Cheap Shot

I don't give you a chance to answer my rhetorical question. "I love to feel you come inside me." I rock my hips into you as best I can. "I want you to fuck me until you come in my pussy. Please, don't make me wait." I put my mouth next to your ear, and I feel your own lips on my neck again. "I want it, I want all of you."

I don't know how else to say it. As you press into me in these moments, it still doesn't feel like enough. Even the fabric of your underwear, which you are still wearing and is keeping us apart in the smallest of ways, feels like too much.

Your movements begin again. My lips graze your ear as my chest recovers from telling you some of my innermost feelings for you. Once again, I feel your teeth gently bite my neck. This prompts a subtle, but immediate reaction in the core of my body. The muscles in my pelvis clench, and I know you feel it. As my kegel muscles draw you in, you second guess withdrawing, and press into me harder. My name escapes your lips, and I could swear my spasms repeat.

You pull your face back again, and our lips lock immediately. It's happening now. A few half-thrusts, and I feel you start to pulse inside me. Yes. Yes, please. This is all I want.

Again, I don't believe I am fully orgasming, but my vaginal muscles continue to thrash as you are finishing, and afterwords. I can control some of them, and not others. If I am having some form of a climax, it's been prompted by you stimulating my g-spot. I couldn't clearly explain it, even if you asked me.

Your grip around my back begins to weaken, and I throw an arm behind me to lean on. Your kiss turns from hungry to listless, our noses crushed into each others faces without any care for dignity or politeness. Your back curls like a cat as I spasm again, and your lips pull away for a brief second as you inhale. Your weren't expecting that.

"Ha, sorry," I say, softly.

"Did you do that on purpose?" you ask, slightly out of breath.

"No, I swear," I say. I dive back towards you, resuming our post-coital kiss.

However, I do have full control of my muscles, so I engage them again. Your body reacts, and I hold on to you with my remaining arm.

"That -- that was on purpose."

"Oh-kay," you say, and begin to withdraw, your remaining strength leaving behind a soft glare on your face. You pretend you hate when I establish a little dominance.

"Wait," I breathe, and use what strength I have left to stiffen my legs around your hips, so you can't pull away. Half of your glare seems to get more menacing. The other half starts to crack into a smile.

"Don't even."

"Stay. For a second?" The hand I'm not leaning on reaches back for your face, and then gets lost in your hair. You give in to my request, and don't try to leave again. You come back and claim my mouth, even more careless and lazy than before. You pay me back for capturing you down below, dominating this kiss in a way only you can. I am helpless. I can feel you, burning down to my chest.

Just as I think I may run out of air, you begin to separate our lips. I hear you take in a breath as if you're about to speak. And you do.

"Jesus, don't do this to me," you say, our gazes still too close for one to see the other directly. "I won't be able to leave."

"I was going to say the same thing."

"But we have to."

"I know."

"Someone is going to take your bag."

"Oh... my god."

"Yeah."

"You're absolutely right."

"Yeah."

"But it's tough to let you go."

"Yeah?"

Your tone shifts, and your fingers flex, settling back into my skin at the hips. You even begin to pull me back towards you, reminding us that we are still joined together.

Despite my affection for you, my legs really can't take much more of this. As I pivot my hips to the floor, I realize my tailbone had also reached its breaking point, but I hadn't realized it since, apparently, it had gone numb a while ago. I'm already dreading waking up tomorrow.

As my legs lower down, you finally have to step back and let our hips move away from each other. I slide off the counter and stand on my foot with one shoe.

"Can I ask you to, uh, before you do anything else--"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Can I have my shoe?"

Your quizzical expression is one I wish I could capture forever.

"I'd rather not hop across the floor, into one of the stalls."

In what can only be described as a very inappropriate appropriation of Cinderella, given that the two of us are partially undressed and blatantly exposed, you stoop and retrieve my shoe and place it on my foot. Then I, as gracefully as I possibly can wearing half a pair of pants and holding the rest of my discarded clothing in my fists, close myself in a stall to tidy up and redress.

I hear you start the faucet moments after I secure the stall door.

"Do you know how long we've been away?" I venture.

"I really don't," you confess.

