4
“T he other side must still have someone working,” Caitlin said .
They’d taken the unpopular route, barely more than an emergency exit. The more civilized, main lobby boasted ticket kiosks and an actual human being on duty beside the plastic gates .
“Only one way to find out,” Mark said, heading back toward the platform .
“Oh…” Caitlin halted as they neared the turnstile, heart sinking .
“Shit.” Mark jogged ahead and pushed at the metal bars, but it was as useless as she’d feared. It was a one-way, revolving-door-style setup, only designed to let people out, lest someone sneak into the station without paying their fare .
“Okay,” Caitlin said, mustering calm. “Okay. There’s got to be an emergency something-or-other, somewhere .”
She headed back toward the street and heard Mark following. The cruel, cold breeze swirled around her naked legs. A small plastic window winked in the streetlight leaking in from outside. “Here we go .”
Mark stood beside her as she opened the tiny door and punched the button labeled EMERGENCY INTERCOM . They waited for the speaker panel to crackle or hum or for a human voice to answer her summons, but nothing. She pushed the button and held it down. “Hello? Help?” She let it go, but still nothing. Mark took a turn pushing and speaking and listening in various fruitless combinations. They shared a long, nervous look .
“Let’s keep searching,” he said. “There’s got to be a fire alarm, right ?”
“Right.”
They squinted in the dark corridor, but an extinguisher mounted by the gate was all they found .
Mark sighed loudly, voicing Caitlin’s exact frustration. “Fucking MBTA .”
“Indeed.”
He headed for the turnstile, gripping the bars and shouting. “Hey! Hello! Anybody down there? We’re locked in !”
They waited, but no reply arrived. Mark jogged back to the other end, rattling the gate barricading them from the street. “Hey! Hello !”
It was no use. They were in the theater district, but the tourists would have cleared out an hour or more ago, and the bars were all closed or closing, and hardly anyone was likely to be walking past in the direction of not-very-much. Even if someone did, what would they make of people yelling from a dark corridor in the middle of the night? If it were Caitlin passing, she’d probably glance fearfully down into the shadowy brick courtyard and walk faster, maybe have the courtesy and concern to dial 9-1-1 as she beat it the fuck out of there .
Mark sighed again. “Shit .”
“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “Shit .”
He woke his phone again, but it went dead immediately with a defeated bloop . “Shit shit shit .”
“Don’t panic. It’s what? Maybe one-thirty ?”
“I think so.” He pocketed his cell and rubbed his face with his gloved hands .
Caitlin took stock, looking for a bright side. She was trapped in a subway corridor with the cutest, most charming man she’d had the pleasure of getting asked out by in months. Life could be worse. Unless she lost a toe to frostbite. That might not be the best way to kick off a would-be courtship .
“This thing starts running around five,” she said. “Even if we can’t reach anyone, neither of us will drop dead in three and a half hours, not of cold or hunger or thirst, right ?”
“Nah, we won’t.” Mark shook his head a bit too energetically, faking calm .
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you ?”
“No, no. Just…” He made a dramatic shuddering noise. “Feels weird. Being locked in. I’ve gotten so used to being the lone adult in a room or a bus full of kids, the one who fixes stuff. Just frustrated .”
“Understandable. This ever happen at the Y ?”
“Nope. No practice in this particular crisis.” He studied her in the scant light and smiled. “Better it’s you and me here, and not me and fifteen under-rested, over-sugared adolescents, like the time I was on a bus that broke down in Western Mass .”
Just him and her? Better indeed. “Sounds very Lord of the Flies .”
He laughed. “Nearly .”
“What’d you do ?”
“Games, fun. Distraction. Trick the kids into thinking it was a sleepover .”
“I wish I’d brought pajamas,” Caitlin said. And slippers, and a nice fluffy robe .
“If we’re stuck here until the morning, we should set up camp closest to the platform. Maybe they keep the station heated through the night .”
“We can only hope. Less breezy, anyhow .”
They wandered back to the revolving gate, and Caitlin sat on the floor as demurely as could be expected in her tiny dress—not that Mark would be able to see much if she accidentally flashed him, not in this paltry light. She slipped off her shoes and set them beside her with a sigh, flexing her toes .
“Funny how getting dumped at a holiday party suddenly isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me today,” she teased herself .
“Careful. Crappy stuff’s supposed to come in threes .”
“Oh, right. I wonder what’s next ?”
“Guess we’ll just have wait and find out .”
On the positive side, at least she didn’t need to pee. And though she didn’t know Mark well at all, she did have a crush on him, and if someone had forced her to choose a person to be trapped in this corridor with all night, his was the name she’d have blurted .
Mark stretched his legs out in front of him. “So. You like it so far? Our first date ?”
She smiled, glad he was finding the humor in things again. “I would have preferred that coffee, I must admit .”
