all, something darker, richer, uniquely her.
"Surely would," she croons into the delicate shell of the ear at her lips, and the body in her arms shudders with need.
"Oh god, Mary!" A broken plea.
She smiles against her lover's neck, nips the soft earlobe, whispers, "Shhh...I've got you."
Her fingertips slide down over hipbones, trembling thighs, slip under skirt hem and skate back up, curve in, follow trickling wetness back to its source.
"I'll take care of you."
Janine chokes out her name again as Mary's fingers brush the moist nest of curls, tease around the pulsing mound of heat, lightly drag nails up one side and down the other. Janine tries to press forward into her touch, but Mary grabs her hip with her left hand and yanks her back in place, the other hand continuing its elusive game. Janine stumbles, sways, reaches out blindly for something to ground her. Sweaty palms land on the jukebox display, and she grips the decorative trim white-knuckled and desperate.
"Please, Mary, I need...I need..." Her voice is rough and ragged and Mary thinks it's the most gorgeous thing she's ever heard.
"I know, love. I know."
Mary would never be able to let go like this in public, lose her inhibitions and all self-control. But to be able to take this stunning creature apart, here on the dance floor, in front of all these people, well, the rush of power is unparalleled. Janine is like an orchid — beautiful, rare, exotic, intoxicating — and Mary has never wanted to possess and care for someone so fully.
Her fingers part, trace the valleys and folds around dripping core, until finally slipping into slick silken heat. Janine is panting and moaning and coming undone at the seams and Mary wants it to never end, but she also wants to give her lover what she desires, give her what she needs, give her every last bit of herself and more. Everything.
She twists her wrist down, plunging in deeper, and presses her thumb against the throbbing velvety nub she knows is aching for her touch. Janine practically sobs with relief, and Mary circles her clit with light strokes, growing bolder as her partner rocks urgently against her palm, driving her on. She rubs more insistently, thumb vibrating back and forth, and curves her fingertips up and in and thrusts, and Janine is close, so close Mary can taste it. In a flash of inspiration, she leans forward on tiptoes, tongue darting out to lap up a drop of sweat beading at Janine's throat, and growls soft and low in her ear, "Mine."
Janine cries out, and then she's clenching around Mary's fingers, pulsing and shaking and breaking in waves of unbridled pleasure. Mary holds her through it, her left arm wrapping around her waist to support and steady. She rests her head against Janine's shoulder and feels the last jolts of tension spasm and release. Janine sighs, and leans back into Mary's solid embrace. A fierce rush of protectiveness surges through Mary's limbs and something tightens deep in her chest. She takes a deep breath and tries not to think about it, her mind shying away on reflex. It's like staring at the sun.
Instead, she gently slides her fingers out of her lover, absently rubbing the sticky wetness between thumb and forefinger as she removes her hand from the thin silk cover of skirt. Her hand is coated in evidence of Janine's arousal, her attraction, her love for Mary, and suddenly she's overcome with an uncontrollable urge to consume. She raises her hand, and sees Janine's gaze follow as she presses her fingertips to her lips. She licks a long, slow stripe from nail to knuckle, and smiles around the flavour flooding her mouth. It tastes like home.
Janine gives her a lazy, wicked grin, and grabs her wrist, pulling it away from Mary's mouth and towards her own. She wraps her full lips around Mary's fore and middle fingers, curling down pinky and ring, forming her hand into the shape of a gun. Mary's breath catches in her throat and her pulse thunders in her ears. With her wide, dark eyes locked on Mary's, Janine sucks the fingers into her mouth, slurping obscenely as she slides her soft slick lips up and down the makeshift barrel. When she reaches the base and wiggles her tongue into the gap between, Mary's eyes flutter closed, roll back in her head.
Janine tongues the fleshy V where knuckles meet and Mary feels it between her legs, the sense memory so strong as to be indistinguishable. She lets out a groan and Janine sucks hard, then pulls off with a giggle and a hint of teeth.
Mary opens her eyes, slides her hand to the back of Janine's head, fists her hair.
"Christ, you are perfect," she breathes, unable to control the awed wonder in her voice. Then she's kissing Janine, pressing her mouth tight against her own to stop anything else from rushing out, and god, she can taste Janine's release on her lips. Absolutely perfect.
She pulls away panting, unsure if she's short of breath from the kiss or the emotion threatening to overtake her. She grits her teeth and grips the back of Janine's neck.
"We are going home, and then I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to see straight."
Janine flashes her best cheeky smile, all teeth and dimples.
"You can bet your life on it."
Janine raises her eyebrows with glee.
"Oooh, big talk from Miss Assassin." She pushes away from Mary with a playful shove, and turns towards the exit. Mary follows, admiring the view from behind. Janine pauses at the door, looking back at Mary with a sly gleam in her eye.
"I hear you're really good at wet jobs," she purrs, gives Mary a flirty wink, and she's out the door, the air still full of her lilting laughter and the sweet scent of gardenias.