When I finally start to come down, a purr of contentment escapes me and he chuckles as he gets to his feet, kissing me, spreading my wetness over my lips and onto my tongue. Somehow, it’s even more intimate than when he dripped the cognac into my mouth.
“Okay?”
I nod, shyly.
He chuckles, sliding a finger over my wetness and bringing it to his mouth. “A shy demon from hell? I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
I didn’t either. But there are an infinity of things I didn’t know until now.
He grins and tips the rest of the content of his glass into his mouth before grabbing the bottle off the bar.
“Let’s get drunk, darling.”
MATTHIAS
W
e get so drunk that if someone asked my name, I could probably tell them it starts with the letter M but that’s about it. We drink and talk and laugh, reminiscing about the past and
learning about who we are as adults.
“Remember that time you fell out of a tree when your mom told me to come to tell you dinner was ready? What were you doing?” she asks.
I shrug. “Same thing I was always doing. I was spying on the Hamilton girls next door in the pool.”
She pretends to gag. “You are so disgusting.”
“Guilty.”
“Okay, your turn,” she asks, playing with the empty glass, spinning it around on the floor.
“I know everything about you,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Prove it, sure I like Caramello Koalas now, but what did I like when I was a kid?”
I roll my eyes in response. “Come on, give me a hard one!”
“Stop stalling,” she laughs, pouring about $20 worth of Grey Goose XV vodka into her mouth, ignoring the drops that slide down her cheek.
Sliding my hand up her bare thigh, I revel in the knowledge that I can just reach out and touch her.
“You liked boysenberry ice cream and Diet Dr. Pepper.”
She looks surprised. “How did you know that?”
Her voice brings a smile to me face and I kiss her gently. “Because I have eye balls! What did I like?”
She scrunches up her face. “I have no idea.”
I steal another kiss. “You lose. Your turn to go pick a bottle.”
She gets up, pads over in her bare feet, staring at the wall of liqueur bottles that now has some holes in it. “James is going to kill you,” she warns me.
“Kill me? You’re the one who picked the Watenshi Gin. It took him over three weeks to find one, and he had to drive to Rochester to get it.”
She gives up and reaches for the closest bottle, a bottle of Jagermeister. “How do you know that?” she says, skipping back to our little oasis in the middle of her clubroom floor.
I pretend to gag as she pours some into my mouth. “We’re going to be really sick tomorrow.”
“Good.” She takes a drink and makes the same face I did, making me laugh. “Answer the question. How did you know how James got this bottle?”
I put the lid back on and return it behind the bar. “He told me,” I say, grabbing a bottle of Kopke 380th Anniversary Tawny Port.
“He didn’t tell me.”
I grab some port glasses and join her again on the floor. “Well, did you ask him?”
She looks so cute trying to think. I grab her hand and pull her into my lap, nuzzling her neck from behind. “It’s okay. You’re pretty. And you smell like figs and vanilla. And sometimes supermarket chocolate.”
She pulls a face. “That makes up for me being a cold hearted bitch?”
I nibble at the crook where her neck meets her shoulder, little nips that make her yelp when I do it too hard.
She pivots in my lap, trying to glare at me. “Um, excuse me, did you hear me? I said, ‘that makes up for me being bitch?'” she repeats.
“Oh, I heard you, Rissie.”
Growling, she grabs the glass out of my hand and takes a drink. “And what are you going to say about it?”
I sigh. “Well, I can’t speak for other people, but yes, being cute and smelling like Dior makes up for you being a bitch.”
“Hey!” she yells and punches me in the arm. “I’m not a bitch.”
I take her hand and kiss the palm. “Rissie. Come on.”
Her nose scrunches up, then she pouts, her shoulders drooping, leaning back against me again.
“Well, I’m trying not to be.”
I laugh. “Are you?”
She spins around and her hand meets the back of my head in a karate chop. “Oowwwwwwwwwwww,” I moan in exaggeration. “Not only are you a bitch, but you’re violent too!”
“Good. You show everyone your bruise and tell them if they don’t bow down to my bitchiness, I’ll karate chop them, too. And maybe even kick them a little. But just in the shin.”
Finger tips lingering on the nape of her neck, I blow gently, a shiver scattering over her body. “Scary. I take it back. You’re not a bitch, Rissie.” “That’s right,” she gurgles happily.
“You’re Queen Bitch!”
“Matthias!”
I hug her to me, enjoying the feel of her wriggling body against mine. “Come on, I’m just saying you know what you want and you make it known. And usually what you want is the right thing. But when it’s not…”
“Yeah?” she says, a hint of hope in her voice.
“Well, then you’re really a bitch.”
She sighs and looks down at her hands. “Fine, I’ll try harder.”
My finger comes up to tickle her cheek. “Why, Rissie? Did I tell you that I don’t like it?” She shrugs. How does she make even that look cute? “I didn’t. I don’t want you to change a damn thing about yourself.”
That seems to placate her and she thinks about it for a moment. “Good. Because I don’t see myself changing.”
“But you already have. Look around you. Look what you’ve done. Would Clarissa of a year ago have been able to do all this? Clarissa from six months ago?”
“No?” she sounds unsure, not knowing where I’m going with the question.
I smile and kiss her on the forehead. “Of course, she could have. She did. You did. That was a trick question.”