“You okay? Cold ?”
She nodded. “Yeah, pretty cold .”
He unzipped his coat .
“No, don’t do that .”
He ignored her, slipping it from his shoulders. He draped it over her lap, and she tucked the edges under her legs and feet, happy for the soft fleece lining…though she wasn’t exactly cozy. The brick floor was turning her butt to stone, and the breeze still reached them, sucked from the street down into the station, off through the tunnels bound for other stops .
“Still think you can make it three or four hours ?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I can .”
“Lemme know if your feet go numb or anything. You want my socks?” He reached for his shoes .
“No, no.” She tucked his jacket more tightly under her heels. “I’ll be okay .”
“Gloves?” He was already pulling them off, so it wasn’t a question .
She slipped them on, liking how they’d been prewarmed by him, and how small her hands felt inside them. Mark slid his own hands into the front pocket of his Dingoes sweatshirt after flipping up its hood and cinching it around his face. His very handsome face .
“Thank you,” Caitlin said, her voice sounding strange and disembodied in the dark weirdness of the space .
“Least I can do, after talking your ear off and getting us stranded down here .”
She shrugged. “I’d been willing you to ask me out with telepathy, so really it’s my fault. You were just doing my bidding .”
He laughed softly, and she wished she could see his grin better. That’d warm her up .
“Why didn’t you just ask me out yourself ?”
“Well, I might’ve, except I’d already admitted I got dumped in the last few hours. That might quite rightly give a guy pause .”
“Ah. What does it say about me that I asked you out anyhow?” Mark asked, a smile lingering in his voice .
“That you like ’em desperate and vulnerable .”
Another laugh, a proper one. “Wow. I’m a scoundrel .”
“Nah. You’re cute .”
He turned to meet her eyes, raising a brow. “Oh ?”
She nodded. “I thought you were cute at the Red Cross, with your scaredy needle-face and your library book and your reading glasses. And the fact that you were donating your platelets in the middle of a weekday.” And your shapely, shapely arm .
“How did you know I wasn’t unemployed, just there for the free snacks ?”
“I knew. The way you squeezed that stress ball…” She sighed for wistful effect .
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes. Women can’t resist a man with strong squeezing hands. Tells us you must be great at, oh, I don’t know…making juice. Opening jars. Crushing beer cans .”
“Women really go for that, huh ?”
She shrugged. “Maybe that’s my own perversion, after spending seventy hours a week surrounded by guys who speak in financial code .”
“All that mouse clicking, though. Dexterous fingers. Left click! Right click!” he mimed furiously .
“You make us sound so exciting .”
“Enter that quarterly earnings data !”
“Indeed. Not nearly as exciting as what you do, I’m sure .”
He made a dismissive pfffft noise. “In any given eight-hour period, I get mocked fifty times for not knowing who some pop star or rapper playing on the radio is or what a slang word means. And get told stuff like, ‘Coach Holly, you’re actually pretty cool. What are you, like forty ?’”
She laughed. “And what are you, really ?”
“Thirty-two .”
“Ooh, burn.” A chill overtook her, and she tucked Mark’s coat tighter under her butt. “Thank you again, for lending me this .”
“You’ve got nice legs,” he said casually. “Be a shame if they snapped off from the cold .”
“I wish I had something to offer you, aside from a uselessly tiny purse… You need lipstick? Or my T-Pass ?”
“Save the lipstick for when we get hungry .”
“Oh.” She sat up straight. “I do have champagne .”
He glanced at her, and she realized neither of them was sure if she was serious. Mark shrugged .
“Have to pass the time somehow,” Caitlin said .
“True. Okay, sure. Bust it out .”
She reached for the bag and freed the bottle from its tissue-paper nest. The idea perked her up, making it feel more like an adventurous date, assuring her she hadn’t gotten all hussied up for nothing. She’d toast to that. “Would you like to do the honors, with your manly squeezing hands ?”
“Sure.”
While Mark unwound the little wire cage, Caitlin tore the pretty paper from Kevin’s would-be Christmas present and slid the shaker from the box .
The cork escaped with an echoing pop, and she caught some of the fizzy overflow with the shaker’s silver cap .
“Cheers,” she offered, and clacked the cap against the bottle .
“To, um…” Mark took a sip from the bottle, seeming to think .
“To my first subterranean date,” she ventured .
“Mine too. What a coincidence. To many more.” He tapped the cap again. “And to the next date going a bit more smoothly, if you ever let me take you on a second one after this debacle .”
“It’s not your fault we’re locked in. If only I were litigious, I’d lose a toe on purpose and sue the pants off the T. Not that they have any money.” She sipped her wine. In a weird way, she didn’t think champagne had ever tasted so nice. Considering the surroundings, it was all the more luxurious .
