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The Boys 'Round Here

Eighteen

“Hi!” Meghan ran toward the door of the bar, shouting for Lucy’s attention. Lucy barely got a look around before Meghan tackled her into a hug.

“Why are you so…,” she started asking.

Meghan grabbed her best friend by the arms and spoke right into her ear. “I told James I was with you last night. Work event then dinner, then I stayed at your house.”

It was Friday night and the Whitby crew was out in force. Meghan knew right where James was, because he’d been right by her side since they arrived. No doubt he’d watched who she ran so excitedly to meet.

“Where were you reall - oh. Oh!” Lucy’s eyes got saucer-wide. Meghan shushed her and wheeled deeper into the crowd away from their friends. Lucy regained her footing and marched them right to the bar. “You slept with John?!”

“I slept at John’s. We didn’t… go that far. But I couldn’t tell James.”

“So you swapped me for John. I know my eyebrows need to be waxed, but really.” Lucy made a face. “So what happened?!”

They descended into a whispered swirl of girl talk and giggling. Meghan proudly recapped the date she’d planned, how they’d gone straight to John’s place afterward. Her cheeks grew warm as she got to the good part. “We just fooled around till we fell asleep, and I woke up with him wrapped around me. This morning I got home when I knew James was at the gym.”

“I’m happy for you,” Lucy sighed. “And I’ll say that when I speak at your funeral. Seriously, Meghan. James is going to find out. Then he’s going to kill one or both of you in a fit of rage. It’ll be like the Copacabana. You have to tell him.”

“Tell him what?” James appeared at Meghan’s side, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She froze, heart hammering, wondering how much he’d heard. James’ arm snaked around her waist and pushed them closer to the bar. He was tall enough to signal over everyone and got the bartender’s attention.

“What are you drinking?” His mouth was too close to her skin, his breath warm where he leaned down to talk to her.

“Miller Lite,” she said. James made a scoffing noise and called their order over the din. His hand rested comfortably on Meghan’s hip, his lanky frame easily enveloping her.

They used to stand like this all the time, back when it meant nothing. Over time James had perfected the art of diverting unwanted attention - a pretty girl on his arm kept the clingers at bay. But what did it mean now? Was he as comfortable as ever or did he want to touch her? Drinks were delivered and Meghan wriggled free to weave through the crowd. Lucy shot daggers with a glare as they worked back toward their friends.

James didn’t like girls whispering excitedly unless it was about him. He didn’t know what Meghan and Lucy had gotten up to last nigh,t but she hadn’t come home and that couldn’t be good. Maybe Lucy had met a guy. Meghan made a good wingman - he’d used the trick himself a few times. But if Meghan had met someone….

James drained half his fresh beer in one swig, as if to douse the tiny ball of rage in his chest. It made no sense to feel this way. James couldn’t be around every minute to make sure guys never hit on her. Hell, if he walked away now half their friends would give it a whirl. James’ confidence was in knowing that she didn’t want these guys.

So what did she want? And what did he want? Without thinking he reached over and slipped his hand under her hair, resting his palm against the back of her neck. No one would bother them now.

A glimmer of pain passed over Meghan’s face. She thought it was incredibly sexy when a guy let his hand rest there; even in the movies it was the perfect mixture of comfort and protection. A zillion girls would give anything for James to touch them this way. Meghan wondered if he’d ever done it to anyone else.

Lucy caught her eye and frowned. At least Meghan wouldn’t have to explain her predicament now.
____

John went to dinner with some friends. They caught a late movie and went for a drink. He deliberately stayed out until after midnight because he knew Meghan would. He thought it had been rough last time: spending the night alone after an hour of kissing, wide awake and desperate to be near her again. That was nothing compared to his empty bed now. Everything smelled like her; the blankets even held a shadow of her shape. It was just one night - John had made asked her out for the next night, Saturday, and she’d even purred something about him not having anywhere to be on a Sunday morning.

Tomorrow night. It held the kind of delicious, delirious promise that could keep John up all night. But while he was at home, trying not to think about it so he could rest before the morning workout, Meghan was out somewhere with James.

I have to make him my friend. John’s only chance to be included in nights like this was to become part of James and Meghan’s circle. Being near her and unable to touch or kiss her would be excruciating, but it was better than wondering if James was trying to do those same things.

John’s solace was that if James partied too hard tonight, he’d pay for it in the morning. Beating Neal in some drill was John’s last thought as he fell asleep.
____

Meghan rinsed the toothpaste from her mouth and wiped her face with a towel. It was late - well past 1 AM. At least she had the luxury of skipping the gym in the morning if she felt too tired. Clicking off the light, she walked back into her room.

