Lowtown Nights: End of Day
by
Rocky-Cat
Disclaimer: Wolverine and the employees of the Princess Bar belong to Marvel. Cody is an original creation. This story is for fun, not for profit. Please feel free to archive at will, with proper notification.
Lowtown, Madripoor
My name is Dakota. "Cody" to people I like. "History" to people I don't. My parents had an odd sense of humor. Named us all after places they'd lived. They were funny that way. Wasn't too bad for me. Worked out okay for Carolina. Didn't work all that well for Iowa. He calls himself Mike these days. So would I.
I'm not too impressive looking but I can take care of myself when I have to. Around here I've had to. I've been stuck in this rat-infested fleabag for two months now, trying to scrape together enough money to get myself back home. My so-called boyfriend ran out on me, maxxed out my credit card and took all that was left of my cash. In a place like this the police could care less. There were two career options open to me and the first one didn't exactly float my boat. So that's how I ended up tending bar at The Princess, a grandiose, incongruous name if I ever heard one, and I'm an authority on bizarre names.
This place is a real dive, with some of the nastiest looking rough-trade clientele that you ever want to see. They're mean S.O.B.'s but once you establish who's the jefe they're not so bad. That's Belle's job. She's the boss-lady and she keeps this miserable lot on a short leash. At least most of the time.
Belle's a sweet old thing but when she says, "Jump," the only acceptable answer is, "How high?" That's why I was surprised when she pointed out one of the boozers, a mangy specimen I hadn't noticed yet, and suggested that I be extra nice to him. That automatically made him worth a second look.
It's not like there was that much to see. The guy was short, hairy, and unpleasant looking. Oh yeah, and a black patch covered one eye. Maybe that made him seem mysterious to some women. Me, didn't matter one way or the next. He was sitting by himself at one end of the bar and putting away a pretty remarkable amount of Scotch, even for this crowd. Even more remarkable was the fact that Belle was serving him the real stuff, straight, not the watered-down rotgut that everyone else here got. Guy must have a hollow leg to go with his missing eye 'cause he didn't look even slightly wasted.
Eventually I saw him call Belle over and she leaned over the bar to hear him, her more than ample bosom pushing its way out of the antique dress she always affected. He gave me a quick once-over and turned back to Belle. I heard snatches of their conversation.
"Who's the new window-dressing, darlin'?" His voice was low, deep in timbre, and hearing it I felt like a cat whose fur had been stroked the wrong way.
Customers claimed my attention again and only a few words of Belle's answer drifted my way. "Dakota. . . stranded. . . good worker. . . reliable. . . tough. . . " The man's expression became more speculative and his gaze was frankly appraising. He saw me watching him and a slow smile spread around the stubby cigar clenched in his teeth. I feigned absorption in my task, popping the cap off another cheap Chinese beer, but he knew I'd seen him. His cocky grin said as much and, as much as I disliked it, I felt my heartbeat pick up perceptibly. Anger, I told myself. Just another obnoxious bastard giving me the eye. That's all you ever get around here.
Belle drifted my way later on and I asked her what's the deal with that guy. He's still sitting there, putting away the Scotch like it was water, glancing my way every so often, and not much else.
"Oh, him," she said matter-of-factly, her New Yawk accent twisting the simple words almost beyond recognition. "That's Patch. He's a character, for sure, but," she looked at me shrewdly, "he can be your best friend here if you let him."
I snorted inelegantly. "I've had my fill of 'friends' like that. Thanks, but no thanks."
"Suit yourself, dear," and blessedly that was the last I heard of that.
* * *
There are some swanky places in Madripoor, but none of them are in Lowtown and, even for Lowtown, the Princess Bar occupies a category unto itself. It's definitely not where the elite meet to eat. But it's mine -- or at least half of it is.
In this sorry part of the world I'm known as Patch. The rest of the world would know me as Wolverine if they bothered to think about me at all. Ya see, they think I'm dead, along with the rest of the X-Men, and for now it suits us fine to let them keep thinking that way.
