The Bet 116

I could be a cheater. I could be a liar. I could just skip all the drama and run away. No one would find me. Of course, I'd know I was a wussy little coward, but the shame would wear off eventually. That'd be a small price to pay to keep what's left of my dignity.

I steer the Lexus to the curb of the Ritz-Carlton and hand my keys to the hipster-skinny valet huddled heroically against the March wind. The fancy-pants cobbled entranceway was designed by someone who's never worn heels, and mine are killer. Flirting that delicate line between sexy and porn star, the four-inch, midnight blue death traps make my calves thinner and my ass oh-so-perky. Beauty is pain. Right now, I need all the help I can get.

If I didn't love tequila almost as much as air, I wouldn't be in this mess. Like a lousy lover, it sweet-talked me with promises, convincing me that I'm beautiful, and funny, and spontaneous. Then it kicked my ass into next Tuesday.

I'm never drinking again. Tequila and me? We've officially broken up.

I head straight for the bank of elevators when I hit the lobby. I might want to ride off into the sunset Thelma and Louise style, but I'd only hope for such a poignant end if my friends ever found out I reneged on the bet. Some people have the kind of friends that send you cupcakes on your birthday. Mine get you shit-face drunk and post the evidence on Instagram. Mercy's got no currency when a good laugh's at stake.

The elevator doors open on the fourteenth floor, and I breathe slowly out through my teeth. Even though I'm already walking down the corridor, scanning for 1425, part of me doesn't quite believe it. That's the sane part of me. The rest of me keeps going.

The churning in my gut isn't all anxiety. Confession time. My deepest, most intimate fantasies have always involved fucking women. More specifically, women fucking me. This is my chance, and I'm still debating whether to seize it or run like hell.

1425. I knock before I lose my nerve.

She's entirely unexpected and my knees wobble. Five-foot-eight with broad shoulders and narrow hips, she couldn't possibly be the...Could she?

"Hi, you must be Meg." Her eyes are so blue I blink. She's not quite smiling, not quite smirking. A lazy half tilt of lips. She's expecting an answer, but I'm two steps behind her, still taking in the fact that she's...well, she's...butch. No one says that anymore, but there's just no better word to describe that way of embodying masculinity in a form so lusciously female.

Her blond hair's short and lighter on top, as if she spends a lot of time outdoors. She looks capable, like I could hand her a power tool and she'd know how to use it. Like she isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Like she wouldn't break a sweat fucking me.

"Um, hi," I say, smooth as sandpaper. I should leave. Right after I scrape my tongue back into my mouth.

She swings the door wider and motions for me to come in. I do. Tequila didn't give me a lot of choice in the matter.

"I've never done this before. Had sex with a hooker, I mean. I've never had sex with a woman, either. Actually, I've never had sex with anyone. I'm, like, a total virgin," I blurt the instant I'm over the threshold, then immediately clap my hand over my mouth. Oh my God.

Her sultry ocean eyes laugh. "Sex worker."

That's right. I tell a professional I'm a virgin and she corrects my vocabulary.

"Sorry. I've never had sex with...someone who's paid." Heat rises up my neck, reminding me why the phrase out of your depth was coined.

"That's okay. We can take it as slow as you need. I'm Lane. It's nice to meet you." She takes my hand as if we're on a date and leads me to a couch in a corner of the room. "Why don't you tell me why you're here."

I don't really want to talk, but I can't help myself. I blab when I'm nervous. The three brain cells in my head still functioning are preoccupied, admiring the way her shirt pulls against the swell of her breasts. It looks starched. Do people still starch stuff? It's endearing and I imagine opening it, one button at a time. The heat migrates to my cheeks.

"I'm not really supposed to be here," I tell her, half statement, half apology.

She nods as if this makes perfect sense when it obviously doesn't. She hasn't let go of my hand, and her fingers wrapped around mine set a fire alarm shrieking in my head. Too hot to handle.