James was stretched out on one side of her bed, shirt off and arms wrapped around a pillow. If they really shared the bed, that would have been his side. His big bare feet hung off the edge.

“Come on,” she complained.

James smiled sleepily. He’d had a few beers too many and felt that drowsy kind of buzz. Meghan’s room was so clean and cozy - she’d even put her distinctive touches on it in ways that only James would notice: hair ties around the doorknob, a candle on her dresser. Even the sheets were hers - off-white with grey stripes. He’d come in uninvited and helped himself to part of the bed. She didn’t need all that room anyway. He patted the empty mattress next to him.

“James, go to bed.”

“Sleep here,” he mumbled.

“No.” Meghan sat down heavily. “You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?”

James meant it to sound playful but the words came out sad. He wasn’t asking for much - he had no intention of making a move on Meghan in her own room in his house. It was a crazy idea, despite the fact he’d done exactly that just a few weeks ago. The heat from that kiss haunted him - Meghan’s anger, her fear. He hated that he’d made her feel that way when all he wanted was for her to be happy.

His kind of happy.

“It’ll be like camping.”

“We haven’t camped since we were seventeen.” She made no move to lay down.

“It was fun though, remember?”

James rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. The move exposed both of his tattoos, even the one he kept hidden under his right bicep. His last name in calligraphy - all the Neal boys had a version of it. James had joked that Meghan was welcome to get one too, since she was practically family. Looking down at him now - hair a floppy mess, that soft mouth relaxed into a faint smile - Meghan could appreciate why girls chased James. The irony was how much harder they’d try if they knew he was really like this, instead of all swagger.

“I remember,” she admitted. James and his brothers had taken Meghan on a weekend car camping trip, pretending they were adults. Two days were spent hiking and swimming, two nights burning marshmallows beyond recognition and she and James sharing a tent. That night, laying down next to each other to sleep was only the second time in their lives Meghan even thought James might kiss her. He’d gotten away with one in grade ten. In the end, he didn’t push his luck in the tent. She remembered feeling so relieved.

Tell him, she tried to convince herself. If she could broach the topic gently, when James was calm and agreeable, she could tell him the truth. No matter how many times he climbed into her bed, looking vulnerable and devastating, it hadn’t changed Meghan’s feelings for over fifteen years.

I love you, but I’m not in love with you. The words wouldn’t come.

James willed Meghan to lay down beside him. He promised the universe he wouldn’t touch her. Just to be this close to her was like a drug, slowing his mind and urging him to fall into a perfect sleep. His eyelids were already so heavy.

“Okay, James.” Meghan folded her half of the covers over him and kissed James on the forehead. Then she went into his room. An extra blanket was folded on the top shelf of his closet, probably put there by his mother when he moved in. Meghan tossed it on top of his duvet and climbed between the layers. The closest pillow carried the scent of James’ cologne - she pushed it aside and opted for one he never used.

Night John, she thought before falling asleep.
____

Meghan woke to the sound of a drawer opening. She lifted her head, momentarily confused, and blinked into the dimness.

“I was going to borrow your clothes too, but thongs really chafe me,” James said.

Meghan snorted and fell back into her nest of pillows and blankets. “Shows what you know. I don’t wear underwear when I workout.” The answer was James landing squarely across her in a perpendicular bellyflop.

Gym, gym, gym… John. Meghan pushed James toward the foot of the bed and climbed out.

“Be ready in five.” She dashed into her room, brushing her teeth with one hand and combing her hair with the other. It was a good thing John seemed to like her sweaty and messy, because this morning would not be her finest show. Tonight though - they had a date. A big date. Tonight she would look her best. Pulling on a pair of shorts and a sports bra, Meghan stuffed her feet into sneakers and hauled a tank top down over her head.

Grabbing her phone, she saw the text message light blinking.

John. His name came right up on screen, without a password or anything. And James had been sleeping right next to her phone. Meghan made a note to lock the thing up and not leave it laying around.

John had just sent a picture of his sneakers. Clearly an invitation to the gym.
____

Not knowing if Meghan would show was the worst part of John’s day. Well, second worst after the moment when he realized she was not coming. But this morning she was in first, ponytail swinging and James trailing behind. Her eyes found his immediately - John was waiting in the same spot. James couldn’t see the smile that lit up her face.

John’s stomach did a huge flip. Even the Russian judge would have given it a ten.

