By Laurel A
In a rare moment of weakness I let one little comment about leading a lonely life slip out. Mother would have been a hell of an interrogator. She’s got degrees of subtlety that you wouldn’t ever suspect. Next thing you know, you’re dressed in a foam-rubber turtle costume and going to a costume party at the White House.
‘Tortoise; not turtle, Clayton,’ my mother’s voice intones in my head.
“Yes, mother,” I automatically mumble even though I’m alone in the limo that’s making it’s way up Pennsylvania Avenue.
I’m 40 and single, so what? It’s not like a man in my business can easily have a family, much less a fiancé, much less a girlfriend, much less a *date*. I’ve been through it all before: well-meaning friends who think I actually do work for the State Department fixing me up with women who want to know why I have to cancel four out of five dates in a month-long period. I can’t really blame them, but have to admit that I’m not immune to the appeal of having a girlfriend; someone I could potentially have a serious relationship with.
Since coming home from Afghanistan this summer, I’ve been thinking more and more about it. Mother must have picked up on that. I think it was Victor Galindez that triggered this latest bout of feeling sorry for myself. His relationship with Fareeza Tarik hit close to home, bringing back long-suppressed memories of a nearly all-consuming love. It was the kind of relationship that usually comes when you’re young and stirs such emotion and passion that you feel like you’ll never be the same.
I learned a lot from that experience. Not just about love, but about my job and the kind of emotional distance needed to be successful in this line of work. That’s where my arrogance comes from. Most people assume I’m an arrogant ass because I come from money. But that’s not the reason. I’d always been a solitary individual, but after the heartbreak of Carmen’s death I developed a shell of conceit and was determined not to let anyone get under my skin or into my heart again.
Until I told the Gunny about Carmen, Mother was the only person I’d talked to about it. She helped me through those first few weeks back in the States and she was sympathetic to losing a love in the confusion and bitter reality of war.
Mother was lucky though. She’d been able to marry my father, have me, and several happy years before losing him. My parents also had the luxury of sharing their work, and what it meant to them, with each other. I think that’s what Mother wants for me now. She’s dropped hints, both disguised and blatant, about meeting someone in the intelligence community, “like your father did.” Not only does she want grandchildren - I’ve seen the way she looks wistfully at babies - but she wants there to be someone to take care of me after she’s gone; someone to come home to, who I can be open with. I think I want that too, and I think I’m ready for it now.
Well, I hope not *right* now, not dressed like this. Mother’s wish for me this evening however, is that I’ll meet someone - an eligible woman - at this exclusive party. She also hinted that I could benefit from getting laid. “Having a lovely rendezvous with a young lady,” was how she put it, but I knew what she meant. Although, how she thinks I can attract the sexual attentions of a woman in this turtle - tortoise - costume is completely beyond me.
//MAC//
I think Harm has been channeling Mic. He’s all of a sudden gone from Mr. Unable To Have An Adult Conversation About How I Feel, to extremely pushy. Maybe he’s got some male biological clock kind of thing going on. Or maybe he’s feeling his mortality in the aftermath of Bud’s close call. Regardless of the reason, he’s gotten all needy and it’s really not attractive.
Maybe what’s been so appealing about Harm all this time has simply been the possibility of something happening. Faced with the reality of a relationship with him, I’m not sure it’s as appealing. And I resent the fact that I’ve had to wait until he decided it was “time.” Well, I think the time has passed, which is why I’m attending this White House costume ball stag; and I absolutely refused to dress in some “couple” costume with him.
“Awww, come on Mac,” he had whined. “Can’t we at least drive there together?”
I held firm knowing full well that if we drove together, he’d formulate some complex plan that would include me picking him up, changing into my costume at his place, and leaving my clothes there so I’d have to drop him off in the middle of the night and retrieve them. I think he was hoping to get me alone at his place at a late, and in his mind, vulnerable hour.
“I’m picking up Harriet and we’re going together. My car only holds two people. Unless you want to hang on to the roof...” That was the end of the conversation - concluded by me putting the phone down.
The Admiral’s new girlfriend is the White House Press Secretary and she managed to get tickets for the JAG staff to attend this event. I’m secretly hoping to be swept off my feet tonight by some highly placed White House staffer. And I’m not so secretly wishing that Harm will give it a rest tonight.
“God Harriet, I hope Harm backs off tonight. He’s really getting annoying.”
