Modern Speakeasy

"It's okay," he said, pulled back. "It's okay. It feels good, let it. There's nobody here but us. We're in my bedroom at the Chantry. Or yours. Or wherever you want to be."

Another long swipe, another arch.

"Close your eyes, feel me. Feel whoever, whatever, this is all for you."

It was hard, but I closed my eyes and closed off the unfamiliar scent of the bedroom, the obvious sweat and perfume and cigar stink of the onlookers. It's his lavish room, the mahogany four-poster with the deep navy sheets. It's the last thunderstorm we had, when I crawled into bed with him because I was afraid, but it turned into something more.

He barely slid his fingertip inside me, stretched it down into a crevice, and drew soft, lazy circles with his tongue. I couldn't control my breathing. Sweat pooled in the back of my knees and soaked my hose just as the small of my back soaked the bedspread under me. I reached up and pushed my hair away from my neck, letting it fan out on the bed. My hand brushed someone's body, a leg or something, and I drew it back quickly, not wanting to lose the fantasy that was keeping me grounded.

He teased me for what could have been hours or days and I opened up. I forgot the others, I let the light, high moans escape, because god, he was causing them. He kissed as if it were my mouth, working that one finger agonizingly slow, bringing me so close to the edge that I could have killed him for not letting me get there. The makeup ran into my eye from sweat, and I know I ruined my perfect winged look wiping it but I just couldn't care. There's a tell when I'm so close it hurts—a sickening whimper-moan thing that increases in strength until the end, and it began. He worked the finger deeper each time and I could feel my walls quiver every time he slid back in. Goddammit goddammit I was so close I could taste it.

His other hand replaced his mouth, making slow circles with three fingers while the other continued the same pace.

"Ven por mi, Cariño," he said.

I couldn't help it, I was squirming and moaning and so close and it didn't take much. I came all the way off the bed and nailed him right in the shoulder with my heel but I didn't care, god, it felt too fucking good and I'd have murdered him on the spot if he'd stopped.

The inner tremors slowed to a stop. He moved my ankle over, rubbing the raw spot my heel left. I just laid there, basking, not believing what just happened. The room was quiet, his phone turned off some time ago. I tried to sit up, but all the drink and sex went to my head and I just went back down again. He rose and reclined next to me on the bed. A few of the people left, then more. I guess they got what they wanted.

"Oh baby," he sighed, pulled my head into his damp chest. "You were a phoenix on fire. It was beautiful."

I didn't speak for a while. I just wanted him to hold me, like we were safe at home. He did.

"What was in that drink you made?"

He chuckled.

"Some of the good rum. Strawberry daiquiri mix. I pricked my finger and squeezed a little of that in there too. I figured the fruity shit would take away the bite."

That explained a lot. I snuggled closer and threw my leg over his. I'd gotten used to his lack of heartbeat, but he still breathed, mostly out of habit. It was relaxing.

I didn't realize that I'd dozed off until I was woken by the sound of someone moving in the room. The dim lights were still on. Javier was next to me, dead to the world. Someone was clipping down the blackout curtains tight, so it must have been later than I thought. I kicked off my shoes, not caring about the person in the room.

"Don't mind me, dear," she said. "I'm getting ready to hit the hay myself. You and Javier are welcome to stay. That was quite a show, young lady."

I was puzzled, horrified, and groggy at once.

"Forgive me," she said, finishing the curtains and stepping over to where I could see her better. She looked to be in her late seventies and someone's adorable little knitting grandmother. "My name is Mabel. This is my house. I live here with my ghoul, Gavin, but he has to go to the college during the day. It's nearly sunup, so I've got to secure the drapes and go get my beauty rest."

"Thank you for...for a good time, Miss Mabel," I said.

"Oh, I do so love my parties. Come back any time...sorry, what's your name, sweet girl? I don't think we've met."

"I'm Ginger. I live at the Chantry."

"Ahhh, so you're the famous Ginger. When Javier comes to court, he can't stop talking about you."

I smiled at that.

"Well, if you need anything at all, my home is yours. There's a bathroom across the hall and a robe in the closet in it if you want to freshen up. The maid doesn't come until after dark so don't you worry about them sheets. I'm glad you had a good time."

She puttered around, turning off lights and putting our clothes across a chair on the other side of the room.

"Well, have a good day-night, Ginger. I'm sure we'll talk more when the sun goes down."

She left, and I crawled back up and curled into Javier's side, definitely ready to sleep off the party.

If this is what happened when he decided to go out, I wanted to go out more often.