“Hey man,” Steven walked up. His eyes followed John’s gaze - when he saw Meghan was the object of inspection, Steven’s brows lifted just a little. John wonder if Stamkos suspected.

“All my favorite ninety-ones are here this morning,” Meghan said. She might as well flirt, it might explain the way John looked like he wanted to take a bite out of her.

They talked for a few minutes about nothing while Meghan and John both tried to make Steven go away. They’d be lucky to get a few seconds together. Meghan wanted to ask about their date and John wanted to tell her no hints, only surprises. Instead they nodded without listening to whatever Stamkos said and pretty much just stared at each other.

He’s so… gah! she thought. This was the most exquisite form of torture. He’d been fussing with his hair, she could tell by the way it stood up a little at the front. His eyes were more blue than green thanks to his Islanders t-shirt. His upper lip cheated out, nervously hovering above his bottom lip, accentuating that scar she found so sexy. Meghan shifted her weight, remembering what she’d told James about underwear at the gym. They’d be soaked through right now anyway.

“Right. You guys ready?” Robs’ booming voice entered the room. John and Steven snapped to attention. Steven took off at a trot toward Gary, John lagged for just a second.

“Hi,” he said. It was the best he could come up with.

“Hi.” Meghan curled her fingers into fists.

“Tavares!” Robs hollered. “Girls like goals! Get your ass over here if you ever want to score again!”

Meghan giggled and felt it right down to her toes.
____

Her weightlifting class had taken a lifetime. When it finally ended, Meghan got out of the gym and waited for James without seeing John. The anticipation was too much fun - and she didn’t trust herself not to tackle the guy in front of everyone. All she needed to do was wait a few more hours.

Those hours were well spent. She showered, shaved, washed and dried her hair then curled it into big, loose sections. Toenails were freshly painted with fingernails to match. Scent was key - she went with something that smelled like the color of her dress.

James came upstairs to say he’d made a late tee time with some of the guys at the nearby golf course. Meghan was invited to drive the cart.

“Girls night with Lucy,” she lied. “She’s got tickets to something in the city.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “Call me if you need a ride, okay? Or take a cab, I’ll pay for it.”

“We’ll be fine, but thanks. And you don’t wear black shoes with your golf shorts, okay? I can’t have people thinking I let you go out like that.”

When he was gone, Meghan cranked up some Katy Perry and sang along as she put on her makeup. This date was different. It was technically her third date with John, and everyone – except probably John, she thought – knew what third dates were about. He had told Meghan they were going somewhere fancy and, just in case, she used the excuse to take her look to the next level.

The dress was a lot. And by that, Meghan meant a little. She pulled out the hanger and saw a coral colored bandage dress with cap sleeves. It left almost nothing to the imagination between the low cut neckline and where it ran out mid-thigh. Even the zipper was exposed, begging for someone to make quick work of it. Meghan wiggled in, wondering if she’d have to wiggle out of it later. Then she’d have help. Her simple nude stilettos would make her an inch taller than John.

And he’ll love it, she knew. With a last shake to give her hair more bounce, Meghan grabbed her bag of just-in-case clothes and was out the door on time.
___

John put on a tie. He took it off. He put it back on. Belt or no belt? The tie was off again.

In the end he settled for easy – charcoal grey slacks and a black dress shirt, tucked in with a belt, but open at the throat and rolled up at the cuffs. Half-casual. John was jealous of girls who got to wear little dresses while guys suffered in full pants. This was an okay compromise for what he had in mind.

At seven on the dot, Meghan pulled into the drive. He’d been waiting, again. John opened the door before she was halfway up the walk.

His jaw dropped. In a cartoon his tongue would have rolled out to meet her. Meghan sauntered toward him, six feet tall and cinched into a prayer of a dress. Every part of her curved and rolled, outlined by the bright pop of coral dress along for the ride. Her hair was bombshell style waves, her makeup just enough to prove she didn’t even need it. His eyes went all the way down and back up again, like an elevator.

“Holy… hi,” he gulped.

Meghan knew the outfit was good but the way John looked at her never failed to surprise. It wasn’t the way guys looked at hot girls. John looked at her like she was a diamond in a shop window, one he could probably afford but wasn’t sure he deserved.

She walked right up and kissed him, hands slipping along his waist until they met at the small of his back. His shape was so defined that the curve of his ass pushed up beneath her fingers. John obliged her with a long, slow kiss that made her shiver despite the heat from his body.