“In any case, it can only get better from here,” Mark said. “The bar’s been set so low. I planned it all this way, paid off the T employees .”
“I’m sure next time you’ll take me somewhere really nice. Like the North Station parking garage .”
“Nothing but the best. Keep those standards low, Miss …”
“Dwyre.”
“Miss Dwyre .”
“I shall. Mr. Holly, is it ?”
“Yup.”
“Mark Holly,” she repeated, nodding. “I like that. Very seasonal .”
“HR probably wouldn’t approve .”
“No, maybe not. You’d have to change your name to Mark Nondenominational Winter Greenery .”
He laughed, a soft chuckle that made her feel clever and pretty, momentarily warm .
“So you aren’t allowed to say Christmas, but your boss is allowed to give you alcohol? And a martini shaker?” He nodded at it .
“Yeah, I know. Though the shaker wasn’t a gift. Not a gift to me, anyhow. It was supposed to be for the guy who dumped me .”
“Ah. Ouch .”
She picked it up to show him, and Mark squinted at the engraving in the dim glow of the emergency lights. “Can’t return it, huh? Bummer .”
“Yeah. Do you know any KPDs who enjoy cocktails? I’ll sell it to you at a very reasonable discount .”
“It’s a memento, now. Maybe you can make up an acronym to commemorate our little underground adventure .”
She pondered it, nothing witty arriving. But if she wasn’t mistaken, the wine was already taking effect, its fizziness bubbling through her veins, making her feel all mischievous and slinky, even camped out in quite possibly the least romantic spot in all of Greater Boston. Except perhaps for that territory between the half-dead ficus and the laser printer .
“We’re going to hit it off,” Mark announced after a minute’s conversational lapse .
“Oh?”
“And we’ll have a real date and fall in love and get married and have about ten kids .”
“Ten sounds like a lot,” she said, playing along to see where this was going .
“Fine. Nine kids. And fifty years from now, everyone will gather around the parlor for our silver or gold or whatever anniversary, and we’ll take the old martini shaker off our stately mantle, and regale everyone with the tale of how it brought us together. And you can drink champagne out of the cap, just like you are now .”
“Deal,” she said, and they tapped vessels again .
After another swig, Mark cleared his throat. “Provided we do survive the night and I don’t mess this up, I would like to see you again.” He sounded a touch vulnerable—nervous and hopeful, all the things she felt. It warmed her in a way the champagne never could .
“I’d like that too .”
“Do you like dim sum? Or is that too lazy, since we both live so close to Chinatown ?”
“I like lazy. And I love dim sum. I like the way the wasabi makes me feel like it’s boiling my eyeballs for ten seconds, then suddenly it’s gone .”
“Sounds like a plan .”
“Then if we don’t mess it up, we could wander around and go into all those interesting shops that sell pickled fish and coffee-flavored chewing gum,” she added .
“And those tiny prepackaged Japanese Jell-O shot things with the cube of mummified pineapple in the middle ?”
She laughed. “Definitely .”
“If I’m feeling particularly smitten, I’ll buy you a lucky waving cat .”
“A big gold one ?”
He nodded .
“I’ll be extra smittening, in that case. It might freak out my actual cat, but he could use a little friendly competition.” They were quiet a moment, and the chill took hold of her, making her legs tremble and her back muscles knit in the tensing cold .
“You’re shaking .”
“I’m fine .”
He smiled and shook his head. “Here.” He spread his legs wider and patted the floor between them. “You’ll be warmer, and I promise I won’t grope you or anything .”
Yes, because getting groped by a handsome, charming man hours after getting dumped by a workaholic iceberg was such a repulsive notion .
Caitlin carefully crab-walked herself over his nearest leg and sat in front of him, tugging her dress and coat flat beneath her frozen butt and rewrapping her legs in his jacket .
“Okay?” he asked .
Draping her hair over her shoulder and out of his face, she leaned back. He felt solid behind her, his voice so close by her ear. If she’d had any blood left in her extremities, it would’ve rushed to heat more womanly climes. “Yes, fine. Thank you .”
She reached for her champagne, wanting a fresh sip to keep its pleasant, distracting tingle inching through her veins. As she swallowed, Mark slid his arms around her middle, encircling her waist a couple chivalrous inches below her bust. Not that he’d be able to cop much of a feel through her wool coat .
“What base is this?” she teased, but her voice came out all breathy and overwrought. Behind her back, his chest felt as solid as the brick wall, but leagues more comforting .
Mark’s silent laugh warmed her ear. “Not any base I’ve ever gotten to. I think we’ve wandered off in the outfield someplace .”
She could begin to feel his heat through their layers and hoped maybe he could feel hers in return. Maybe they’d just melt together, two truffles joining so their mismatched gooey centers might mingle. She blinked at the metaphor, wondering if it was dirty, the idea of his nougat canoodling with her raspberry crème. Freak .
