Saturday, November 1, 2008

Dare to Dream by Leigh Ellwood

Claire’s heart caught in her throat. He was still so handsome when he smiled. When that Cheshire grin slowly drifted her way she sensed the energy pulsing between them. Her pussy twitched in reaction to his hungry gaze, yearning for the tongue that now circled his lips.

“The J-man scores!” Cal bellowed to his band’s fanfare. “Okay, kids, you know what comes next. Let’s get our lucky lady on the dance floor…”

Hands pressed against Claire’s back, and she was moving, not of her own volition. Both Ellie and Brady nudged her into the spotlight, fueled by the crowd’s encouragement.

Before she realized it, J.J. palmed the garter into her hands, then draped his arm about her waist. “So, you’re next in line, eh?”

“What?” This, after nearly fifteen years apart? No “Hello?”

It wasn’t until J.J. gently eased her down into a chair brought up front, however, that she remembered the wedding tradition. Before the dance of the “betrothed” couple, she had to try something on first.

Which meant J.J. would help, and have access to a place that, attention though it needed, was not where she wanted him right now.

Not yet.

So much for cool, calm, and collected.

Seated before the entire wedding closing around her, Claire’s body responded to the growing encouragement. What she had hoped would be a dignified reunion had quickly spiraled into a reality-TV spectacle as J.J. kneeled before her, removed one high heel, and lifted the leg.

“Here’s how this works,” Cal egged on from the stage, “every inch up her leg equals one year of wedded bliss. What do you say, J? Go for the golden anniversary?”

J.J. smirked. “What do you get for a hundred years?” he said, more to Claire than anyone else.

“A hundred? Some kind of metal out of Star Trek that built the ship, I bet,” Cal quipped. “Aaand, we’re off!”

Claire felt a chilling spark as the garter slipped from her hands into J.J.’s and looped around her bare foot. Because the dress dusted her at mid-calf, and because the day was rather warm, she had opted not to wear stockings.

Due to her limited wardrobe, she’d forgone a more essential item of clothing as well. Claire cursed her thrifty nature. If only she’d checked one more aisle at the drugstore…

Bass strings vibrated and strained the ominous theme from Jaws as the garter snaked up her leg and over her knee, J.J.’s soft fingerpads leaving behind a trail of shivers. She tried not to let her free leg bounce with her anxiety, but involuntary nerves got the best of her, and that foot raised on the ball and began a lively springing. Thankfully J.J. edged closer to stop it, but that maneuver did little help for her senses.

She felt wetter underneath the dress, the delta between her thighs slick. A slight brush of skin and silk hitting a dangerous zone alerted her to J.J.’s discovery of the same thing, and the bouquet fell from her hands to the floor so she could grasp the sides of the chair for support.

Claire looked around her, at men and women dressed in fine clothes, all clapping and cheering and laughing along to a times-old wedding game. Cal’s teasing bass increased its urgent rhythm and shook the floor. Each vibration was torture, licking up her labia with flames. She’d read somewhere once about a woman who achieved orgasm by doing nothing but sitting near a bassist’s speakers at a concert. Claire had to commend Cal for his ability to please a woman without touching her, excruciating though it was.

A finger scraped her pussy and she looked down at J.J.’s bewitching smile. No sense trying to deny it now—he knew she wasn’t wearing underwear, and he had her in a position where he could take free advantage. How graceful could a bouquet catcher look leaping from her throne with a man’s hand up her crotch? It couldn’t be done.

So she closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable probing of her wet slit. To be honest, it would feel good to be touched, to have months of pent-up sexual frustration released. Given the way J.J.’s fingers expertly secured the garter around her thigh, he seemed a good candidate to assist.

But his hands retreated and he rocked away, sitting back on his haunches. He waggled his fingers in the air to indicate his mission was a success, and Claire’s head filled to capacity with the roar of an approving crowd.

“Hey, Jay, where’s your watch?” a slurred male voice shouted from the back. There was laughter, even a few gasps of dismay for the minors within earshot. Claire tried to zero in on that heckler but was distracted when J.J. jerked her upright and scooped her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she cried, and kicked her feet skyward. Then she realized her nether regions might be made visible by the action. So she crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs, but that seemed only to put more pressure on her throbbing clit and to heighten her enraged lust.

“Hey, Marbury, you’re supposed to marry her before you carry her over the threshold,” Cal called over to them. “Or at least over to the pet supplies aisle. Where you going, man?”

J.J. filed past wedding guests and wove around tables, into the aforementioned sales aisle. Claire watched over his shoulder as the wedding shrank with increased distance. A mixture of reactions were left in the wake—Ellie beamed proudly, Lauren cackled into Jake’s shoulder and toasted their departure with her champagne flute. Cal shrugged and motioned to his band to play. Over J.J.’s labored breathing she heard the bassist quip about J.J.’s giving the wedding a miss and going straight for the honeymoon.

Technically, he was taking them to the back of the store, down the hall and into a restricted area. When the world slowed to normal, and J.J. returned her to a standing position, she realized they were in the employee lounge. Standard minimum wage and safety posters Claire remembered from teenaged summer jobs lined the beige walls. A small table with mismatched chairs took up one corner, a refrigerator the other.

And J.J. locked the door behind them. He turned toward her, shedding his jacket. His darkened eyes reflected his passion.

“You know what, I changed my mind,” he said. “I want the garter back.”