Careful not to mess up her hair, John cradled the back of her neck. The tiny metal pull of her zipper pressed insistently against his wrist, teasing him with the promise of a lot more to come.

“Restaurant’s closed,” he murmured against her lips.

“Oh?” Meghan purred.

“Fire,” John nodded slightly, turning her face and running his mouth along her delicate jaw. “Aliens. A bomb.”

She laughed softly, moving against his chest in precisely the way her brazen zipper had hinted she would. Meghan let her hands fall back to his waist, skimming the back pockets of his slacks. “Aliens bombed the place and started a fire?”

“Tragic. All of Toronto is closed. We’ll have to hole up here,” John leaned back slightly and looked, without guilt, right down the front of Meghan’s dress, “for at least a week.”

She batted at him, he pulled her in for another full body hug before releasing her. Managing barely to keep her feet after that kiss, Meghan gave John a once-over in return, her palm grazing the expensive texture of his dress shirt.

“No staying in tonight. I want to show you off,” she said.
____

John pushed his plate away. He’d eaten half a squid, a pile of ahi tuna chips and most of a pizza. Union Social Eatery was one of his go-to places with Sam and friends from home, but he’d never brought a date there. Meghan gave up on her own plate and John knew he’d chosen wisely.

Floor to ceiling windows and bare wooden tables gave the place a rustic feel, but it was filled to the brim with happy, chattering crowds. A few families were even out on date night. It wasn’t the most romantic, secluded place but John had another trick up his sleeve for later. One that would be worthy of Meghan’s dress. For now, judging by their nearly empty plates and glasses, the dinner had been worthy of their appetites.

Meghan was happy. John had chosen a fun, easy place where he was comfortable. She’d expected a stuffy, formal place where they had to whisper out of respect for the dead animals mounted on the walls. Instead they were laughing over shared calamari and flatbread.

“What’s the worst prank anyone ever played on you?”

John shook his head. “Subban. He’s full of them. We were training for World Juniors one year, and all these people kept coming to watch us practice. PK said there was this girl who liked me. He was always running into her but I never saw her. It went on forever, he really sold it. He even got me to sign a jersey for her - a jersey I had to steal and say I lost. Finally he sets up this date like I’m going to meet her, and when I get there… it’s him and the whole team, laughing their asses off. There was no girl. They gave the jersey to our coach and he wore it to practice every day for the rest of the tournament, with my big stupid signature on it.”

Meghan had a hand over her mouth to cover her smile. The idea of teenage John, all shaggy haired and somehow even dorkier, being nervous to meet a girl that didn’t exist made her heart melt into a puddle of goo.

“Come here,” she said, sliding over on her chair. John looked confused. Meghan did it again. “Come over here.”

He didn’t need to be asked a third time. Barely a quarter of his ass fit on the chair next to her, but John perched there as Meghan dug into her purse and found her phone.

“Smile.”

John did and Meghan snapped a close-up photo. She tapped out a message and hit send. Then she showed John the phone.

Her smile was gorgeous in the photo. John thought he looked okay too. There was a slight downward angle and her dress and his shirt were visible. It was clearly a couple on a date. Beneath the photo was a message.

Meghan: Still have that World Junior practice jersey?

The phone beeped while John was holding it.

PK: Are you an escort now? Make sure he pays cash.

Meghan took it back and replied, in full view of John.

Meghan: Don’t advertise it okay? He’s my favorite client.

She giggled at the double entendre and clicked off the screen. John draped his arm around her shoulders and insisted on a kiss.

After paying the bill, Meghan wondered if they might head to a nearby bar, or maybe back to John’s. Not that she would object. Sending the photo to PK had been a little reckless but she was feeling giddy. John’s appreciative kiss hadn’t helped her settle down. Still she’d worn this dress and these shoes and told the truth about wanting to show John off.

When he turned toward the city, she sat back and relaxed.

John was a little nervous about their destination, but there was only one way in: pull up in front. Valets swooped into action as he slotted his Audi into the curbside space in front of the glass-and-steel Thompson Hotel.

“Oh wow,” Meghan said. A valet helped her out and John was right there, hand reaching out when her feet hit the curb.

Inside was a modern lobby in dark paneling with a black and white mural along one wall. Guests lounged with cocktails or waited for the next part of their evenings to unfold. John steered her past reception and toward the elevator bank. Inside he pressed the button for the top floor.

When the doors opened, John watched Meghan take it in. A swanky lounge stretched out before them into an open-air rooftop patio. The bottle display behind the bar twinkled, catching carefully recessed spotlights. Small couch and chair areas were all occupied, with a few people standing between them. Low conversation hummed beneath the steady beat of music. John led Meghan that way across.