But sometimes -- okay, a lot of the time -- I just can't take Australia any longer. The close quarters, the inactivity, it gets on my nerves. That's why I come here. Can't be the best at what you do when what you're doing is squat.
Things have been too quiet in Lowtown lately. That makes me certain something's up. I don't mean the gambling and the whoring. That's all legal here. All I know is that something doesn't smell right and this Canuck's beezer ain't often wrong.
Automatically makes me suspicious of anyone new around here and that includes the new girl Belle's hired to tend bar. American, hard-luck story she tells me. That's fine, as far as it goes. Still, I'd just a soon keep an eye on her and seein' as how she's not too rough on the eye I'm feelin' no pain.
Belle says her name is Dakota and it seems to suit her. She's taller than I am -- yeah, I know that's not too tough -- with straight, dark hair and dusky skin. I'm willing to bet there's some Native American in her somewhere. Automatic soft spot. There's a severity to her mouth that I'm sure serves her well when she has to fend off the drunks who think any woman in this part of town is theirs for the taking. And she smells like autumn. Even through the stink of sour beer, the reek of stale tobacco smoke, and the stench of unwashed customers I can pick up her scent clearly. It's the musk of the forest after a rainfall; the rich aroma of dried leaves crunched underfoot, the late October sun unexpectedly warm on your shoulders. Right, I know the last isn't a smell but when you experience sensations at such a heightened level sometimes you have to reach to put them into words. This is what she smells like to me, okay? And I like it.
But it's her eyes that blow me away. Green, but not the kind of green that makes me think of someone else. They're pine green, rich and verdant, deep and earthy. If she looks my way long enough I know I'll find myself aching for the Canadian mountains and heading back that way in a second. But she won't catch my eye for more than a second at a time. Guess I'm just not her type and y'know what? I can live with that.
O'Donell's got a handle on the place tonight and things are so calm my skin is prickling with tension. Maybe I'll head out into the street and see if someone is dumb enough to start something with me. I could stand to blow off some of the steam that's been building up. If I'm lucky, maybe I can get a piece of a barroom brawl somewhere. Anywhere but here. O'Donnell is getting pretty teed off about having to replace the furniture in here after I've had a little workout. Much as I hate to admit it, the guy's right and it's hurting my bank account some, too.
I knock back the rest of the shot I've been working on, the good stuff that Belle keeps just for me, and head towards the street. On impulse I turn at the door and quickly seek out Dakota's scent once more. She's at the bar sink, rinsing out some glasses, and out of the corner of her eye she catches my glance. At first she reacts like a rabbit -- "Maybe if I stand stock still in the middle of this open field no one will realize I'm here." Then she straightens slowly and looks directly at me. G-d, those eyes! They speak volumes, but damned if I know what they're saying. I smile at her, nod once, and go outside.
* * *
He's trying to pick me up! That little runt is actually trying to pick me up. Sheesh. Another one. That's all I need. Still. . . there's something about his smile. The quirky way his lips turn up around that damned cigar. The way those heavy brows draw down. I don't think I've ever seen so much hair on so little person. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners and the fire that's burning deep inside them. My breath catches when I think of that flame and I wish that just once a fire like that could burn for me. An inferno raging out of control, a passion that will pull me in, burn me to the core and cleanse my soul. A fire that will mark me forever and leave me knowing at the same time the flames of Hell and the ecstasies of Heaven.
Maybe, just maybe, this. . .
Not a chance. All this guy wants is the same thing that every other guy wants. A quick lay. In and out. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. Why should this Patch be any different from any other guy on the prowl? Get a grip on yourself, girl. You're starting to go soft in the head.
Soon enough it's time to close down and go home. This is the part of the day that I dread. Not so much rousting the passed out drunks, that's part of what we pay off the police for. It isn't even cleaning up this sewer and setting up again for tomorrow, although that's disgusting enough by itself. No, it's the fact that when I go home I'm genuinely alone. My quiet little apartment is dreary and sad and serves only to remind me that I'm stuck here with no foreseeable way out. Even the roaches seem to have friends, but me? Nope, I'm completely alone.