We're both quiet for a moment. I suspect you are checking your phone. I don't have anything with me which would clue me into the time.

"Don't worry they're not kicking people out for another hour."

I'm relieved. "Good, because then we'd really be--" I begin to overanalyze. "If I flush this, will anyone notice?"

"I doubt it. If anyone is paying attention to that stuff, they'll probably think it's the plumbing downstairs."

"If we get asked I'll say I came up here because I have some phobia about sharing a bathroom. I made you come with me."

"You're thinking too much." You're already done with my unnecessary story.

I push the toilet lever, hopefully washing away my anxieties with everything else. I exit the stall, and you seem to be finishing drying your hands, fussing with paper towels. You basically look amazing, and I'm simultaneously impressed and furious. How do you do that? Also, what am going to have to repair on my end?

I stick my hands in the sink and raise my eyes to my mirror. Okay. Any makeup I was wearing has more or less melted or smeared around. Let's just call that what it is. My hair is a calm version of sex hair, since we were mostly vertical, but it's sex hair nonetheless. I am glowy as fuck, though, so that's not doing me any harm.

I try to calm my hair after I wash my hands. My face gets a damp paper towel treatment. This must be why girls with more "active" lifestyles like makeup wipes. Are those for people who are more "on the go" than I am? I don't mean stuff like this. I just don't find myself taking my makeup off anywhere else but home, and right now. And now, I happen to be seeing the benefits of a makeup wipe. Only now.

But since my bag is downstairs, anyway...

My bag.

"Oh, right. You mentioned our stuff is still downstairs."

"I did, didn't I?" you agree.

"It won't be gone."

"I mean, it's this place."

"It is this place."

"But our stuff is with everyone else."

"And they wouldn't go anywhere."

"Not unless they felt like being dicks to us."

"And the over/under on that is..." You say nothing. "That good, huh?"

"We did take off on them."

"And who's idea was that?" I stare at you in the mirror. Again, you have no words. Instead, you try and distract me by grabbing me around my waist and nuzzling in my neck while I finish wiping at my face.

I spin around in your grasp. My fresh face greets you, my slightly damp hair pushed back to allow you access to my neck, if you want it.

I know you were being playful, but suddenly it seems serious. In a quick moment, we realize we need to say some form of goodbye as we walk out of here. But, we remember, the hallway was empty when we arrived. Maybe, it will be empty again. Anything to enlongate the moment.

I stop hesitating about unlocking the door. I reach up, click it open, and begin to look. My head pokes out first. Once again, an empty hallway greets me. First and foremost, I feel lucky.

If I know anything about restaurants, I know we shouldn't wait. Things can change in an instant, and this whole thing has been based on lucky guesses. For all we know, forty people are due up here in five minutes. We should move. If we get caught in the hallway getting friendly, no big deal.

"Let's go." I drag you outside.

You're only half ready, and it shows. A wad of damp paper towels is still in your hands as we find ourselves on the other side of the door, and back out in the hallway, where we were not long before. How long ago was that? I really have no concept of time.

"Slow down, crazy girl." Not sure what to do with your trash, after glancing around, you pop the door back open just to toss them in the garbage can we left behind. As the door shuts behind us one more time, we know that now we've left the room for good.

Sure enough, we've done it. We've gotten away with it. We're still alone in the hallway, some faraway bustling from a kitchen can be heard from the floor below, and no one seems to know what we've done.

"Sorry," I say, in response to rushing you. "I know how much you like hanging out in women's restrooms."

You scrunch up your face at me. "I'm just saying, despite this insane idea, you picked a very successful spot. There is actually no one here." Your eyes come back to my face. "I didn't even know about this. Nice job."

"Thanks." My hip bones bump yours playfully, and your arm comes around my waist, possessively. "I'm glad you made space for us at your table."

"I'll always make space for you," you say.

That's quite the metaphor. I can't tell if you're serious, or if you're just being literal in the moment.

Why are we so... us?

You begin to kiss me, loosely and messily. Your lips are damp, and begin grazing mine. Your tongue comes out to strike my mouth. I could swear my body is preparing to take you into me all over again, when quick, inconsistent footsteps begin to thunder up the stairs towards us.