"Two nights ago, I was at this club with my friends, Cassie and Jordan. It was my birthday, and I got pretty wasted. Like, can't stand up on my own wasted. Anyway, Jordan bet me I wouldn't be able to down three tequila shots in succession without choking. I'm an idiot and took the bet. When I lost, I knew I'd have to sleep with a girl."

It's that word girl that finally shuts me up. There are so many words I could use to describe her: stunning, gorgeous, sexy, but girl wouldn't make the list.

"Why?" she asks.

She's rubbing circles over the inside of my wrist. I'm not sure why touching my wrist should make it hard for me to breathe, but if she doesn't stop soon, I'll need a paper bag. My nipples harden and the breath I can't catch expands in my throat. Can she see my hard nipples through my dress? Should I care if she can?

"Because that's the payment for any bet Jordan makes. She thinks it's weird I've never...you know."

She does know. Far better than me. That's exactly the point. How many other fidgety women has she had on this couch? Loads, probably.

"Jordan doesn't understand why I've never had sex. So she's always making bets to try and get someone to pop my cherry," I tell her, like everyone says pop my cherry and I'm not completely losing it.

Lane leans toward me and our thighs press together. Even through the fabric, I can tell she's solid muscle.

"Why are you still a virgin?" Her voice is low, intimate. She brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and I forget the question. Her lips are so close. I want her to kiss me. Imagine it. Try to will it into existence.

Please. Kiss me.

"Meg?"

"I didn't really know I was gay until college and I never wanted a girlfriend. But, well, no girlfriend, no sex. I've never met a lesbian who can fuck without getting attached. All my friends' hookups were so much drama." I flush. It's true, but it still makes me sound like an asshole. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Why am I explaining my desire for romance-free, drama-free sex to a sex worker? She gets it.

"Is that why you're here? So I'll fuck you without getting attached?" she asks.

I nod. I'm distracted processing the way the word fuck sounds coming out of her mouth. I want her to say it again with her fingers moving inside me.

"I figured, well, I figured this arrangement would be perfect. Plus, I have to tell my friends about it later, and if sex is anything like kissing, girls you're dating get really annoyed when you talk about it. I learned that freshman year when Bianca Turner and I made out in the library." I bite the inside of my lip. Next thing you know I'll be telling her about my first crush and my daddy issues.

"Sounds reasonable." She touches a finger to the tip of my chin. "We should make your first time special."

I nod. Words desert me. Too little, too late now.

"What do you fantasize about when you touch yourself?" Lane asks.

I groan. I don't exactly mean to groan, but it comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. This would be a lot easier if she didn't say things like touch yourself.

"I don't know. A lot of different things." I'm the poster child for dorks everywhere.

Somehow, I thought I'd be cooler. I'm generally unflappable. I've given a thesis presentation to twenty frowning professors. I don't flinch at needles, I even bungee jumped in New Zealand. But this woman, with her tropical breeze eyes and blunt questions, has me alternating between winning the grand slam for most embarrassing thing ever said and being totally tongue-tied.

"How about kissing? Do you fantasize about that?" Her voice is soft and coaxing.

I dig deep to find my game. "I've been fantasizing about kissing you since the second you opened the door."

Her smile warms. It's genuine, the kind that ends with a twinkle in her eyes. "I like the sound of that."

I smile back and that's as far as my game gets before her lips are on mine. She doesn't waste time, and that's fine with me. I was never any good at talking dirty. The kiss is confident. As advertised, she knows exactly what she's doing. That part's better than fine.

Her tongue slides between my lips, and I get a rush that starts at my mouth and ends between my legs. I'm already wet. Already getting that squirmy, urgent, hollow feeling in my pussy. The one that makes it hard to think about anything but being fucked.

I press my face into her neck before I can find my voice to beg. "God, sorry. I need a second."

"Doing okay?" She slides her hand into my hair and cups the nape of my neck.

I nod even though I know she can't see. "I never expected it to be like this."

"What do you mean?" Her fingers sift through my hair and down my spine to the curve of my ass in one teasing caress. They hover there, not quite touching, before trailing slowly back up again. I squirm. I want her hands on my ass. Would she touch me there if I asked her?