“You feel nice,” she murmured .
“You too. And you smell nice .”
She smiled at a thought. “I wonder if I’ll tell anyone about this on Monday, if they ask what I got up to on my long-awaited weekend off .”
“I will definitely not be telling my coworkers. They can’t be trusted with gossip .”
“It’s a good story, though,” Caitlin said. “How would you word it? I think I’d say, ‘I got to talking with this cute guy I knew from the Red Cross, and the next thing we knew, the subway shut down and we got locked inside all night.’” Suck on that, stupid Kevin .
“Will you mention all this?” Mark asked, giving her a gentle squeeze .
“I’ll tell my girlfriends about it, yeah. Colleagues, not so much. But they’ll think it’s funny, I bet, boring old Caitlin getting trapped in the subway. That’s by far the most interesting water-cooler material I’ve ever had to contribute .”
“After we fall in love, but before the ten kids — ”
“Nine, you promised .”
“Before them, we can get married down here. I’ll walk you down the corridor and carry you through the turnstile. Hopefully your dress won’t get caught in the bars. A conductor can officiate .”
“And we’ll string cans to the back of an Orange Line train en route to our honeymoon in…well, Forest Hills or Oak Grove, I suppose, unless we switched to the Amtrak .”
“Very romantic. Except the cans would probably wind up breaking the train and they’d have to shuttle-bus us .”
She laughed. “That sounds about right .”
He sighed—a tired, happy noise—and his arms held her tighter. Or perhaps that was her optimistic imagination. She felt him go rigid for a few moments, could practically hear him thinking. About what, she had to wonder. About taking back all this flirtation, clamming up and retracting his silly wedding talk, as many a man would wish to do. But instead she felt his lips or nose brush the side of her face, by her ear, and her shiver had nothing to do with his chilly skin or the breeze leaking in from outside .
“Was that a kiss?” she murmured .
“Not quite .”
She listened to him swallow, waiting. Was he waiting too, for her permission to take more official liberties? Then there it was—cool lips, warm breath. Just a faint graze to start, then a firm press, a real kiss on her temple .
“You smell amazing,” he whispered .
“So you said .”
Another tease, a drag of his lips along her cheek. The tunnel disappeared as their little shared space seemed to heat, and she simultaneously tensed and relaxed against his firm chest, inside his strong arms. If her breath steamed in the air, it was because her insides had caught fire, not because it was cold. Because it wasn’t. It was suddenly very, very warm .
A strange man you basically just met is kissing you in one of the shadier corners of the MBTA. You really ought not to get turned on right about now. He could be some kind of homeless vampire smack-fiend pervert .
Fuck you, intuition. You should have warned me about Kevin dumping me when I was ordering that stupid martini shaker or mentally booking a room in the Berkshires .
To spite her lousy instincts, she turned in Mark’s arms, resting her bent legs over one of his thighs. Their eyes met for a moment before he accepted her invitation, pressing his mouth softly to hers .
Just the whisper of his cold lips against hers to start. Soft, dry skin, the sweet touch of their noses. She felt the warm huff of his breath, the scratch of his stubble. Subtle and cautious. A gentleman .
His mouth opened faintly, and she let hers do the same, their lips brushing and glancing, becoming familiar, finding a rhythm of sorts in this new acquaintance. She put her hand to his jaw, swore softly, then pulled off the glove, cold be damned. As she slipped her fingers inside his hood, the kiss deepened .
The caress of his mouth felt lush, the promise and mystery of what would come next drawing energy low in her belly, hot and chaotic. When his tongue slid against hers, she just about melted. In the back of her consciousness, she felt that his coat had ridden up to expose a sliver of her thigh. To hell with it. She was half-tempted to grab Mark’s hand and lead it right there. That’d heat them up .
He cocked his jaw, and she did the same, letting him take things a bit further .
Ooh, he was good. He was the best kisser she’d had the pleasure of doing this with in far too long. It was as sweet and exciting as a prom-night kiss, but smooth and practiced as a seduction. Champagne had never tasted better than it did sampled off Mark Holly’s lips .
She wriggled her hand free of the second glove, the chill wholly worth it to feel his neck against her bare palm. She loosened his hood and pushed it back, wanting the soft brush of his hair and the view of his handsome face, unobscured. His lips plucked her lower one. If they were seeking an invitation, she granted it, parting to welcome him deeper. His mouth taunted, giving just the tiniest slide of tongue. She angled her head and was rewarded with a brief, wet sweep, scalding in the midst of their fogging breath. Another sweep, the slick, thrilling tease of his tongue against hers. She returned the caress, feeling his body tense, alert. She felt everything fivefold, the corridor like one of those isolation pods, maybe. His heat scorched hotter, his mouth tasted more male and primal, his shallow breaths louder in the dark .