Outside was breathtaking. Couches and banquettes surrounded small tables where couples and groups mingled. A few stars braved the ambient city light to speckle the cloudless sky. The bright moon complemented flickering candles. The only other glow came from beneath the crystal blue water of the infinity pool.

Now this place is worthy of a dress, Meghan thought. A hostess approached and for the first time since she’d met him, Meghan saw someone’s face light up in recognition.

“Right this way, Mr. Tavares.” She pronounced it wrong, softening the second “a” into an “aah,” rather than “air” as John said it. That didn’t matter. Her smile fluttered nervously and Meghan wanted to hug the girl.

She planted them on a small loveseat near the far edge of the deck. Toronto’s city lights spilled out before them like glitter. Meghan ordered a glass of champagne.

“Just bring the bottle,” John said. He nuzzled his nose against her cheek then kissed the same spot. She shifted in close. His arm went behind her and they both leaned into a half-embrace, smiling.

“This is beautiful,” Meghan gushed. “Much cooler than ping pong.”

John’s fingers traced patterns on the bare skin of her shoulder. “Seeing how you beat me, I thought I should choose something less competitive.”

“Clearly you’ve never seen me drink champagne.”

The bottle arrived, delivered by a waiter who popped it with much ceremony and sent a celebratory splash onto the boards beneath their feet. He poured two flutes, set the bottle in a silver chiller and handed them each a glass.

“Cheers, John. This has been a great date.”

He toasted with a tip of his glass. The bubbles danced on his tongue. No sooner had be tasted the sweet, lively flavor than Meghan was kissing him, sharing the experience. A whole new kind of bubbles flooded John’s system.

They talked quietly, heads close together. Every few sentences a brief kiss was stolen. More champagne was poured. A few more pranks were revealed. Meghan told an embarrassing story about tucking the back of her dress into her stockings at a formal and walking across the dance floor with her underwear on display.

John wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger as she spoke. Looking at her mouth gave him such a kick that he needed distraction. After a third glass of champagne, he casually asked something he’d been wondering for a while.

“When will you start looking for a job?”

Meghan thought of James’ offer to stay in the house. She never had to do anything, if she didn’t want to. But she wanted to. “Soon, August maybe. It’s not a business where jobs stay open long so I want people to know I’m looking if something comes up.”

He risked a glance into her big green eyes. “Where will you look?”

She shrugged. “Everywhere. Toronto has firms, and any big city. I don’t want to go too far, but Chicago or Boston or….”

“New York?” he suggested quietly.

Instead of answering, Meghan pressed a kiss to John’s lips. His hand dropped from her hair to wrap her shoulder. She didn’t want to give him false hope but it was hard to resist the idea of New York - and him in it - on a night like this.

She said, “New York is on the list.”

That was all John wanted - and more than he expected. He quickly changed the topic to best cities to play hockey in and how they corresponded with Meghan’s job search. In Calgary she could take up calf-roping as a leisure activity, or perhaps Dallas needed more of their famous Ice Girls. They went through all the teams until they ended up at the Islanders.

“Wait for Brooklyn. You could get some skinny jeans, maybe glasses. Ride a bike,” he offered.

“I could take up modern art and sell blank canvases to rich people.”

He laughed. “I’d buy one.”

“For you,” she said, “I’d throw some paint on there.”

By the time Meghan poured the last of the champagne into her glass, they’d been talking for a long time. The night was still warm, the music sultry. Meghan had been so focused on John she hadn’t really looked around. When she did, she noticed that all the tables were full and a few people milled around, but it was nowhere near capacity. That was strange as not that many breathtaking skyline views existed in Toronto.

"Why isn't it busier here? This place is incredible - it should be bursting with people on a hot Saturday night," Meghan said, looking over the back of their seat.

John shrugged. "Technically you have to be a guest of the hotel to get in."

"Oh, fancy!" she cooed. It made sense that a place so singular would also be exclusive.She was in mid-ship when she stopped. "John."

He kept looking straight ahead.

"Johhhhhhn," Meghan repeated softly.

A little smile twisted at the corner of his thin lips.

"Are we guests of this hotel?"

"Technically, " John smirked. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, unsure of her reaction because he'd never propositioned a date quite so openly. There was a big hotel room a few floors down with his name on it. John thought if he could get Meghan away from James, the gym and ticking clocks then maybe he could make her forget. But sitting next to her in that incredible dress, John was beginning to lose his nerve.