There's a difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is peaceful and self-reliant. It's self-contained and serene. It's being alone but never lonely. It's bright, clear, lucent and placid. Loneliness, on the other hand, is constricting and bitter. It tastes of ashes and dust. It glories in its own narrowness and pain. It's varying shades of gray with the occasional jagged streak of midnight black.
My life, at this point, is teetering right on that divide. The fall seems tempting but I'm not sure I'm ready to go sailing out over nothingness just yet. Always did have a little fear of flying.
That little reverie got me through most of the early A.M. clean-up and I wave good-bye to Belle as she locks up behind me. She lives upstairs from the Princess so she has it easy. Her usual cautionary warning, "Be careful, dear," goes in one ear and out the other. You can't be less than careful and live to see another day in Madripoor.
Dawn doesn't differentiate between the rich and the poor here or anywhere else. Between the lopsided crumbling tenement buildings I can just see the incipient veins of pink and orange streaking through the sky as the sun peeks up haltingly over the harbor. Sometimes I think even daylight is a little leery of being caught alone in Lowtown.
I stumble a little and realize I let my concentration slip for a moment. That was all it took. The foot that tripped me up is now joined by a hand grabbing roughly at my arm. At this point instinct kicks in and I barely register that there are three men surrounding me, each one bigger and uglier than the next. I can either get away in one piece or I can stay here, permanently, in a whole lot of pieces. Pain, breathing, and desperation are all the same as I do the best I can. My fists and feet are flying but I don't think the odds are exactly in my favor this time.
* * *
Wouldn't ya know it? Bar fights here are a dime a dozen and they always seem to find me except the one time I'm looking for one. Well, there's always tomorrow night. The best plan of action seems to be getting a few hours sleep and then seeing if I can nose out some dirt on who's up to what. I suspect General Coy is looking to stir things up again but I'll need something more concrete to go on before I start busting on him good.
I'm busy punching down the frustration and excess adrenaline when I catch the sounds of a sidestreet scuffle. Only three or four people from the sound of it, but it's better than nothing. Silently I slide between buildings and around corners until I'm struck by a scent that doesn't belong here. My nose wrinkles as I inhale more deeply and identify that autumnal tang. Damn! It's Belle's girl, Dakota.
Immediately I'm in the middle of the fray, kicking and punching away. The claws won't come out tonight since I'd just as soon not be identified as Wolverine but it's unlikely that this drunken crew would remember seeing them anyway. Not like I need claws to take care of this bunch. There're only three of them, after all. Hardly fair odds. For them, that is.
The thing about a drunk is that he doesn't know when he's had enough. These goons won't go down easy, despite the serious pounding I'm handing them. All the more fun for me, kiddies.
Sometime after I find my rhythm I realize that Dakota is holding her own pretty well, better than I'd expected. That insight is immediately followed by a rounding side kick that catches the side of my head. A high heel rakes down the side of my face, scoring a bloody furrow. The wound will heal in a moment but that doesn't make the pain any less real, 'specially since we're supposed to be fighting on the same side.
I know that Dakota is in a zone, fighting blindly and lashing out at anything she can reach. A real little tiger, but she doesn't realize that I'm not one of her attackers. Another thug taken care of, then it's just the two of us, facing off in the narrow, grimy alley. She's still in the grip of a survivalist frenzy and I can smell the bloodlust on her. Rage and fear are clouding her vision and I can tell she still doesn't know who I am. Her dark hair is wild, her breathing ragged and those amazing eyes are the deepest green, turbulent and chaotic like a storm-ravaged ocean.
I'm losing myself in that sea and almost miss her charge. She comes flying at me, arm cocked back to swing. I'm able to duck her punch easily and as she passes by me I reach out and pull her up against me. My arms wrap tightly around her and help subdue her continued struggles. It was an easy choice to pull her back against my front. A woman like this would be all too ready to try to knee my balls up my throat the hard way and I never did like singin' soprano. As it is she's still trying to stomp my instep with those lethal heels of hers and she's still flailing around, trying to get loose.
