Page 8 of Good Golly Miss Molly

“Not getting crumbs on my face.”

The look she gives me is, appropriately, hungry. Alarmingly hungry. Like a tiger who‘s well past her feeding time and might just eat her handler instead of the slab of meat he’s carrying.

I set the guitar down on the workbench and walk slowly around the counter. Her eyes never leave me. It‘s not the guitar she’s interested in, and maybe not even the song…

The next thing I know, she pounces on me, and for the briefest moment I picture that poor keeper trapped under 300 pounds of cat. Most humans can‘t get out from under 6 pounds of cat. The keeper stands no chance.

And neither do I, with maybe 140 pounds of Molly climbing me like I‘m a ladder and she’s stuck in rising floodwaters. Nevermind that she’s nearly as tall as I am. She’s slender, willowy, in a way that’s almost ethereal. Her scent is the same, like wildflowers and sea spray, and moonlight, if that had a scent. Her lips, as hard as they’re pressed against mine, are velvet-soft.

And my shock at this turn of events is finally overcome. I grab her under her butt, lifting her up against me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and it just feels right, like when you find that perfect chord that cements the hook in a song. And boy am I hooked…

We feed on each other‘s mouths, gentle nudging, shifting quickly into open-mouthed kisses. Her tongue caresses mine, and I set her on the counter, freeing my hands to slide into her hair, angling her head so we can consume each other.

She uses her legs to pull us together at the hips, and I know without a doubt she can feel me pressing against the fly of my jeans, because she thrusts her hips at me, like she‘s hoping the layers between us will simply evaporate. Magic exists, and I know that for a fact, even aside from me being a creature of magic, but I know clothing doesn’t simply disappear because you want it to. That’s not stopping either of us right now. If it was possible, we’d have pressed ourselves so close the molecules would simply give way for flesh to meet flesh. She writhes against me, and I’m done-for…

“Molly — do you want… are you…”

“Fuck yes!”

I look around me and decide discretion is the better part of valor. Far better to adjourn this astonishing collision to a more suitable location than to take her in the shop with glass doors the only thing between us and the street.

I set her feet down on the floor and grab my keys from behind the counter, flipping light switches as we go, her hand grasped once again in mine, and with a far better destination in mind than the guitar room. Her arms wrap around me, her cheek pressed into my back as I lock the front doors behind us.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment. It’s close by,” I tell her, turning in her arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead and caressing the back of her neck. I take her hand and pull her along behind me, down the alleyway and then around the back of the shop, where a set of stairs leads to the apartment directly above my shop.

“Convenient,” she observes with a knowing smile.

“Occasionally.Veryoccasionally,“ I emphasize, guiding her up the steps and unlocking the door. She throws herself at me again, and I’m so lost in her touch that I can’t even find the light switch. After mashing my hand into the wall several times, I give up and just carry her to the bed in the near pitch-dark. My night vision is preternaturally good, but the apartment has to look like a blank void to her. And maybe it’s better that way…

I lay her gently down on the comforter, covering her body with mine. She brushes her fingers over my face, as if she can see me in the darkness, or perhaps her fingers can see for her. She traces across my brow, finding that one prominent scar, and caresses it before running her thumb across the part of the scar that runs to the top of my cheek, like she could smooth it away.

Her expression is reflective, like she‘s thinking too hard for someone who should be lost in the throes of passion. And I’m going to fix that right now.

4

Going Without

Molly

Ihaven’tletmyselfstop to think about what I’m doing since I stepped through the doorway of the shop for the second time. If I stop and think, I’m going to run again. And I should. I know I should. For Logan’s sake, if not my own. Chances are it’s already too late and my promise is well and truly broken. He spent hours writing a song, less than half a day after meeting me, touching me, clearly already interested in me. I’ve seen all of this happen before…

“What’s it called?”

He pauses for a moment, confused.

“What’s what called? The song? ‘Molly.’ I named it ‘Molly.’”

I wish I could say that was unexpected.

“I meant the guitar. It’s beautiful, a sculpture in wood and shells.”

“I called her ‘Molly,’ too. And I’m not letting her go. She’s mine.”

My breath catches. If I had any doubts, that ended them. He’s already caught up in me, nearly as much as I am in him, after losing the battle with my own willpower. Might as well enjoy the doughnut while I have it… The consequences of my impulsive behavior will come home to roost now, no matter what I do. For both of us.

“Thank you,” I tell him, stroking his cheek. Beautiful man. Gifted. He didn’t need me. He had inspiration of his own. And now…

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