Page 46 of Push & Pull
“Depends on how well I feel like swimming that day.”
Petra had Simone right where she wanted the spoiled princess.I could tear off her clothes and finish her off from last night.They had some unfinished business, didn’t they? As much as Petra loved what they shared both in the bathroom and the bedroom, she had been much too focused on herself and her own pleasure.I should have made her come harder. I should have made her scream.Instead, Petra had run out of energy before Simone hit such heights. While she had seemed plenty satisfied as they went to sleep, Petra now had confirmation that she hadn’t hitallof the right notes. Namely, the kind that would shatter the hotel window glass.
Hands slipped against Simone’s. Petra pinned her to the bed, straddling her with two taut thighs that weren’t about to let her go.
“You know those prissy friends of yours were imagining how we have sex, right?”
Clarity briefly returned to Simone’s eyes. “They knew a strap-on was involved. They didn’t know who was wearing it.”
“I’d say they think we’re both wearing them. At the same time.”
“Is that what you learned in pot rehab?”
Petra’s grip on Simone’s hands faltered as she laughed. “You can think quickly on your feet, too.”
“That’s not all I can do quickly.”
“Oh, Ibet.” Should Petra go for it? The quickie that was sure to give them both exactly what they wanted right now? Or should she refrain? Turn the upcoming snack into a full-blown meal when there was more time? When they were both… readier? “I’ve seen how quickly you go from zero to orgasm.”
“As I said, I’ve got some other tricks up my sleeve. You haven’t seen them yet.”
Petra sat up, unlinking their hands. “Let’s go out.”
Like clockwork, Simone pushed herself up on her elbows and said,“Huh?”
“Don’t give me such a sad look. We can finish this later! Maybe I want to take you out for a fun night on the town first. We haven’t been on a proper date since we met. Just driving and boning. I thought we weregirlfriends,princess.”
“You’re the one who lied about that!”
Would it be a lie for much longer, though?Who knew Hailey was a matchmaker? “So? Does this mean we can’t have fun?”
Simone considered her with apprehension. “I’m afraid to know whatfunmeans to you.”
Oh, Petra had a feeling that Simone was in for the time of her life. At leastsometime of her life, and that was all Petra asked for.
Chapter 17
Amanstinkingofcigarettes and Jameson whiskey leaned toward Simone and pointed toward the stage. “That’s one of my favorite songs!” He yelled right in her face, spreading Marlboro Lites and liquor into every facial orifice Simone possessed. “She’s doing anawesomejob!”
He had to yell so loudly because the music boomed over conversations and the clattering of plates and utensils, not that many people ate chicken wings and pizza with forks and knives. Simone’s plate was clean, but her glass of hard cider was barely touched. Not because she was afraid of getting drunk – but because one sip had told her she wasnotintopumpkin blueberry surprise.
Too bad the dive bar had nothing else to offer.
“Not everyone can do Whitney Houston!” The man in his Washington Nationals sweatshirt raised both hands into the air to clap along to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” “But this girl’s not too bad!”
That’s one way to put it.Simone was still in denial that she was in a grungy karaoke dive five blocks away from her sophisticated hotel.The first one I’ve been in all week.While Petra’s choices for one-night stays hadn’t beenterrible,Simone missed decent sheets and soundproof walls. She hated to think about how many truckers and families visiting the area had heard her pounding against the headboard because Petra was a nuisance in bed.
Now she was a nuisance of a different kind.
“If I could get everyone in here to clap their hands for me,” a sweaty Petra said into her mic, pointing to the elated diners in the front row of the karaoke bar, “that would simply make my night. Come on. Clap your hands.” She demonstrated by clapping both hands over the wireless mic thatboof’dbeneath every touch. “Clap along if you’re not gonna sing along to the late, great Whitney Houston!”
She shouted that into the mic, a small amount of feedback reverberating in the large bar. While locals and tourists alike cheered, one woman shot up out of her seat and finger-gunned Petra on stage. “Slay that shit, girl!” she cried. The woman then gestured to her girlfriends at the table to either clap or get up and sway their hips to the dance beat of the karaoke track. The MC of that night’s karaoke-a-thon shuffled at the side of the stage until Petra gestured for him to come over and add his baritone vocals to the final chorus of the song.
“I’m in hell,” Simone moaned.
“Dance with somebody!” A Washington Nationals sweatshirt was soon right in Simone’s face as her tablemate pumped his fist in the air. “Hell yeah!”
Simone wished she wasn’t close enough to the stage to see the sweat dripping down Petra’s face as she rocked out in her jeans and crimson red tank top. Her chunky jewelry reflected in the light, but it was her teeth that somehow kept attracting Simone’s attention.At least she has good teeth.Never mind how that short hair looked when slathered against Petra’s forehead in sweat. Or how her hips moved to the beat and her half-decent vocals belted out one of Whitney’s biggest hits.