Gradually I can feel her struggles weakening and I nudge her hair back away from her ear and begin whispering to her. I don't even know what I'm saying and it likely doesn't matter. The tone is steady and soothing, though, and soon enough the calming litany penetrates her conscious mind. Whispering her name seems to call her back to herself.
"Dakota, take it easy, darlin'."
* * *
"Cody. M'name's Cody."
The lurid red haze departs only reluctantly and I realize I'm mumbling my name over and over. I'm fighting to take stock of who I am, where I am, and what's happened to me. Bit by bit I remember leaving the Princess Bar, then the attack, the fight, and now? I understand that the man holding me helped rescue me and I have nothing to fear from him, but who is he?
I can feel his arms around me, tight to prevent me from hurting him, but strong and soothing at the same time. His arms are furry and his body solid. I almost giggle, wondering if my knight in shining armor is really a wolf in cheap clothing. Oh man, I must really be punchy to have come up with that one.
My knees are weak, though, and I don't think it has anything to do with the fight. He's whispering something in my ear and the warm huff of his breath feels so good. His hairy cheek grazes my bare neck in a rough tease and his lips just barely brush along my earlobe as I move against him. His lips are soft, much softer than I would have guessed. I imagine what it would feel like to have his tongue sliding down my neck and my breath catches audibly. I feel a bolt of energy crackling straight through me, connecting his mouth to that secret spot between my legs. Oh Lord, I've got to put a stop to this right now!
"'s okay. I'm all right now, mister."
His arms slowly relax and I push away from him tentatively. My head is still spinning a bit and I hurt everywhere. I turn in his lax embrace and recognition hits me. My rescuer is Patch, that shaggy little boozer from the bar. He looking me over critically, probably assessing the extent of my injuries, and frankly I don't feel too great. I'm still disoriented enough that he's actually starting to look good to me. That faint smirk almost seems sexy and I can swear that the fire in his eye is burning hotter and hotter the longer he looks at me. I'm starting to feel hot now, too. Great. In addition to a beating I must have gotten a fever, too. Time to go home and put this shipwreck to bed.
"You walk okay, darlin'? C'mon, let's get you home." His arm stays around my waist, impersonal but supportive. It's just as well. I doubt I could make it any other way.
The three flights of stairs up to my place are some kind of fresh hell. At the top I'm ready to thank him and send him packing but he's not having any of it.
"Not until I'm sure you're going to be okay," he says, taking my keys out of my fumbling grasp and pushing me gently inside.
"Look, I just need a hot bath and few hours sleep and I'll be fine. Honest. And Patch. . . thanks."
"Don't sweat it, kid. I should be thanking you." There's some hidden meaning to his words but that puzzle is way beyond me right now. "I don't think you're concussed but I'm stayin' here until you come out of that tub. If I don't hear from you in half an hour I'm comin' in after you. Got that, Cody?"
Some devil beyond my control is pushing me. That's the only explanation I can find for what I say next. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"A promise, girl. Now get going." His voice is husky but there's a note of genuine concern there, too.
The tile in the tiny bathroom is cracked but at least it's clean. Soon wispy tendrils of steam are rising from the tub and I toss my clothes in a pile on the floor and slide gingerly into the welcoming heat. I bite my lip to stifle a cry as the water finds cuts and scrapes I wasn't even aware of but in a moment I'm stretched full length and letting the heat work its magic on all my aches.
Time has no meaning in this cozy little womb. The tub is my retreat, my personal sanctuary. No problem ever seems insurmountable after a good long soak. Not even the question of what to do about the curious Mr. Patch waiting outside my door. I could get used to him, I think. This guy's no professional Good Samaritan, I'm sure, but he was there for me when I needed him. That counts for a lot in my book.