What if he never wants to see you again after you show him you’re tacky enough to make out with him in a subway station ?
Fuck you, rational brain. I thought we were feminists .
She couldn’t worry about what this little tryst would do—propel a romance or scare it away. She was too freshly cut loose to be trusted with overthinking this situation. Just enjoy it for what it is. If nothing else, it’s a great story .
A better story would be, “You’ll never believe how Mark and I met.” It’d make a hell of a best man’s speech, as well. Oops, where’d that come from? Who cared—Mark wasn’t above joking about a basketball team’s worth of children .
His mouth showed hers what he liked, and after letting him lead for a minute or two, she took ownership of the kiss. His energy shifted, an unmistakable swerve in a more sexual direction. She imagined insanely inappropriate things—how maybe his breath would go shallow and excited this way when she shimmied toward the foot of one of their beds to show him what else her mouth could do .
You’re jumping the gun again, brain .
Whatever. You love it .
The weight of Mark’s hand found her waist, strong and sure, exactly how she hoped the heft of his body might feel one night in the not-so-distant future, the confident push of his thighs spreading hers .
She wondered a dozen things in a single breath. How he’d sound and what he might say, if he’d order or flatter or plead, or if he’d simply moan and pant, abandoned by words. If he’d be as giving and thorough as she suspected, and how desperate or greedy he might grow when his turn came. How his tongue would feel, taking her pulse at her jugular, teasing her ear, taunting at the crease of her innermost thigh. How he’d smell and taste, what his face would look like in sleep if she woke first to find him beside her in a bed, hers or his. Smooth cotton sheets? Worn flannel? Jersey? White or striped or some unexpected color? Coffeemaker or French press or a quick run to Starbucks or Dunkin’? So many questions she wanted answered about this handsome stranger. But none she could reasonably ask .
His mouth broke away. “You all right ?”
“Oh my, yes .”
“Okay, good. You went sort of…distracted there .”
She bit her tender lip, brain not quick enough with a smooth reply. “Just thinking about stuff. Sorry. You’re an amazing kisser, I promise .”
He pressed his lips to her jaw. “Can’t be so amazing, if your mind’s already wandering .”
She laughed softly, vulnerability taking hold. Might as well own it. “If you must know, I was thinking about how bummed out I’d be if you never wound up calling me after all this. Because making out in the bowels of the Orange Line may not be the classiest move a potential date could make .”
“What does that say about me, then?” he asked with a smile. “Plus this isn’t the bowels of the Orange Line. The nostril, maybe .”
She grinned. “I guess that’s a bit better .”
“But if this is starting to be too weird for you, we can stop. It was a nice diversion while it lasted .”
“I don’t want to stop .”
Mark squinted thoughtfully and recited her phone number. “Right ?”
“That’s it .”
“Well, unless you kiss me into some kind of brain damage and I forget, I plan on using those digits very soon .”
“I’d like that .”
“Me too.” He reached over and handed her the half-empty bottle of champagne. She tilted it to her lips, the fizz igniting her excitement all over again. Mark took a drink as well and set it aside. His lips were cold as they grazed hers, his tongue sweet with wine .
Between kisses he murmured, “Classy women are overrated, anyhow .”
She swatted his arm, their mouths already reconnecting .
Goodness, she’d forgotten how lovely all this was. Not just a man’s newness and that nervous spark of this-could-really-be-something, but simply being this way with anyone—familiar or completely unknown. Her libido hadn’t disappeared during her and Kevin’s neglectful spell. If anything, it’d been angrier than usual, starved and left to pace around her belly, hungry and irritable. But having those feelings stir and actually getting them stoked by someone were so different. She’d nearly forgotten. She memorized every caress of Mark’s lips and tongue and cool fingers lest she ever make the mistake of underestimating the awesomeness of this nonsense again .
She snuggled closer, sliding a hand under the collar of his sweatshirt to knead the hard muscle of his shoulder. The image of his pumping hand and strong, flexing arm from their Red Cross encounter revisited her, unlikely an arousal trigger as it was. If only they were someplace warm, someplace private. Then she could get him down to a T-shirt or less, get down to good old-fashioned man-ogling. He was welcome to ogle her in return. That gig’s erstwhile overseer had slacked something terrible of late .
“You feel nice,” she murmured. Their gazes flicked in the shadows .
“So do you .”
She kissed him, hard and deep, stealing the reins for a minute or two. His hands stroked the back of her neck and her shoulders through her damnable coat. Her body wanted to know his—what it looked like, how it felt and might fit with hers, what it was capable of and how to make it react .
