Page 74 of Flirting with Forever

Their beers came, and John watched, point-blank, while Mary slipped the lime out of the neck of the bottle and sucked it clean. When she licked her lips, John licked his own lips. When she took a sip from her beer, John looked away, let out a long breath and took a deep swallow of his own beer, hoping to cool some of this fire inside him. So far, she was definitely winning the painfully delicious game they were playing with one another.

John looked down. Two of their legs were hidden in the shadow underneath the overhang of the bar and John took the opportunity. He laid his palm over his own knee. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt Mary’s awareness circle down and land right there. To the hand he’d placed just an inch from her leg.

John leaned forward, pretending to be straining to hear something Richie was saying, but really he was taking the opportunity to bend Mary over, just a tiny bit. He tightened his hold at her waist and moved his hand from his own knee to her knee, as if he were bracing her against the shift in balance. He answered Richie, careful not to shout in Mary’s ear, and then leaned them both back, adjusting her against him but leaving his hands where they were. One palm on her opposite hip and one palm over her knee, his fingers stretched down to her bare calf. Her dress was short, so he was skin on skin.

Her fingers tugged at the button at his wrist, one gentle nail tracing a path on the skin under his sleeve. His own fingers stretched in response, his thumb drawing a circle on the inside of her knee.

She pushed back into him, just slightly, her ass into his unmistakable hardness, and did she...? Yes, she’d definitely just opened her legs a tantalizing half inch. John let out a breath and could practically watch it wash over that exposed patch of golden shoulder. He wanted to follow his breath with his lips, his lips with his tongue, his tongue with his teeth. He couldn’t help but shift his hips forward a barely there centimeter, pressing himself into her softness.

His beer was half-drank and long forgotten on the bar next to him. One needed a free hand to drink a beer and his hands were currentlyocupado. Exactly where they’d been born to be.

John slid his hand just an inch up the inside of her leg, still basically on her knee, just the smallest bit under the hem of her dress. If Richie and Beth were to look down, they might raise an eyebrow, but it wasn’t indecent. Still, John felt Mary melt back against him, her leg shifting, pushing against his, opening an amount so small that if his hand hadn’t been there, he might have missed it.

She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it, pulling it up off the back of her neck, and when it fell, John realized that they were sitting so close that her hair fell over his own shoulder. He felt the warm, silky weight of it tumbling down his arm, cascading everywhere as she leaned forward to laugh with Beth.

That sheet of her hair was too much temptation. He slid his hand up from her leg and brushed her hair down her back, smoothing it. He wanted to see her hair wet. He wanted to seeherwet. He wanted a long luxurious, soapy shower with Mary. But he also wanted a quick late-for-work shower with her just as badly. He wanted to watch her brush her teeth while she wore a white towel in that twist thing that women did. He wanted to race around a kitchen with her, make sure she left the house with at least a cup of coffee and a muffin. If she even ate muffins.

He slid his hand back to her knee and maybe half an inch farther up her leg than it had been before. “What kind of breakfast do you usually eat in the morning?” he couldn’t help but ask, muttering into her ear. He wanted information, anything he could learn about her. He wanted his morning-time fantasy to be as accurate as possible.

She tipped her head back and eyed him, her eyes at half-mast. “You planning on feeding me breakfast, John?”

Boi-oi-oi-oing. If he hadn’t been sprung for the last half an hour—which he had been—he certainly freaking would be right now. John might not be as smooth as some of her Maserati-driving silver foxes, but he was pretty sure she’d just asked him if he was going to take her home tonight. If he was going to sleep the night with her, then feed her in the morning to keep her strength up. John had always been a die-hard fan of morning sex, but casual hookups in his world were generally done in the dark of the witching hour, the heat vampirically turning to dust in the morning light.

But with Mary? Gah—yeah. He’d morning sex her until they had to sleep again. Until there was nothing to do but hurriedly slug back coffee and orange juice and bagels on the way to work, and send her on her way with the memory of him between her legs.

Her question lingered between them.

“Couldn’t let you go hungry.”

Her eyes darkened further, her tongue wetting her lips. He followed the movement with his eyes, and without him telling it to, his hand was now a full inch and a half under the hem of her dress.

Her eyes were on his mouth, he was sure of it.

“I’d make sure you were taken care of, Mary,” he told her.

She swallowed and made a small sound that he barely heard over the shouting crowd all around them. Under the bar, her ankle hooked around his and John figured it might be time to leave. There was savoring a moment, and then there was letting it pass by. He was not letting Mary pass him by, not when she had two fingers teasing the inside of his wrist and her sunny hair trapped between their bodies.

Because he was a good friend, or maybe because he really was tired, Richie suddenly yawned and threw some cash on the bar. “I’m gonna head out. Beth, want a walking buddy to the train?”

Beth and Richie quickly waved goodbye and disappeared through the crowd. Now it was just John and Mary all alone in this crowded, pulsing bar. There was an empty barstool where Beth had just been sitting, and Mary slid down, off the one she was sharing with John. But she didn’t step away from him. Instead she turned in the circle of his arms and pushed herself into him, her soft breasts pressing into his chest, the tips of her hair tickling the forearm he had barred against her lower back.

“Wanna be my walking buddy?” she asked, her head tipped up to his, her eyes on his lips.

John lifted his hips, pulled out his wallet and tossed money on the bar. If it was the wrong amount, Marissa would tell him about it next time he saw her, but for now, he needed to be outside, in the night, with Mary.

They got jostled as they pushed their way through the crowd, but neither of them seemed to care. John led the way, his hand back, laced with Mary’s. When they finally made it out the door of the bar, they both laughed into the muggy air.

“Somehow, I was expecting a breath of fresh air when we finally got out of that sweatbox,” Mary said, shaking her head.

“Not in Brooklyn in midsummer,” John said with a laugh. As hot as it was outside, he felt the absence of her weight against him, and he gently tugged her forward. She leaned into his side. “Cab?” he asked. “Train? Walk?”

“It’s only ten blocks.”

Somehow, they’d decided to go to her house without either of them having to discuss it.

“Can you walk it in those heels?” He looked down at the electric-blue skyscrapers that were precariously strapped to her feet.

“I can do lots of things in heels, John,” she said with a sexy, laughing look on her face, backing away in the direction of her apartment.

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