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show me how you do that trick

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The tv over the bar flickers silently, some old black-and-white movie showing on the only non-news channel the Roadhouse reliably gets. If Jo strains she can make out the low sound of Cary Grant’s voice as she serves a second drink to the hunter—Gwen, she’d said her name was—paying rapt attention to the screen.

Gwen tears her eyes from the television to smile at Jo. Jo’s seen that look before, the moment when a patron becomes abruptly aware that their bartender is hot. Coming from Gwen, it doesn’t grate as much as when guys old enough to be her dad do it.

Coming from Gwen, it actually kind of turns her on.

“Did it hurt?” Gwen asks.

Jo, unbelievably enough, stares uncomprehendingly at Gwen and her aren’t-I-clever smirk for more than a few seconds, prompting Gwen to add, “You know, when you fell—”

That’s, apparently, what it takes to compel Jo to lean over a bar and kiss someone just to shut them up. In front of her mother, no less. She'd plead temporary insanity in the face of Gwen's self-assured beauty, but it would be a lie because she's always been a sucker for people who know they're hot and that probably won't change anytime soon.

For her part, Gwen doesn’t even look surprised when Jo steps back. “That’s never worked before,” Gwen tells her, clearly amused, but her wide smile only stops Jo’s embarrassment right in its track. “Would it be too forward to ask when you get off?”

“Closing time,” Jo answers, watching the way Gwen absorbs that information. The way the interest in her gaze doesn’t diminish. “Maybe I’ll see you then,” she tests.

Gwen passes that test. “Maybe you will,” she says, in that coy tone that means definitely.


Gwen’s rented a room for the night, and the second the door shuts behind them, she pushes Jo onto the bed. Instantly the heat in the room kicks up a notch—or at least, it seems that way to Jo. The way Gwen’s looking at her… Jo’s never had that kind of dark intensity directed at her before and she’s not ashamed to admit it’s making her wet as hell.

There’s a part of Jo that automatically fights, but no sooner does she sit up than Gwen’s pinning her back down, crawling over her like Jo belongs to her, fitting one leg between Jo’s thighs.

“Tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, okay?” Gwen murmurs, face inches from Jo. Her loose hair falls like a curtain on either side of her head, effectively shutting out the rest of the world. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

On some level Jo appreciates this, but most of her is too impatient to care. “Same,” she blurts out, cupping the back of Gwen’s head and pulling her closer for a kiss that she hopes communicates her desire to get the fuck on with it.

Gwen’s a smart girl; she immediately gets with the program and that intensity Jo had felt earlier swallows them both up again. Everything narrows down to sensation. To the places where Gwen’s body is pressed tight against Jo’s own, to the way Gwen’s moving against her with an easy confidence that only makes Jo’s own lack of control hotter.

Using only her mouth and some strategically-applied pressure, Gwen’s reducing Jo to a frantic, desperate mess. They haven’t even taken any clothes off. It doesn't hurt that even through two layers of denim Jo can feel the blood-hot warmth of Gwen’s pussy against Jo’s thigh. Can only imagine what it's going to feel like, skin-on-skin, so slick and ready. For Jo. For her fingers, or her tongue, or, honestly, whatever the fuck Gwen wants. It doesn't matter. The need to strip Gwen down and touch her everywhere is overwhelming, but Jo's still trapped, helpless to do anything but tilt her hips a little and grind against the spot where Gwen’s thigh and hip meet. It's almost enough.

Gwen makes a pleased, almost devious sound and pushes one hand up under Jo’s shirt. Her short nails tear lines of sensation down Jo's side and it drives Jo a kind of crazy she’d never anticipated. Her whole body surges upward in response, maybe a little roughly, but Gwen just moans and pins Jo’s arms to the bed as she writhes.

And then, Gwen’s entire body stills. For a second Jo thinks she’s hurt her, but then she notices the high, red flush on Gwen’s cheeks and a faint clench of her legs.

Jo’s a big fan of Occam’s Razor.

She can’t stop her mouth from falling open. “Did you just—” Fuck, that's so hot she can barely think.

“Yeah,” Gwen admits, not looking embarrassed in the slightest. If anything, she looks more turned on. “What, are you just going to stop there, or…?”

Like Jo could ever back down from a challenge like that.