No longer caring what some dating coach might make of her eagerness, she reached between them to undo the top button of her coat. Mark took the hint, fumbling with the remaining two. She felt the uncertainty in his touch as he slid his hand inside, and the cold air that leaked in was canceled out by the flush that visited her as he rested a palm on her waist. Her body tensed, but the tightening had nothing to do with the icy breeze .
Stroking his chest though his sweatshirt—his perfectly firm, warm chest—she freed her mouth and smiled at him. “If anybody catches us down here, this is just some survival technique. Body heat or whatever .”
He laughed. “If anyone finds us down here, I’m going to lose a lot of appeal real fast. Compared to some guy who can get you out of here, I mean .”
Her rubbing fingers found his collarbone through his sweatshirt, tracing it as she stared at his throat, wondering what his skin tasted like. “You clearly don’t know how good a kisser you are .”
He let slip a prideful grin, but just for a moment before he pursed his lips, turning it into a smirk. “You’re not so bad yourself .”
I’m going to kiss him again soon, she decided. Kiss him hello before dim sum on a weekend morning, kiss him thank-you afterward and taste salt and spices on his lips. Or if all things went well, kiss him good night. Or if they went really well, kiss him awake the next morning. Yes, perhaps that last one. Maybe kiss him hello on a Saturday morning, kiss him goodbye on Monday as they parted ways at the train station or wherever. Just kissing him, really. Whenever, wherever, just wonderful .
Her happily wandering mind was drawn back into the present as she felt something else wander—Mark’s hand drifting up her ribs, his thumb glancing the side of her breast. He moved so slowly, she knew he was welcoming a protest or correction. He’d just have to keep waiting. He was the sexiest, nicest man she’d met in ages, and he could grab her boob if he wanted .
Have at it, handsome .
She let her own hands wander in return, showing him just how fine she was with them tiptoeing across second base. His arm was as hard and muscular beneath his sleeve as she’d suspected, and she gave it an appreciative squeeze. She’d like to squeeze his biceps while he was braced above her in bed. Another notion to add to her mental checklist of Ways to Molest Mark .
The stroke of his tongue drew a hot flush up her neck, into her cheeks, fogging her brain. There it condensed and streamed back through her body, warming her chest and belly, fingers and toes, and some awfully neglected regions south of the equator. She scooted closer, and though she felt her dress ride high up her thigh, she also felt when her hip abutted Mark’s crotch, which was far more interesting .
His kiss changed, as though she’d clicked him into a different gear, an eager one. This was the kind of kiss that led someplace . Wasn’t it? She was so sex-deprived, if Mark sneezed on her she’d probably have rounded it up to foreplay .
The hand heating her side finally shifted, and he cupped her breast. Pleasure bloomed and spread through her chest, rising to make her head foggy. Was he hard? She couldn’t tell, not with the fold of her coat between him and her hip. Jesus, she’d kill to find out .
The hand on her breast kneaded softly, tossing her deeper into the wilds of happy distraction. She shifted closer, as close as she could get without straddling the man. Which wasn’t an unappealing thought, even considering it’d shove her dress up past her undies. She rubbed the bare skin under his collar, then his chest through his sweatshirt. His middle felt lean and firm, and she imagined how he might look, wandering in from the bathroom in just his shorts, heading back to the bed for an encore performance, perhaps. What kind of shorts? Boxers, Caitlin bet, with some pattern or other. Fine by her. They wouldn’t stick around long before she flung them aside .
Mark’s mouth moved to her jaw, then her neck when she tilted her head. It was awkward, the way they were sitting, but that was an excuse—if a lame one—to get relocated, drag them out of the outfield and back to the vicinity of second or third base. She broke their mouths apart and shifted to her knees between his thighs .
“This is probably forward,” she said, “but I don’t really care.” She moved one leg to the outside of Mark’s, and he edged away from the wall so she could straddle him. Her hemline rose to her hips, and she was thankful for the relative darkness. What felt hot in the shadows might look sloppy in the light .
Settling against him, she could feel him through her panties and his jeans, stiff. It was as shocking and forbidden and thrilling as the first time she’d ever touched a guy and discovered that a hard dick was so much…harder than she’d ever guessed possible in all her adolescent theorizing .
His mouth left hers to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck. One warm palm on her back, under her coat, his other fingers tangling in her hair. She felt the softest scrape of teeth, a lap of his tongue. Give me a hickey, she thought. Let everyone at work see .
But for better or worse—probably better—no self-respecting man over the age of twenty necked with such bruising fervor, Mark included. Instead of a hickey, he gave her a head rush, a pleasant, dizzying sensation as her mind drained of all thought, consciousness relegated to the wants of her body .
