He stepped back for a moment himself, his own clothing coming off simply, hurried but without desperation. His shirt fell to the floor, already forgotten in favor of working the clasp on his belt. Then he was pulling down his pants, and Marie couldn't help but gasp.
His cock was big, from this close up. She'd felt it before, even seen it, but this was a completely different circumstance. Now she had time, she had good lighting, and she wondered how it could have possibly fit inside her. She reached out tentatively, wondering if she could even fit it in her hand.
She couldn't, she discovered–it filled her grip completely, her fingers not quite able to close around the shaft. The bartender's hips rolled into her hand, his voice coming out hoarse and thick with need.
"Jesus, Marie–"
The way he was looking at her had her heart racing. Set her on edge, full with need. She held herself still, in spite of all that. Then, slowly, she moved her hand up and down his shaft again, taking great care to be gentle. Chris's eyes fluttered shut.
"I need you," he growled, putting his hand around her wrist.
"Do you now?"
Marie let him push her back, one strong hand pressed
in the middle of her chest, providing an illusion that he'd hold her down and take whatever he wanted. Marie knew better, but the feeling sent a surge of arousal shooting into her. His knee pressed her thighs apart and he took the place between them, his hands hooking under her thighs and lifting them, spreading them wide to wrap around his waist.
He pressed himself up against her, his hardness teasing her with temptations that she didn't know how she could go without when they inevitably had to return to their lives, even if only for a few hours.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he growled. She let her eyes drift shut at the words and nodded–he didn't need a second invitation before pushing himself into her, filling her all the way in a single rough thrust.
Her eyes shot open but saw nothing, whatever power her mind used to see turned off for the sake of containing the pleasure that coiled her body around him. His hips pushed into her again, hitting her deepest places and setting fire to every nerve along the way.
Her lungs spasmed and forced a gasp from Marie's lips, a little voice escaping when she let the air out. She sounded every bit like–like the sort of woman she certainly wasn't. Then again, maybe she was. He thrust into her again and she met his hips again with an upward roll of her own. Another orgasm built in her belly, coming up fast as he moved deep and rough, holding onto her for any purchase he could get.
And then, all at once, he let out a hoarse cry and pushed deep inside, his tightening fingers and the way that he hit exactly where she needed it sending her over the edge. Her body milked him for his seed as he shot himself into her, warmth filling her body.
Her breath came hard, the fire of need slowly leaving her body and leaving her to move her body on her own. It didn't want to, though. She'd much rather have laid there beside him as long as she could. But it wasn't going to last forever, and she knew it couldn't.
Thirty-Four
Chris laid his head back on the bed. Should have been at work. Should have been doing his job. At this rate, he was going to lose it, no doubt about that. But there were things needed doing, and Stan would understand or he'd find more work. There wasn't any special shortage of jobs, after all. That much, at least, he could praise Applewood Junction for.
He looked down at Marie, who dozed lightly against his chest, her soft breasts pooling and pressing against his ribs. She felt good against him, pressed there. It killed him to do it, but he shook her awake.
"I'm up," she said softly, as if she thought she hadn't been softly snoring a moment before.
"I have to go," he said. She nodded and sat back up. He took a moment to watch her, to watch the way that her body moved. He didn't deserve her, that much was for certain. But if she was going to be here, he'd at least enjoy the show.
"You have to promise," she said, pinning her hair back.
"Promise what?" He swung his legs off the side of the bed and pulled on his blue jeans.
"Promise you won't go off trying to get yourself killed."
He took a deep breath. That would be the easiest way out of all this trouble. Just get his own head blown off and everyone else could just walk away. But she had the right idea, whether he liked it or not.
"I promise," he said, before he was even entirely conscious of speaking. "I'm just going to talk to the Sheriff."
"And you're not going to get yourself involved any further?"
He glanced over at her; she was straightening her slip and pulling her dress back on over her head. He slipped his own arms through the sleeves of his shirt.
"I'm already involved, Marie."
She pursed her lips and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. It wasn't as if he could just walk away, though. Why couldn't she see that?
"I just don't want to see you getting yourself hurt," she said finally, fitting a pin into her hair that almost hid the chaos that had overtaken it a few minutes prior.