"Is that okay?" he asked, turning to face her.

Meghan could have died. Joh was so sincere, so sweet and careful with her. Now dark eyes watched her from beneath that serious brow. It was a deceptively innocent look, considering what he was asking. She drained her whole drink in two very unladylike gulps. The empty glass touched down on their table with a clink.

Meghan smiled politely and said, "Mmmhhmmm!"

John could have cheered. Instead he kissed Meghan firmly and signalled for the waitress. All the bill needed was his room number. When he wrote it, Meghan giggled.

She took a deep breath for calm. Why did the elevator take twenty minutes to arrive? Surely John didn’t want a girl who tore her clothes off at the first opportunity - he wouldn’t know what to do with her. But they’d been flirting and sort-of dating for three weeks. Hell, she’d kissed him within a minute of meeting. In some ways she and John had always been headed for this.

Ding.

John’s hand was a little unsteady with the key card, he had to swipe it twice. The room was big and airy and unlike most hotels it had hardwood floors in dark finish. White walls were offset by orange accents that caught the low glow of the turned-down lights. A short entryway opened into the main space, centered by a king-size bed.

Big games and events made John nervous. He’d found the best way over was through, so he always just stepped onto the ice with as much momentum as he could gather. Once he got started, he knew what to do. So instead of fixing Meghan a drink or worrying about how he’d stack up against the guys she’d known before, John simply turned to Meghan and kissed her.

Thank God, Meghan thought as the warm, soft heat of John’s body folded around her. They were headed for a very awkward moment there and she’d been looking for a way out that wasn’t throwing him on the bed. This would serve nicely.

His big hands ran along her sides, taking in the curve of her waist and flare of her hips. Their previous fooling around had emboldened John’s approach; this time his touch roamed to her backside and breasts without hesitation. He nuzzled against her throat, leaving a trail of kisses down to the plunging neckline of her dress.

Meghan helped herself to his upper body. Rises and swells of muscle passed beneath the soft, rich material of his dress shirt. When John’s kiss returned to her mouth, she opened one button. Then it was her turn to explore his skin. She kissed his smooth cheek, traced his strong jawline to his earlobe and tugged it gently between her teeth. Just south of there his pulse thrummed against her mouth. His Adam’s apple, then the hollow between his collarbones, then another button open. Meghan worked one by one down his solid chest until John’s shirt was open the the waist. She feathering her hands inside, across bare skin and untucked him from front to back. Then she pushed the shirt from his shoulders and to the floor.

She’d been around him at the pool, and the other night she’d pulled his shirt off as they rolled around on his bed. This was different. This was a beautiful, half-dressed guy in a hotel room who wanted so badly to be with her that he was willing to lie for it. She bet lying didn’t come easily to John.

He watched Meghan’s green eyes carefully. Her appreciative gaze felt almost as good as her touch. John hadn’t done this too many times and never with a girl who took it upon herself to undress him slowly, like she was opening a present. Meghan’s hands explored his abs and chest. He had never felt so wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, pulling that mouth back to his. Their tongues met insistently, demanding attention their brains and bodies could hardly spare. John guided her back against the wall. Meghan hiked the hem of her dress up. John’s thigh slipped between hers, all that muscle well capable of holding her in pace. It wasn’t enough - he pushed harder and they both gasped.

“John,” she said.

He was quickening, his erection riding hard against her hip. A few precise movements and he could have gotten himself off that way. Instead he held perfectly still, afraid of coming to soon, of insulting her or seeming too inexperienced. Mostly he was afraid of Meghan knowing how much he wanted her.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want.” His voice was husky.

Meghan was sizzling. John clearly had no idea that his body was having the same effect on her. She pushed him back a step, his eyes going wide in surprise as if she might, even now, say stop. She turned and put her hands against the wall.

The metal zipper on her dress caught the room’s low light like a red carpet. He pulled slowly, trying not to fumble, until it ran out at the lowest spot on her back. Meghan pulled the straps from her shoulders and shimmied the dress down past her hips, then let it fall to her feet. She turned to face John.

“I want to,” she said.

John pushed her right back to the wall, harder this time, as if he needed to hold on or she’d fly away. Meghan wore a black bra trimmed with white that dipped all the way down in the middle, exposing the line of cleavage as far as it could go. A matching thong circled her hips, the creamy hue of Meghan’s skin visible beneath the fabric’s pattern. He kissed her, hands splayed on the flat of her stomach, narrow enough that his thumbs touched just below her navel. Meghan shuddered as he swept thumb one lower, grazing the waistband of her g-string.

