Page 7 of Midnight Kisses
I swapped compliments, gave out bandaids and bobbies, hairspray and blotting paper. I laughed, I hyped people up—a natural role for me. I loved to make people feel beautiful and confident, it was the whole reason I’d startedPerry Skin.Not to mention, lots of people were making liberal use of the hand cream and other products I’d planted, which made me giddy.
Yet, as the night wore on my triumph sunk a little. Watching people love my products and not being able to talk about it, or even pitch in the hope of catching an investor, hurt my feelings. I didn’t want to spend my life only being a hype girl; a side character in someone else’s story.
I wanted myownstory.
The trickle of guests slowed after 11pm, when the speeches were scheduled to start. After that, everyone would no doubt gather by the windows to watch New Year’s fireworks explode over the city. Alone in the washroom, I took the opportunity tosink into the chaise lounge and rest my feet. My shiny silver heels with the dainty ankle straps made my calves look long and elegant, but they were murder to stand in for such long periods.
I was unbuckling a shoe with the intent of massaging the aching balls of my feet, when the door flew open and a tall figure in a suit burst into my bathroom sanctuary.
My sign said all genders were safe here, and I usually tried not to make assumptions about someone’s identity, but some guys just screamed cishet and this was one of them.
Stunned, I stared at the man.
“What the fuck?” he demanded.
“Pardon?”
“I thought this was the men’s room,” he said.
After that, everything happened at warp speed. We argued about his pants and he flirted like a freight train. He burned his dick with stain remover and I eye banged him six ways from Sunday. Not to be too crude, but the prominent outline in the front of his black briefs was very hard to ignore, and privately I thought it was a shame it had been subjected to so many abrasive substances this evening.
“If you asked, I’d be on my knees in a heartbeat, burying my face in your pussy and making you scream so loud your boss would know you were slacking off,” he said.
This melted my mind, but he wasn’t done.
“What do you say, blondie? Want to let a stranger eat you out while you’re supposed to be on the clock? Come on good girl, be bad with me.”
It was the way he was looking at me that pushed me into my decision. His eyes were hungry, laser-focused. I knew as surely as I knew my own name that he wasn’t the kind of guy to take a few licks then act like he deserved a medal of valour. That glint in his eyes called me, obsessed me.
Which is why the next words that came out of my mouth were, “We have to hurry.”
CHAPTER 3
PERRY
He launchedat me like a flame leaping from a lighter, hands cupping my face as he pulled my mouth to his. His lips were hot and hungry and I eagerly met each press. My tongue ventured out, licking a request as politely as I dared. He welcomed the intrusion, sliding his tongue against mine. Our hands weren’t idle either; mine learned the contours of strong pectorals before I pulled at the buttons of his shirt—some sprung off and clacked as they hit the floor—but I didn’t stop kissing him. He didn’t seem to care and I had a sewing kit; I could fix it later.
The stranger gripped fistfuls of my dress and began tugging it up my thighs as he walked me backwards to the chaise lounge. My heel, still unbuckled, wobbled and I stumbled, but he wrapped a bracing arm around my waist, pulling me to him in a vice-strong grip as he kissed his way down my neck. Nosing one dress strap off my shoulder, he hissed as my black lace bra was revealed.
“You’re delicious,” he growled into my neck. “These tits are heaven on earth.”
I shouldn’t like hearing the wordtitsas much as I did. It was rough. Coarse.
It should repel me, not make me slippery between the thighs.
The man’s eyes were aflame as he cupped me with both hands, marvelling at how his hands overflowed. “I could write poems about these, blondie. Truly. I’ve never written a poem—” He kissed me again. “But the urge to start is overwhelming.”
“We don’t—” I gasped, “—have time for poetry. It’s nearly midnight.”
“Throw my pants on the floor.”
I looked down at the fabric I still held, my brain slow to sort through his words. “We just got the wine stain out.”
He tugged them out of my hands and threw them down himself. “I don’t give a fuck about my pants. I’m happy to get on my knees in a bathroom for you, but these joints aren’t thirty-five anymore, I need some cushioning.”
“Oh.”
He was at least seven years older than me. Which was fine. Maybe I should have asked how old he was before I agreed to let him go down on me. Was that something people established before getting sexual with strangers? There were other things I should check too, like… .