My ability to form a coherent sentence was shot the second she put her hands on me, so I keep it short. "You're hot."

There's a laugh in her voice when she says, "That's a problem?"

The laugh only embarrasses me more. "I never knew how much I wanted to be kissed like that, by someone like you, until right now."

I pull my face from her neck and watch as her eyes widen, and the line of her mouth softens. I've surprised her. I'm oddly proud to have surprised a woman who, I'm sure, has heard just about everything.

"I'm glad it was me who opened the door." Lane brushes her lips over mine. "I'd like to touch you."

I nod. God, yes.

She stands and pulls me against her. "You're very beautiful."

I know she's paid to say that kind of thing, but Lane's sin wrapped in sex, sprinkled with lusty goodness. It makes me giddy. Beautiful women are bold. I press my body to hers and wrap my arms around her waist. "Want to know what else I fantasize about?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"I have this one fantasy that gets me off..."

Her mouth slides over the column of my neck. "Tell me."

"I'm in a bar. It's crowded, and noisy, and I'm not drunk enough yet to find the country music star wannabes amusing. It's the kind of place that has Bud Light on permanent special. Where cowboy hats and belt buckles tussle for dominance in an overcrowded market. Not my kind of place. I'm there for her, for my mystery date. I'm the cautionary tale, the blond chick in a horror movie that's too stupid to live. I'm meeting a stranger I found on the internet for sex."

Lane's breath is warm against my neck as she pushes my hair to the side and finds the zipper of my dress. "Keep going."

Tomorrow I'll be shocked at how brazen I'm being, but right now I don't care about anything except what's going to happen next. The reason we're both here. The part that's less about fantasy and more about pushing, sliding, pumping, fucking. I press my pussy to her thigh.

"I'm circling the room, trying to find her. I start to wonder if I've been stood up. That pisses me off. I went to a lot of trouble to look good. And suddenly, there she is, watching me, a sweaty bottle of IPA dangling from her fingers. The back of my neck prickles. I thought I was the hunter, but really, I'm the prey."

Lane's palms coast down the bare skin of my back, parting my dress and sliding the thin straps down my arms until our bodies pressed together is the only thing holding it up. She kisses me, just a little rough, using her tongue like I pray she'll use her hands.

"Not a hearts and flowers type, are you?"

I shake my head. "Do you think I'd be here if I was?"

"What does she do to you, this stranger you shouldn't be meeting?" Lane asks.

"I try to act cool, like I'd known she was watching me, but she's not buying it. She doesn't care about pretenses. About politeness, or small talk. She's after one thing, and the way her eyes rake over me like she's ripping off my clothes leaves no room for misunderstanding. She holds out her hand. The only invitation I'm going to get. My choice. My consequences. I take it."

Lane backs me toward the bed, letting my dress slip to the floor in a puddle. "Leave the heels on," she murmurs, dropping to her knees.

My insides do a wobbly somersault and belly flop back into place. I might throw up, or spontaneously combust--both seem plausible. I clutch her shoulders for balance as I step out of the dress. I'm the one who looks like a sex worker, in my black lace push-up bra, whisper-thin panties, and come-fuck-me heels. Lane's breath shudders out and caresses my thighs. She must touch dozens of women in her line of work. It's ridiculous to expect her to be turned on, to hope that my desire somehow singles me out. But I want her to want me, and not the cash sitting in the bottom of my purse.

"Are you wet?" she asks.

Niagara Falls is nothing but a trickle of water compared to the rush between my legs. I bite my lip, shy now that I'm as good as naked and Lane's staring at me. I can't quite find the courage to answer her directly. "Why don't you find out?"

She presses her mouth against my panties and her tongue against my clit.

Oh, fuck.

"I can taste you through these. You're soaking." Lane has no problem at all being direct.

My clit throbs under her tongue, and I thrust my pussy into her mouth. I need more. I've never needed anything so much in my life. "Please."

"Do you beg your fantasy woman so nicely?" she asks.