He wasn’t going to make it much longer. Already he felt weak and hurried. A twist of her hips bumped his lap and John groaned. She had to come first - anything less was unthinkable. Meghan had to know that he was serious and capable and just as much a man as any other guy in her life. Sometimes the only defense was a good offense, so John dropped his hand to her bare thigh and caressed his way up. The lace of her panties burred beneath his fingers - John followed it down until his touch was between her legs. Meghan moaned softly. She was warm and wet for him. Before John could be overwhelmed by the idea, he stroked again.

Meghan said his name again. She would have said a lot of things had John not kissed her then, twisting his tongue into hers as the tip of his finger gently parted and moved the length of her slit. Every edge of lace caught and tugged. Seeming to feel her heightened sensitivity, John hooked a finger beneath the fabric and tried again.

“Oh God,” he mumbled against her lips. This was going exactly the way John had hoped and he was losing his mind. Meghan was not far behind. Using both hands, she shimmied her panties down around her ankles.

John didn’t want to stop for a second. She was bared to him now; he pushed a finger inside her. She sobbed out a breath, head falling back. On the next pass he used two fingers.

This was not what Meghan had expected. The John in her mind was a blankets up to the chin, lights off, missionary kind of guy who was nervous and fumbling. Instead she was pasted to a wall in nothing but heels and a bra while he made her see stars with just two fingers and his kiss. The physical part was great but it was John’s surprising aggressiveness that had Meghan right on the verge.

He just touched her. He didn’t know exactly what to do but Meghan was responding to everything. John rubbed his thumb lightly across the front of her pussy, felt that elusive pearl roll beneath his fingertip. A soft moan spilled from her throat.

Yes, he thought. That’s what he wanted more than anything. Meghan had been in charge of everything up until now - if they were together, when and where they saw each other. John wanted to make her lose that control, to take it from her even for a moment. He wanted to be the something she couldn’t get anywhere else. Another circle of his thumb, another beautiful noise.

That was it for Meghan. The little vibration triggered an avalanche - his fingers pressed deep again and everything slipped. It was like falling through the ice on a lake; one minute there was ground beneath her feet, the next it was gone. Sensation ripped through her body, collapsing spaces and pulsing muscles as it went. John held her fast to the wall as she came.

When the shaking stopped, Meghan focused her eyes on the guy before her. “Wow, John.”

He half-smiled, giving her that heart-breaking, aw-shucks face again. “No kidding.”

The bed was the only place to go and they tumbled into it. Meghan barely got his belt and fly open before John was pushing his pants off. He ended up on top, on all fours, kicking his slacks to the ground. Then it was just boxer briefs and whatever else she could get her hands on.

Carefully, slowly so as not to rub himself out, John lowered himself on top of Meghan. She made room between her still-wobbly legs. His weight and size were so different laying down. She drew him in tight and his body rocked right into hers. His erection, still trapped beneath his shorts, plowed a furrow between her legs and John groaned.

Meghan reached down, filling her hand with his hard length and the thin barrier of cotton between them. John’s enviable eyelashes fluttered on contact. It made her smile - for all the ways he was different, John was a regular guy too. He wanted to be wanted and Meghan wanted him badly. She flipped the waistband of his shorts and maneuvered them over the large obstacle in their path.

Before losing his pants, or his nerve, John had palmed a condom from his pocket. There were a few more tucked in there, for optimism’s sake. As Meghan’s hand flashed hot against the bare skin of his cock, John wondered if he should have brought the whole box.

It was always an awkward moment, stopping and unrolling, like paying a toll before you continue at top speed down the highway. John’s famous hand-eye coordination could fail at the most important of times. Not wanting to ruin the moment, Meghan took the foil square and tore it open.

He hissed as she worked it down, stroking every inch. Meghan took her sweet time. A vein bulged in John’s neck. Finally she relented, guiding him to the spot. He breathed a sigh of relief then opened his eyes. Green. And blue. And grey and a little bit of brown, just at the edges. Meghan wondered how John’s eyes could be different every time she saw them, when he always looked at her the same way.

John felt her soft skin, the wet heat and slight resistance of penetration. Then he felt nothing but pleasure. He was quickly lost in her body, buried to the hilt and overwhelmed with sensation. She caught his lips in a kiss that kick-started his brain and told John to move.

“Ahhhyes,” she said quietly. John agreed silently as her backside met his lap again. Meghan shifted, dragging him against a whole new world of herself on the way out.