My eyes close and I sink further down into the water as I remember how his body felt pressed against mine. Hard in all the right places, soft where it really counts. I imagine he must be just as hairy under his clothes and I wonder what that would feel like brushing against my naked skin. Despite the heat in the small room my nipples have gotten hard and I begin to brush at them lightly as I continue envisioning Patch's bare body.
Short but powerful, his chest is broad and I felt as if I'd been slammed against a brick wall when he pulled me up against him. I want to touch that chest and feel the interplay of the muscles along his back as I hold him tightly. I could tangle my fingers in that mat of hair and brush my nipples against his 'til they're as hard as mine.
My thoughts drift lower, as does my hand. His thighs are chiseled, defined, and powerful. His ass round and hard. You could crack diamonds on that butt. I'm aching to run my hands up his legs and tease him to distraction. I want to make that fire in his eye rage out of control before I touch him there, before I let him touch me. I can even hear his rough voice whispering my name again, this time raw with desperate need, as I finally let him slip between my legs. He's rigid in my hand and oh so hot inside of me. My fingers speed up their rhythm moving faster and faster until finally I'm there, gasping and panting and clenching my teeth to keep from calling out his name. If only the real world worked the same way our fantasies do.
Eventually I remember where I am and become mindful of Patch's threat. . . er, promise. My breathing is almost normal now and I lift myself to a sitting position in the tub and slowly open my eyes. When I reach blindly for the towel it's not there. Turning around I see what's happened to it.
Standing beyond me, just out of arm's reach, is Patch, holding my towel in front of him. He's smiling, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes are nearly black, his expression inscrutable. The effect is chilling, but at the same time exciting.
Shit. Just what does he know?
* * *
Baby-sitting is not my usual line of work. Still, I feel some responsibility for Cody, at least until I know she's really all right. For good measure I call Belle and tell her not to expect Cody in to work tomorrow night. Normally, something like this would cost the kid her job, but coming from me, the excuse is as good as gold.
Quiet splashes and other normal noises coming from the bathroom assure me that Cody's doing fine so far. I relax into the worn couch and scan around the impersonally furnished room until my eyes light on a well-thumbed paperback. It's Blue Highways by William Least Heat Moon. Looks like the lady's got the travel bug but good. Too bad for her. Look where it got her.
Suddenly I realize that the expected noises from the other room have changed. Now I'm hearing rapid, shallow breathing and I pick up a distinct change in Cody's scent. Hurriedly, silently I move towards the door and ease it open soundlessly. I grin broadly and mentally breathe a sigh of relief when I see the reason for the change.
Cody's head, long hair piled high atop it, is thrown back against the rim of the tub and her flushed cheeks have nothing to do with the heat of her bath water. One hand is cupping her breast, elegant fingers lightly pinching her large nipple. The other hand is out of sight between her long legs, doing something I can't see but can sure as hell guess at. She's fighting to stifle her moans of pleasure and the soft, strangled sounds are almost as arousing as the sight of her hands touching herself so intimately.
I'm staring hard at her breasts, incredibly turned on by the sight of those beautiful hard nipples. I realize that I want nothing more right now than to take one in my mouth, roll it on my tongue, and suckle at it until she begs for more. I'm adjusting myself in my trousers, making room for my now insistent erection, when her scent changes yet again, intensifying into something so unbearably sweet that I almost cry out in frustration. Her orgasm claims her and I'm able to watch her face as the tension finally releases, leaving her glowing and serene. For a moment only I catch a glimpse of her unguarded expression and know that I've seen something special. Despite knowing that I've shamelessly invaded Cody's privacy I can't feel sorry for the beautiful scene I've just witnessed.
Soon Cody will open her eyes and, rather than leave like I know I should, I grab her towel and hold it against my chest. I'm still standing like that when she opens her green eyes directly into mine. To her credit, she covers the surprise very well.