She cupped his head, the softness of his hair already seeming familiar. Maybe she’d stroke his hair this way when they made lazy love on a Sunday morning, or when they fucked like animals on a Friday night. She’d stroke his hair like this as they fell asleep after said fucking and/or lovemaking, kiss his temple or forehead, mumble sleepy fondnesses she was currently too riled up to guess at. Perhaps he’d give her a nickname, someday, a boyfriendly one. And she’d find out what he called her in bed, baby or sweetheart or something else, or maybe he wouldn’t speak at all. He might just moan, giving voice to the low, soundless rumbles she felt brewing in his chest .
Their bodies shifted together, and he seemed as antsy as she felt. And between her legs, against his erection, something surprising was happening .
Oh, fuck .
I could come .
Through two pairs of underwear and Mark’s jeans—and here, of all unromantic places. Her body begged her to keep going, but her brain butted in. You can’t come on some guy, not if you want to get asked out on a real date .
Are you sure? He might think that’s hot. Might do something Pavlovian to his ego .
It’s not very dignified .
Neither’s getting dumped ten feet from my cubicle. Watch me go .
“Mark.”
“Yeah?” It was a sexy yeah, breathy and dark .
“Would it be weird if I…uh …”
His lips kissed her throat, slow and patient. “If you what ?”
“If we keep doing this, I might…you know .”
“Oh.” A pause, then a laugh. “Oh. Jeez, I though you were going to ask to do something freaky to me .”
“This whole dry-humping-a-stranger-in-the-subway thing doesn’t count ?”
“Heh… But anyhow, no, I don’t think that’s weird, if you…you know. I think it’s kind of awesome .”
“Okay. Good.” She was glad of the permission, though she wouldn’t pursue an orgasm, not intentionally. That would feel weird. Utilitarian. But if one happened upon her—upon him—well, that would be delightful .
Mark seemed to agree. His kisses changed, as did his hands. His palms held her hips, over her dress at first, then slipping beneath the hem. They were inviting Caitlin to move, urging her in tiny tugs. She did as they asked, rubbing against him, faintly to start. Within a minute, the motions took on a life of their own, and Mark echoed them with a tensing of his thighs, adding to the friction and Caitlin’s mounting excitement. Her pleasure was champagne bubbles, forming and collecting, rising and bursting, but all at once it was as if someone shook the bottle .
Craving turned to demand. She heard herself panting, felt the push and pull of Mark’s hands speeding alongside the undulations of her hips. The kisses heating her neck lost focus, and small noises punctuated each of his breaths, tiny grunts and sighs. The bubbles rushed together inside her, fizzing and crazy. As the first happy spasm arrived, she registered her nails raking Mark’s back, beneath his shirt. Then she knew nothing but the pleasure, wondrous seconds that made up for everything crappy that had happened in the past few hours .
She came down from the high, tugged in opposite directions by euphoria and embarrassment. But the way he kissed her throat, so fond and excited, she knew there was no cause for regret. She leaned back to smile her delirium at him .
“Wow,” he said .
She laughed. “Tell me about it .”
“Here.” His hands directed her to sit again as he edged back against the wall. She settled on her hip between his legs, knees bent over his thigh, and he wrapped his coat around her legs once more, tucking it tight then smoothing her hair from her face. A good idea, as the cold was finding her fast in the wake of the orgasm. She was still turned on, but it had lost some of its power to veil the elements. She’d just need to find another diversion .
Mark accepted her kiss eagerly. She let him know the fun wasn’t over, just because she’d popped her cork. Her stroking hands got reacquainted with his shoulders and chest, his belly, then met his belt for the first time. She gave him a minute’s intense kissing to signal that she should stop, but he didn’t take her up on the chance. Bless him. His cool palm covered her hand at last and moved it lower, cupping it over his erection .
Even through his jeans, he was hot. He drew her hand up and down, up and down, yet it was Caitlin who took things further. Her fingers were stiff with cold, but she curved the end of his belt through its buckle, eased it from the post, slid it free. His hand was eager, undoing his fly and leading hers to cover his cock through a thin layer of smooth cotton. Boxers , she confirmed .
He guided her touch for a minute or two, the bossiness giving her a preview of how he might get when he was all worked up and within sight of a bed. Nice. Maybe that ravishing she’d thought she’d been robbed of was still on the horizon. He let her hand go to touch her breast, his palm dragging against her in shaky strokes, the caress of a man who’d progressed beyond the graceful confines of foreplay .
“This is kind of embarrassing,” he panted, “but I’m getting close .”
Embarrassing? That’d be a sick double standard. Try fantastic. “Do you want to stop ?”
“Do you want to ?”
“No…but it’d be messy.” And though normally she wouldn’t have balked at the thought of swallowing… Well, just not here. His cock hadn’t been rolling around on the floor of the Orange Line any more than his mouth had, but something about the idea was undeniably squicky, in the context. “You could just use your sleeve, I suppose. The walk of shame’s awfully short, right ?”