This was something Meghan had been missing. Not just sex - and not just with a body like John’s. He had thighs to spare and an ass for days. Nothing but muscle passed beneath her roaming hands. But more than that - thought that was plenty - John was focused. He was entirely present. The color changing eyes found hers every time; their expression said this pleasure wasn’t only about sex. It was about being with her.

She tried to read what he wanted, to fulfill whatever wishes John was making now. Apparently it worked because before long his breathing shortened and sped up. His mouth found her neck, the kiss harder and more urgent. Shoulders and abs coiled, quads flexed. With a quiet cry that twisted itself out of a deep place, John came. She felt the throb, the pulse of him spilling inside her.

John saw stars at the edges of his vision. They burst when he did, leaving a blank in his mind’s eye. White isn’t the absence of color, it’s the combination of all color. That’s what it felt like to be with Meghan: everything.

She sighed, feeling like she could melt right through the mattress. John gingerly fred himself and the bed rose when his weight disappeared. Then he was back a second later, tugging the blanket and getting Meghan under it. He joined her with arms open and bodies fitting together with the shyness of a first time behind them. He kissed her forehead knowing he’d done well. Good game.

Meghan found it impossible to quiet her mind. There was so much new information. John was here and he was naked. She might never get used to that. He’d planned a whole date around bringing her to bed - John had done that. Surprise, surprise. Then he’d been a little confident, a little daring. That little went a long way. Maybe it wasn’t the most toe-curling, sheet-ripping sex, but an undercurrent of seriousness had flowed between them as strongly as any physical connection. The other things could come later - no doubt he would do whatever she wanted. Again.

Meghan lay in John’s arms and considered that she was in real trouble.

John knew she was awake. He couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so he just put his chin atop her head and smiled where she couldn’t see it.

After a while, they changed positions. Meghan ended up on her back with John against her side. His hand wandered over her breast, raising her nipple taut. The arch of her ribcage was slightly ticklish, down into the hollow inside her hip bone. Then the spot between her legs. Meghan didn’t think she could take being handled so easily again, so she pulled him on top. It was easier this time: he sank inside her like a stone; a steady drop despite the forces around it. They moved together, Meghan pulling her knees up until John got the hint and held them there, folding her up, giving himself something more to push against. When he let go she crossed her ankles behind his back, grabbing a hold with a tight squeeze. John cursed. Fifteen minutes later, he had Meghan saying the same thing as she came.

It wasn’t fast or earth-shattering; Meghan didn’t levitate. But she did lose control in that moment. John’s body fit hers perfectly, over and over, until there was nothing left of her but the sound she made when he brought her to orgasm.

Victory. John had stood and now he had delivered. There was nothing Meghan could want that she couldn’t get from him - the first time, and every time. Competition may be fierce and people might overlook John, but he was right there at the top, gunning for the prize. Meghan sagged in his arms. He kissed her closed eyes and stopped fight off his own climax. When it pulled the desire from his body, John made sure to say her name.
____

They lay in bed, twisted up in sheets and each other. Meghan's head was on John's chest, his fingers buried in her hair. It was full daylight outside - 10:30 AM, well past the time either of them normally slept. Not that they had been sleeping. Before so much as a good morning was said they’d been going for round three. Meghan’s body ached pleasantly at the confirmation that John was as good, if not already better, every time.

John glanced toward the clock. "Almost check out."

"Don't wanna," she murmured against his bare skin.

He smiled, pulling the piece of Meghan's hair to his face and inhaling her scent. With her soft body curled into his beneath a cozy comforter, John could not agree more. He lifted one arm and picked up the phone.

"Front desk," he said. Meghan flipped onto her stomach in a whirl but the line had already picked up. John smiled at her. "Is it possible to extend my reservation for one more night?"

Meghan was still gaping when he thanked the operator and pressed a second button. The line started ringing again.

"Good morning, room service," said the voice on the phone. John handed it to Meghan and lay back, closing his eyes again.
_____

Comments

Just finished this story and wanted to say that you're an incredible writer. :)
I think you'd write a great MDZ story btw.

I'm so sad that it's over. ): But thank you for spending so much time and effort to write something so wonderful!

OMGEmilyGrace OMGEmilyGrace
4/7/14

Omg poor James :(

hockeywife hockeywife
2/27/14

This story is amazing. My favorite. I love it so much

racheal racheal
2/10/14

I love this story so much!!!

RedWingsGirl2 RedWingsGirl2
1/12/14