I smell the traces of fear and uncertainty on her but she doesn't realize that I'm aware of her reaction. Determination steels her will and she reaches an arm out to me expectantly. Rather than hand her the towel, as I know she expects, I instead hold my empty hand out to her, offering to help her rise from the water. An eyebrow lifts in delicate mockery and she accepts my offer wordlessly, sliding her gaze down my body in assessment. She notices my erection and an almost imperceptible smile curls the corner of her mouth. I meet her gaze implacably. She rises a bit stiffly, only to be expected after what she's been through.
Cody's standing in front of me, streams of water running along her smooth skin. One stripe of moisture slowly works its way down from her shoulder along the top slope of her breast. My eyes are glued to it, just waiting for that single drop of water to fall from its tip. Perversely, it won't. The droplet hangs there, taunting me with its presence, daring me to reach out and end its existence. Instead I hand Cody the towel and watch as she wraps it around herself.
"Feelin' better, darlin'?"
"Much. Mind letting me finish up?"
"Be my guest." I'm in an expansive mood tonight.
This isn't the response she wants and she begins puttering around the bathroom with a disgruntled look on her face. She isn't angry, really. I'd feel it if she were. She's more nervous than anything else and I'm finding that very intriguing.
"Stop."
Cody wheels around towards me with a startled look and I realize I sound more abrupt than I mean to. She had picked up a brush and lifted a hand to the pins in her hair. Leaning against the door watching her as I was, it took a moment to register what she was up to. Now she's looking at me quizzically and I step behind her, turning her back to face the mirror. My hands rest on her shoulders, lingering longer than necessary. Her skin is hot and damp but its delicate, soft texture is still apparent. My fingers move lightly, learning that feel, willing myself to remember it always.
I close one hand over the soft cap of her shoulder, gently but decisively, and slide the other slowly up the side of her bare neck. My fingers ghost over the fine hairs at the nape of her neck and tease softly around her ear. Cody's eyes close and her head drops slightly to one side, baring her neck to me and offering full access. The animal in me exults in this surrender and I bite back a contented growl.
Firmly I push down on her shoulder to seat her in front of the mirror. The hairpins disappear quickly and I bring both hands up along the sides of her head, freeing her hair to fall down her back. Moments before the brush slides from Cody's lax grasp I take it from her and brush the length of her hair until it gleams and falls over my hands in an ebony cascade. She's so relaxed she doesn't even realize when I push the fall of hair to one side and graze my lips along her neck. A quiet sigh escapes her and my restrained cock pulses briefly against the suddenly too tight fabric of my pants.
My tongue follows, tasting her fresh, clean skin. Its smoothness is enthralling, demanding that I explore further. Her scent, though, is sending me spinning into another reality entirely. I can't get enough of that piney, earthy aroma. I'm inhaling deeply and feeling my control about to slip away when I hear a startled gasp. Opening my eyes into the mirror I catch Cody's wide green stare and see the reason for her alarm.
* * *
Fine. If this is the game he wants to play, let's play. I'm a big girl now and I'm not about to be pushed around by some hairy little fireplug who thinks it might be fun to intimidate me. I've been putting idiots like him in his place for longer than he might think. Besides, I don't scare that easily.
The last thing I expect, though, is that Patch is going to want to brush my hair. Not many men realize what a thoroughly sensuous experience it is, the gentle slide, the hypnotic repetitive motion, soothing and arousing at the same time. Patch seems to know exactly what he's doing, though, and soon I've relaxed into his hands completely. His touch is wondrously gentle but knowing and when his lips, hot and teasing, touch my neck I know that anything I have is his for the asking.
He can feel my capitulation and I feel the echoes of that realization rippling through his body. Something in him is pulling me in and impulsively I want to see him. A gasp is torn from me as I open my eyes to look at the man standing behind me in the mirror.
His head is bent into my neck, his dark hair melding imperceptibly into mine. His lips are lush and it's clear he's savoring the taste of my skin. Whiskers dragging along my shoulder, rough but caressing. His one visible eye is closed and his hands, rough palmed and thick fingered, are exploring my bared skin gently but it's clear that the man behind me is something less/something more than a man.