Mark’s fondling hand and twitching hips stilled, and he began laughing, the quiet, happy sound like bells ringing in the darkness. “Sorry. I’ve totally sucked all the sexiness out of this .”
“We’re in a subway station. How high do you think my standards are ?”
He cracked up harder at that, and Caitlin decided she’d never date anyone again whom she couldn’t make laugh this way. It was as good as turning a man on, she realized. And you could do it anywhere. Except maybe a funeral .
“I’d hate to meet your ex-girlfriends and find out you take every woman to the back end of the Tufts Station on a first date .”
“No,” he said, chest still hitching. “This is our special place.” The final word was gobbled up in a wheeze, and the peripheral light shone on the tears wetting his eyes. He sighed and wiped them away just as Caitlin succumbed to her own fit of giggles. He cleared his throat. “Okay. Sleeve it is, if it comes to that .”
Caitlin hoped it would indeed come to that. With a few slow strokes, any stiffness he’d lost was back, the length of him the most wonderful, cruel tease, a mystery begging to be uncovered .
As he moaned, Caitlin imagined them in a bed, in the light and warmth, all the normal things. But screw normal. Where was the fun in that? Normal was dressing up, taking your boyfriend home after an office party and having reconnection sex in a pathetic attempt to save what didn’t want resuscitating. What she had down in this creepy-ass brick corridor with a near stranger was far better .
She stroked him rougher, loving how he squirmed. His labored breaths told her maybe he wasn’t up to much more, not without the finale arriving. She stole a glance at his face, wowed by the fact that it wasn’t familiar yet. He was still some sexy guy she’d run into on the subway, yet here he was, panting on the verge of climax from what her touch was doing to him. Weird. Weird and awesome. A better gift than a monogrammed cocktail shaker, certainly, and even more personal .
His cold fingers brushed hers, then the smooth heat of his bare cock as he pushed his waistband down. He was scalding against her chilled skin. She must have felt like ice in return, but that wasn’t what his face told her. Any discomfort he was feeling looked purely pleasurable. Short, harsh breaths huffed little jets of steam between them .
“Fuck, I’m close .”
“Good.”
Good, and then what? Two strangers, trapped together for another three hours or more, sobering up from sex and champagne in a brick tunnel of pure awkwardness .
I don’t care. I like him .
You’ll both be embarrassed once you’re back to reality. He won’t call .
You don’t know that .
Mark’s strained whimper hauled her out of the argument. One of his hands closed over her stroking one, squeezing it tighter, moving it quicker. “Oh …”
She held her breath, body all at once flushed to see him so worked up .
He pressed his forehead to hers, their hands thrashing together as he came undone. On impulse, she slid hers up to cup his crown, just in time to feel his release, warm in her palm. Through a groan she heard her name, two desperate syllables, the best sound ever. After a few hitches, his body stilled, head dropping back to lean against the wall .
He blinked. He panted. He smiled .
She couldn’t help but grin herself. “I’m going to do something really un-classy,” she warned. Mark nodded blearily, and she grabbed the nearby wad of wrapping paper and wiped her hand. He laughed, lost again in a brief fit of giggles. A sighed warmed her neck. “Beats my sleeve .”
Slowly, the tunnel asserted itself once more—the cold, the dark, the strangeness .
“I better…” Caitlin pulled back an inch or two to button her coat, find the gloves he’d lent her and slip them back on .
“Right.”
She waited until Mark had his jeans done up and his hood re-cinched, then got herself settled between his legs once more, head on his shoulder, back against his chest, his jacket wrapped tight around her legs. He smoothed her hair aside and pressed his lips to her cheek. After a moment’s shifting, he handed her the champagne bottle .
“To…well, you know. All that,” he said .
She took a sip. They passed the bottle back and forth a dozen times, until the wine was gone .
“That was delicious, if unexpected,” Mark said, setting it aside. “Thanks for sharing .”
“You’re very welcome. Thanks for helping. I probably would’ve ended up drinking mimosas all morning, then let half of it go flat. This was a much better use .”
“Glad now they gave you champagne instead of whiskey ?”
“I suppose I am.” She let her body relax, her full weight resting on him. He closed his arms around hers to pin her pleasantly in place against him. “You know what else I’m glad about? That we got locked in here,” she announced .
“Oh, yeah ?”
“Yeah. This story’s much more valuable than a good night’s sleep .”
“Speak for yourself. I have to be at work for basketball practice at ten .”
“Oh, dear .”
He hugged her tight. “You’re right, though. It was worth it. Best accidental first date I’ve ever had .”
“Indeed.” And he’d made her come without even glimpsing her underwear. Actually, that was kind of a shame, considering she’d gone to all the trouble of matching the items. But hopefully there’d be more chances to spoil him .
I hope, I hope, I hope .