I continue with my tale. "We don't even leave the club, just go around the side of the building to an alley that reeks of day-old buffalo wings and other unmentionables I don't want to think about on the bottom of my shoes. She pushes me against the wall. She's between my legs, her hands on my breasts. She slides my skirt up and rubs her thigh against my pussy."

Lane makes a strange sound in the back of her throat. Under other circumstances I would've said it was pain. But I don't need experience to know that it's pleasure. The line between pain and pleasure, between torment and temptation, between waiting and wanting, is so fine it's imperceptible.

"Don't come until I'm fucking you." My soft and coaxing lover disappears, taking my inhibitions with her. Lane's tone reminds me of a drill sergeant, more bite than seduction. It shouldn't have made me even wetter, but it does.

"Okay." I don't have a chance in hell of keeping my promise. I'm already close, and we've barely even started.

Lane drags my panties down my legs and turns me so I can sit on the side of the bed. She teases me, licking my folds and pushing her tongue inside my pussy. My heart rate doubles in an instant, pounding its beat in my ears. Oral is the thing I've wondered about the most. The thing, really the only thing, that a sex toy or your own hands can't give you the gist of. That feeling of warmth, and lips, and tongue on your most sensitive place. I open my legs wider. More.

When she starts flicking, and dipping, and swirling her tongue from one place to the next, I fall backward onto the bed, unable to watch, unable to do anything but ride her mouth and feel...everything. She lingers just long enough to make it feel good, to make me want more. Just long enough that my hips rise and my stomach quivers. But not quite long enough, not quite hard enough, to make me come. If she doesn't touch my clit soon, I'm going to beg. I know I'll beg with the same certainty that I know she'll want me to.

"What happens next?" Lane asks.

My body answers her question with a thousand helpful suggestions. Next, suck my clit. Next, fuck me. Next, do anything you want, as long as I get to come.

It's only when she pauses expectantly that I remember the fantasy.

"She shoves my shirt up and slides her hands along my rib cage and under my bra. Her fingers are cold and my skin's hot. We're fire and ice. She's all that stands between me and burning alive. She palms my breasts, but we both know that's not why she's here, not what she really wants. She abandons them quickly, sliding under my skirt instead, under my panties, touching me there," I say.

I'm so close my whole body trembles, tense and expectant.

"Don't come yet," Lane murmurs.

"God, please just do it." I'm as moronic as a teenage boy getting his first blow job. It's her fault. Her doing. The woman on her knees in front of me and the woman playing a role in my head merge as lips wrap around my clit.

I cry out. I'm going to come. I start to shake. She presses the tips of her fingers to my opening and I hold my breath, desperate to hold on. "Please."

I have to keep going. "I'm better than this. Better than the dirty alley, better than three minutes of foreplay, but underneath it all, we're the same, her and I. Both ruled by our desire. Both of us looking for the rulers of our limits."

Slowly, so slowly, Lane presses deeper into me. She sucks my clit as she waits for my body to adjust to her fingers. My brain declares a national holiday and shuts up shop. Why bother with fantasy when reality is so much more intense? My hips pump into Lane's hand. She slides all the way in, and it feels better than I'd hoped. So good I come around her fingers, fast and sharp, like the snap of a rubber band, crying, and shivering, and begging in nonsense words I can't seem to stop. Begging her to never stop. "Please."

She starts to fuck me, and before the first orgasm subsides, I can feel a second building. She slides slow and deep, pushing my knees up to my chest and sucking my clit, rolling it over her tongue. I grab her head and thread my fingers in her hair. My entire world is the glide of her fingers inside me. She reaches right through me, surrounding me, encompassing me.

"Come again," Lane says against my clit.

She fucks me harder. When she sucks my clit again, pulling it tight between her lips, I shatter, my orgasm breaking like shards of glass over us, piercing and splintering.

I gasp for breath like a sprinter finishing a race, spent and wobbly. When I've recovered enough to prop myself up on my elbows, she's sitting back on her heels licking her fingers, sticky with my come. It's just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

I can't take my eyes off her and Lane smiles. "Tell me, what else do you fantasize about?"