With his nostrils flared and lips pulled back from sharp, gleaming teeth his expression is at the same time predatory, possessive, and victorious. Looking into the eye of the animal staring back at me I'm both terrified and exhilarated. And I know in that moment that I want Patch and I will have him.
My eyes narrow and my breath is ragged as I push away from him, rise, and turn to face him. I feel his surprised satisfaction when I reach with both hands to pull him close and bring my mouth down on his forcefully. I swipe my tongue across his lips and they part under me. "Lips that taste of tears, they say, Are the best for kissing." Now where did that come from? It's true, though. The taste makes me want more and I drive my tongue deeply into his mouth, tasting, exploring, twining my tongue around his. Almost breathless I pull away and look at him searchingly.
"Who are you, Patch?"
"Call me Logan," he grates.
"Logan, then. Who are you?" I'm insistent.
"I'm just like you, Cody. I'm a traveler, lookin' for home."
"No, Logan. You're not like me. You're not like me at all." To drive my point home I slide my hand between our bodies, feeling the hard planes and cupping the bulging erection straining out towards me.
* * *
The touch of Cody's hand is electric and I push my hips harder into her, wanting to feel everything I can. The thin towel is still too much of a barrier and I slide my hand up under its edge, fingertips gliding along the sleek skin of her thigh, just teasing its inner softness before curling my fingers into the curve of her hip.
I'm looking hard into her eyes and I'm liking what I see. She's breathing hard, straining into my touch and pushing back against me but she's meeting my gaze steadily.
"No," I snarl into her ear and feel her shiver. "I'm nothing at all like you." For emphasis I grip her ass hard and nip just a little too hard at her neck. "Bed," I demand.
Cody responds with a slight shake of her head and swallows hard. "Futon," she says. "Living room."
Somehow we make it back out there but I don't see this futon she's talking about. Instead I do the next best thing and, grabbing both ends of her towel, I bunch it around her waist and use the grip to pull her up against me. Mouths locked together, I'm starting to think that this can't get much better when I feel hands pulling at the buttons of my shirt and then Cody slowly, deliberately brushing her naked breasts against my chest.
"Been wanting to do that all night, Logan," she practically purrs at me. "Mmmm. . . it does feel good."
"It gets better, darlin'," I tell her, pushing her hand down to the waistband of my pants.
The kid's a quick study and she gets the hint. A lazy smile curls her lips and she undoes my pants -- slowly. So slowly that I'm about to finish the job for her when my erection springs free and is immediately recaptured in a cool hand. She's doing these little things with her fingers that I'm sure are gonna make me go crazy any second.
"You've done this once or twice."
"Mmm...yeah. A coupla times. You?"
"No, but I'm a fast learner." One side of my mouth twists up a wry smile. "Think you can show me how this works?"
"I'd say it's working just fine." Cody flicks her fingertips over the head of my penis and collects some of the moisture. Holding my gaze she brings her finger to her mouth and slowly licks it clean. My pulse is racing faster than Quicksilver on bennies when she smiles and says, "But I'm sure there's something I can show you.
"I want to taste you, Logan. I want you in my mouth. I want to get to know every delicious inch of you." For emphasis she clasps my cock tightly in her hand and pumps down its full length. Her smile is older than Eve and twice as wicked as she kneels down in front of me and pulls off the rest of my clothes.
Nothing Cody does is accidental, I'm learning. Nor is it rushed. Cody meant what she said about getting to know all of me but she's taking her own sweet time doing it. She definitely is showing me something new, though. She's showing me every goddamned starburst, supernova, and constellation in the entire known universe, and a few others, to boot. Her hot, sweet mouth is taking me places I never knew existed. I feel like I'm about to burst into flame. I'm half-sitting half-leaning against the back of the couch and I swear my legs are trembling. She's got one hand wrapped around the base of my cock, stroking and squeezing in this unreal twisting motion and another finger is insinuating itself behind my balls, teasing its way closer to my ass. All the while her eyes are closed tightly and she's making these incredibly sexy little noises like she's really getting into it, too.