We both turn our eyes to the stairs in preparation. I'm ready with an excuse, in case this turns into an interrogation. I always end up talking too much. It's how people know I'm lying.

It's just some guy, someone who doesn't appear to work here. He heads to the door of the guys restroom, and makes casual eye contact with you.

"This isn't taken, is it?" he asks.

"No," you answer, simply.

"There's a wait downstairs." He rolls his eyes. "Someone fucked something up." He heads inside.

Well, at least I am vindicated in my intuition about circumstances changing in an instant. If the downstairs restrooms now have a problem, these are about to be a high-traffic area instead of a closely-guarded secret.

We know we have to go. But we also know we're in the clear.

I notice your arm is still around me. You didn't remove it when we began to be interrupted. That's so unlike you. As we return our eyes to each other, to coordinate our next move, I try to figure you out for the one millionth time in our lives, to no avail.

Riding a high that will surely wax and wane over the next several hours, days, weeks and, perhaps, even years, our bodies mutually agree to leave. You surprise me again when your hand drifts from my waist to grabbing my own hand, and I find us walking away with our fingers intertwined.

I've already mentally prepared to go back into the crowd, down below. But you hesitate as we reach the top of the stairs. I feel you tug on my arm as I keep moving, and you stop.

"Hey," you say, softly.

My body yo-yo's back towards you, and my voice hums a response, inquiring. What is it? What do you want to know? What do you want to say?

It's not that I don't want to stay with you. You could keep me forever. You could take me as yours, starting today. Starting right now. Just stay so.

It's this: I've conditioned myself to walk away from you, particularly after things like this happen. Plus, we're always in these "dangerous" situations where we'll often be found out by others. And we always seem to be keeping what we do a secret.

Isn't that still what's happening?

I'm only hurrying away from you because that's what I think I'm supposed to do. We have to get back to our friends, our coats, our stuff, our lives, and everything else down in the real world, quickly, before all these people rush up here and find us.

You always told me no one could know what we did together. So, that's why I trained myself to go "back to normal" after we connect with each other. No other reason.

But if you ever made me a part of your real world, or wanted to be a part of mine, I'd say yes. Immediately. Right away.

Of course I would.

"Yes?" I say back to you. My body is drifting to yours. My feet haven't even reached the first step down yet.

"This was great," you say. Your words are simple. Your eyes are strong. Your face comes close, your nose cozying up to the side of mine, though we do not start to kiss. I think we both know that if we did, one of us may suggest ducking back in the bathroom.

"It was," I barely croak out of the back of my throat. Don't make me admit how much I enjoyed this.

"We might have time for one more drink."

I pull my face back in surprise. "Another?"

"If you're not thirsty after all that, I'm going to question your basic anatomy."

"Oh well, sure. I thought you wanted to start pounding tequila or something. If you want to get me something cool and refreshing to help me recover, then fine."

"I'll save my cash. Clearly I don't need to get you hammered to trick you into a backroom with me. Right?"

"No need to trick me. Period."

"Then, Diet Coke for you."

I jab you in the ribs. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you bend. One of your hands swipes me away, while the other makes a grab for my ass.

In an effort to escape you goosing me, I start down the stairs. It doesn't help, and your hand connects with my backside. We trot down the stairs. Before we reach the bottom, you bring your mouth close to my ear and say, "Gotcha."

Yes, you did. You got me. You really got me.

We stop at the bar before heading back to make our reappearance at the table. We stand next to each other, waiting to be noticed by the bar staff. They are in full swing, and it takes them more than a minute or two to get an order from us.

We don't keep holding hands while we wait. That would be too much. There's too many people around, and it would begin to resolidify our bond. Wouldn't it? We're already making the choice to drift away from each other, in the series of moment following this encounter. That's what we always do.

But our bodies are touching. Leaning up against each other, for lack of a better description. Your thigh is propped up against mine underneath the bar. Our shoulders and arms pressed up against one another, even though there is plenty of space for us to move around along the length of the bar.

All the while, that phrase keeps echoing in my head.

You got me. You've got me.

Just to be clear, you've got me forever. Even if you don't know it.

Come get me whenever you're ready. I've been ready the whole time.