Cat on the Fence II

Hearing shoes scuff the Moroccan tile, Blue spun on her heels. Face set into an apprehensive frown, arms crossing over her chest and shoulders raised as though to add some height, she met the man’s gaze with a banishing statement readied. Yet slackened almost instantly. “I thought you were Richard,” Vincent decided her voice was far softer than he’d imagined.

“Wishful thinking?” Slowly, he advanced, both hands hidden in his pockets, hair tousled by the breeze, and stood by the girl’s side with his shoulder delicately brushing hers. Wondering if her skin crawled at the touch as his, begging for closeness.

A European accent thickened his words, lips speaking in such a way she imagined them in rather compromising places. Though she made good work of hiding it. “Not exactly the word I’d use,”

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Vincent turned to face the girl after a moment of truncated silence, her eyes flickering to his own, smile warm in a way that softened his complete harshness. Beneath the shy glow of the streetlights reaching with clawing fingers to caress the face she’d rather stay a mystery for the sake of her own self-control, Blue wondered what color his eyes were. Wondered if the wide, angular mouth would kiss or bite her thigh. If his hands were soft or calloused. If he sighed or growled.

“Haven’t heard that tonight,”

“Are you usually this short?”

Finally, the woman's eyes shifting to his own, she smiled a small smile. One he’d hoped was the first genuine of the night. Gripping the railing beside him, Blue wondered whether his knuckles were white from the summer chill or from struggling with the same disgusting urges as she. But hadn’t the guts to ask. Instead, narrowed her eyes with a small, troublesome smile, “Only to the people I don’t like,” and pressed her knees together to stifle her need as a stony hand dwarfed her shoulder.

“You don’t like me? I thought we were hitting it off…” Staring into the woman’s eyes, hand tugging her so slightly closer, he imagined her lips—wanted to know if they were soft, if her breath was warm. If she’d gasp sweetly if his fingers flexed around her neck, if she’d lose breath, if she’d squirm, if she’d moan, if she’d cum… If her stomach was warm beneath her shirt. If her feet were soft sliding up and down his leg. If she was innocent, devilish. If she’d sob or scream when driven to the point of complete and total insanity.

“Maybe give me a present and my opinion of you might change,” The corners of her mouth flickered upward as she spoke, her eyes reflecting the delicate lighting that tumbled from the landing with nothing but a reminder they were in a fragile position. The doors weren't locked, their voices weren't low...

“Tell me what you want, I’m at your mercy,”

“Blue?!” Suddenly, the bright smile Vincent felt a privilege to bask in had fallen, and the girl stared up at him with a look split in two equal parts of disappointment and an apt realization. Of what?

Quickly, Blue glanced towards the door, all too knowing of her duty to receive her parent’s praises. And as she met the man’s waiting gaze as she had many times already, brows furrowed so gently, she didn’t feel she had any choice. “I’m sorry, I have to go-”

Breaking from the railing, she began her fidgety approach of the door. She straightened up, sucked in a quick breath, and hoped her father wouldn’t breach the balcony doors to see her alone with a strange man she hadn’t a clue about.

Vincent acted without thinking.

Gripping her upper arm so firmly he was afraid she’d mark, he wedged the girl between himself and the balcony railing. Despite the sobering chill of the metal against her stomach and a small grunt of surprise reminding her of her own mortality, Blue couldn’t bring herself to feel much at all besides his hands flattened against her stomach and the firmness of an obvious erection pressing into her backside. Didn’t dare to speak a word.

“Blue?” The voice drew nearer. “Vincent? Have you seen my daughter?” Vincent. Blue could certainly imagine screaming the name.

Existential dread swelled her chest where each muffled breath failed. She wondered how ruined she would be if her father found her flush against a man who very well could be part of the help, yet couldn’t bring herself to care. Mindlessly, she rocked back against the man so slightly, head pressing delicately into his chin, and released a shaky breath as his knuckles grazed the fly of her jeans. And decided a love affair with a maid would be the best thing to happen to her in a very long time.

“There’s a group drinking out the back, have you checked there?” the words rumbled in his throat against her skull, hand flattening between her legs and heart thumping so steadily against her back… Yet she never felt so much further away, her closeness dwarfed by the desire to be stuffed to the brim by the very bulge that hardened with her each rasping breath.

"Okay... give me a shout if you see her,"

"Will do," His breath warmed her skin, hands pressing her groin into his own. With the distant rattle of the door swinging shut and the breeze it fanned towards them, Vincent couldn’t bring himself to move. Blue had no desire to, either. Stiffly, he bowed his lips to the crook of the woman’s neck. Rocked forwards so slightly. Brushed the waistband of her jeans with the tips of his fingers. “Can I touch you?” Whispered the words into her skin. Her own knuckles white around the edge of the balcony. Hair curling around her face with the gentle breeze.

“Please,” and so he did.