"Cody. . . Christ!" She does something -- G-d only knows what -- with her tongue and the slit of my penis and then her mouth comes down on me hard, all the way. She's sucking hard and her fingernails are curled tightly into my ass, holding herself close. She's whimpering wildly around me and as she swallows convulsively around me I lose it. She's right there with me, true to her word, swallowing every drop and gently licking me clean. Then she sits back on her heels and looks up me, lazy and satisfied, looking for all the world like a cat that got into the cream. Which she did.
I'm still more than half-hard when I pull her up along my body, hold her close, and share the taste of myself in her mouth. Drawing on her lips, feeling her breasts crushed up against me I feel myself getting hard again. I've got a double handful of Cody's round ass and she's still looking far too pleased with herself. I palm one breast and drop my head down to take the other in my mouth. My tongue on her nipple does things for her. Me, too. The scent of her arousal is getting stronger and sweeter and I can't wait anymore.
In a quick movement I've got her bent facedown over the back of the couch, her hands steadying herself on the pillows. The height is perfect. Cody's long smooth back stretches out in front of me, her dark hair falling forward hiding her face. Slowly I drag my chest along the delicate skin, savoring its velvety texture, until I'm nuzzling her neck. She throws her head back and I nip at her ear, then trace its edge with my tongue. My breath hot against her I growl soft and low, "It's feedin' time, baby, and I'm real hungry."
Cody shivers and pushes back against me, no fear in her scent, only a hunger to match mine. Positioning myself at her entrance I slip in, smooth and slick. Christ, she feels like heaven. I hold still just to enjoy the feel of her around me and chuckle as she whimpers in frustration. Nah, I'm gonna take my time here, go slow, make it last. She's worth that much.
Still hilted inside her I reach around and start caressing her breasts again. Her whimpers turn to moans and she starts pushing back into me, trying to force my pace. Well, I'm nothing if not a gentleman. If the lady wants me to move, I'm willin' to oblige. Long strokes, slow and deep. I pull out all the way and enter her again and again. It's not what Cody wants, but damn if she doesn't feel too good to rush it. I'm too absorbed in the headiness to realize it but Cody's hand has crept around between her legs and she's working at herself, looking to add to the sensations. I'm grinning as I pull her hand up behind her back, adding the other arm for good measure, and hold both her wrists pinned there with one hand.
"Uh, uh, darlin'," I admonish. "That's for me now."
Anger is building and that's not what I want. Still holding her wrists I let my free hand take over from her, rubbing gentle circles on her clitoris, increasing in tempo in pace with the speed of my thrusts. Soon I'm pounding into her wildly and loving the feel of her clenching tightly around me. We're both sweat-slicked and breathing heavily. She's meeting my thrusts forcefully and squirming to free her hands, alternately cursing and begging when she's able to get words out at all. Her legs begin to tremble and her scent changes like it did before -- so sweet I almost want to cry.
"Let it go, baby," I whisper gruffly, releasing her hands and clutching at her hips. "Come with me, darlin', together."
I'm holding out, just barely, fighting the urge to go off like a Minuteman, when Cody cries out, arches her back, and clenches around me so tightly that I'm afraid one of us is going to pass out. Instead, with a barely repressed roar, I explode inside her, feeling her intense spasms and trembling body. My head thrown back, my world reduced to pure sensation, focused on the spot where we're joined together. Nothing else exists for me and I don't want anything else ever to.
I won't pull out from her, not even when I feel myself begin to soften inside her. Drawing Cody's limp, exhausted body tight against me I lay us both down gently on the floor, grabbing some of my discarded clothes to cushion our heads. She grumbles something complainingly as we settle on the scratchy carpet but she also wiggles her butt back into my lap and snuggles her head into my shoulder. My arm slides around her and clasps her breast. Mine. Curled protectively around her, Cody's body warm and pliant against me, the air doesn't seem that cold, the floor that unyielding, or the world that harsh.
Cody's chest rises and falls with the regular rhythms of an untroubled sleep. In a moment I join her in that tranquil world.
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