I’m still thrusting firmly into her, a steady, hard rhythm. My balls are tight and getting tighter, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m done. I do the thrust-and-spank combo again, and she squeals. “More.”
Again. Her ass is turning bright red, and I can see my handprint on her skin. I smack the other side on the next thrust, and the next, until the colors match on both sides. Then I reach forward, grab a handful of her hair, and fuck the hell out of her.
She’s gasping and shouting my name, and I think by now neither one of us is remembering to look in the mirror. I glance to the side, though, and see me riding her while she gradually collapses under me, sliding closer and closer to the floor. My balls have drawn up hard and tight, and suddenly I can’t hold it anymore. I pound into her one more time, another, and then an orgasm streaks up my back. At the same time I feel her clench down on me, pulsing, her pussy choking my cock. God, it’s amazing.
I drive into her as I finish. By this time she’s flat on the floor, and each thrust pushes her a little way forward on the rug. She reaches up to grab at me, and her fingernails dig into my shoulder. “God, Jesse. God.”
I lean down and bite the base of her neck. “Shit,” she says.
“Do you see now?” I ask her. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
She makes a satisfied hum, but I’m not convinced it’s a yes. Ah, well. There’ll be more time to make her understand what a drug she is to my system. Because this is not going to end anytime soon. Not if I have my way about it.
We lie there for a while, then I realize Maddy’s skin is starting to cool. I get up and lift her into the bed, cover her up, and curl up against her, spooning her body with mine. She feels good in my arms, like she belongs there. I relax against her, stroking her absently, and it’s not long before I drift off into sleep.
Chapter 9
Maddy
It’s almost time to head out for the cosplay get-together. Fuck, I’m nervous as hell. I know my costume looks good, and Christopher’s adorable. But Jesse is running late, and I’m starting to think he forgot he promised to come to this thing. I’ve shot him a couple of text messages, but he hasn’t responded. That alone is enough to send my blood pressure through the roof. Is he busy? Is he at a fire? Is he driving and can’t text back? Or did he realize what we did the other night was a very, very bad idea and we should probably never speak to each other again?
Since that night, I haven’t been able to think of much else. At work, when I’m supposed to be paying attention to paperwork, I think about Jesse’s hands on me, his mouth between my legs. The way we looked in the mirror. The way it felt to have him spank me—those sharp cracks of sensation. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.
But it’s all supposed to be pretend. What happens when it’s time for us to end the charade? We’re going to have to go our separate ways. If we let ourselves act like it’s real, that’s going to be harder. At least it will be for me. I don’t know about Jesse. He’ll probably just be able to move on, no problem.
Apparently I’m not so good at the casual thing, though. I want nothing more than to see him again. And, yes, I’m going to see him as soon as he manages to show up for the party, but it’s not going to be the same. We’ll have to play it cool again, pretend we’re really dating while we’re avoiding any real entanglements.
Except it just might be too late for that.
I tweak Christopher’s costume. He’s dressed as tiny Robin to my Catwoman, and he’s not crazy about the mask. He keeps pushing it up on his forehead, and I keep moving it back into place. Maybe I should just give up. He’s young and adorable enough to get away with Batman-eyes on his forehead.
I pick up my phone to text Jesse again—or maybe I should suck it up and call him—but the doorbell rings before I can do either. Christopher runs into the kitchen, presumably to take something out of the cupboards he isn’t supposed to eat while I’m distracted answering the door. I let him—all the stuff he can reach is stuff I don’t mind him eating.
Jesse’s standing in the hallway, and he smirks when he sees me in my full costume. “Well, well. What have we here?” As I close the door behind him, he does a full circle around me, taking in all the details of the cosplay. “Are you Catwoman?”
“Duh,” I answer, rolling my eyes.
“Damn, I’ve always wanted to bang Catwoman.” He moves closer, lust in his eyes. “Did you send Christopher to a sitter so we could have some kinky costume fun?”
I take a decisive step back and plant a fist on my hip. “You completely forgot that you promised to go to this party with me, didn’t you?”
“Wait. What party? This wasn’t a booty call?”
“No, it was not a booty call!” I turn to pick up his costume, which is lying over the back of the couch. “It was to remind you about the cosplay get-together you said you’d go to. Remember?”
He looks disappointed. “Yeah, I’m starting to vaguely recollect something about that.”
“This is your costume. Go get dressed.”
He takes one look at the costume and lifts both hands, shaking his head. “Oh, no. No way. I didn’t promise to dress up.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I don’t remember saying the words, ‘I promise to dress up.’”
“You promised to go to a cosplay event. What did you think you were going to wear? A suit?”
“Not that suit.” He points to the costume. It’s a very detailed, full-body Batman costume modeled after the costume in the Christian Bale trilogy. He’s going to look phenomenal in it.
“Yes. This suit.”
“No.”
“Yes, damn it.”
“Maddy.” His tone is steady and reasonable—a sure sign he’s trying to come up with another way to get out of this. “If you wanted to get your kink on with these suits, I’d be on board so fast I’d leave a sonic boom behind. But I’m not wearing that in public. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh, really?” Lame-ass excuse, Jesse. Unfortunately the idea of “getting my kink on” with him in a Batman suit has a certain appeal. The kind of appeal that suddenly makes the tight fabric of my Catwoman suit really uncomfortable. “What kind of reputation is that?”
“I’m the fire chief. You know that. I can’t run around wearing…” He waves at the skintight costume, and I wonder if he’s worried he might not look good in it. Surely not. He’s going to fill that sucker out like…well, as well as any actor who’s ever played the part. “Shit like that.”
“You don’t dress up for Halloween? Batman is a hero. He’s like a policeman for Gotham City, right? How is that going to be bad for your reputation?”
I can tell that argument made more sense to him, because now I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He’s trying to come up with more excuses.
“Then I can’t be seen with Catwoman. Catwoman’s a villain, right?”
“Not necessarily.” I hold the costume up against him, checking the size against his shoulders. It looks perfect. And, damn, those shoulders… I need to stop thinking about him like this. Pretend relationship, Maddy. Pretend. “It depends on what comics you read.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. These days she’s kind of an antihero type. And she and Batman totally get it on all the time. And they have a kid.” I probably shouldn’t have said that. I know he’s going to take that to its logical conclusion—logical for him, at least.
“Ahhhh, I see. So we could get funky in the suits.” I knew it. Doesn’t take him long to put two and two together and get sex.
“No.” I say it firmly, but I can’t quite look at him. Mostly because my brain is suddenly filled with images of us getting funky in the suits. “Besides, isn’t your fireman suit kind of a costume?” Time to change the subject. Far past time.
“It’s for protection. Not for role play or crazy costume-and-latex fetish stuff.” He moves a little closer, that wicked, sex-soaked look filling his eyes while he shimmies his hips. “Unless you want it to be.”
“Oh my God.” I slap the Batman costume against him, making him duck his head back to avoid getting his eye put out by the hanger. “Just put it on. You promised. And we’re going to be late.”
“Got you thinking about it, didn’t I?” He chuckles. There’s no way in hell he’s going to get me to admit that he did, indeed, get me thinking about it. I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look. “Fine,” he finally concedes. “I’ll put on the damn costume. But we need to talk about this Batman-Catwoman thing later.”
He takes the costume and heads into my bedroom to change. I wheel away from him, irritated and aroused beyond belief. I’m never going to make it through this evening.
And, to make it worse, there’s Christopher, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looks at me curiously.
“Mommy,” he asks, “what’s a booty call?”