“I think the Commander is just a little hurt, Ma’am.”
“Harriet, you’re riding in my private vehicle on the way to a social function. You’re dressed as Madonna and I’m wearing a belly dancer costume, I think you should call me Mac.”
“I think the Commander is just a little hurt, Mac.” Harriet simply repeats her statement while staring out the window.
“Harriet…is there something you’d like to tell me?” I know she wants to say more but probably feels bound by protocol.
“It’s just that for so many years I guess I thought you and the Commander were going ‘live happily ever after.’ But I think I’ve grown up a lot in the past few months since Bud…” she trails off.
It’s been a really difficult time for them. Bud’s doing really well in physical therapy, but the emotional roller coaster that they’ve been on has worn out even Harriet’s considerable emotional strength. I reach over and squeeze her hand. I hope I’ve been a supportive friend, but she’s really got me curious about what she started to say about Harm.
“You okay?”
She takes a deep breath before going on, “Yeah. Bud coming home alive just made me realize how important it is to have someone in your life who’ll love you unconditionally, the way he loves me. And someone who will tell you every day. Permission to speak freely?”
I try to make her feel comfortable by rolling my eyes and sarcastically teasing, “Of course Madonna…”
Harriet giggles and the mood in the car shifts to a more relaxed atmosphere as she continues. “I know the Commander has been pushing you lately to start something, but if it took this long for him to tell you how he feels…well, you deserve better.”
“I completely agree Harriet. Flyboys be damned - we’re real women with real needs!”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
I don’t bother to correct her use of the word “ma’am” and by the time we wrap up our girl talk we’re up to the head of the valet line at the White House. The valet, who looks to be all of about 17, helps me out of the car and gives me an appreciative once-over; I wink at the kid. I think I just made his night, I guess I’ve still got it.
//WEBB//
Okay, no one’s laughing at me. Yet. This is good. Maybe I can hide behind this large potted plant in the reception room most of the evening.
“Webb? Is that you?”
Shit. Admiral Chegwidden. I turn around to come face to face with Chegwidden and CJ Cregg, the White House Press Secretary. God, they look awfully cozy. Well good for him, she’s a great catch.
“Um, Robin Hood & Maid Marian?” I venture.
“Yes. You got a problem with that, Mr. Turtle Wax?”
I touch my nose self consciously before formulating my answer, “Admiral, a man in your position should be proud to wear an outfit representing such a noble character.” I hope he knows my wry humor is meant as just that, humor.
“Damn Webb, you *are* paranoid, quit sucking up. Do you know CJ Cregg?”
“Hey Clay,” CJ smiles widely at me. I’ve liaisoned with her a few times on some CIA ops the White House was particularly interested in, “You know the President loves turtle soup, right?”
She’s got a wicked sense of humor that I love and even the Admiral laughs hard at her jab as I correct her, “Tortoise CJ, tortoise.”
While I am enjoying this exchange, I’m mentally praying, ‘Please, oh please, oh please don’t let him tell the JAG staff about seeing me in this infernal costume!’
“Admiral, no offense, but I’d just as soon forget we met here tonight.”
“Understood Webb.”
He and CJ walk into the main ballroom and I shrink back behind the fichus, more vigilant of the crowd now, not wanting to be caught by surprise again. My costume is really kind of wide; the “shell” sticks out about two feet on either side of me. Not very conducive to blending in. Why couldn’t mother have picked out a costume with a mask, or at least something more *human*?
I just need to greet the First Lady, impart my mother’s greetings, and then I can escape. I crane my neck as far out of the costume as I can, trying to get a look at where the guests are entering, willing Mrs. Bartlet to appear.
Instead of spotting the President and First Lady, I spot Harriet Sims and Colonel MacKenzie. Confused for a moment, Chegwidden’s familiar grip around CJ’s waist clicks into my mind. She must have gotten invitations for the JAG staff. I’ll just die if Rabb sees me dressed like this, but damn, Mac looks hot in that Scheherazade outfit.
“Webb, is that you?”
Shit. It’s Rabb.
“Yes Rabb, it’s me.” I slowly turn around, resigned to the humiliation I’m sure is coming.
I sputter as I see what he’s wearing. Good thing I wasn’t trying to eat or drink, I’d have choked for sure. He’s in this fuzzy white and pink bunny outfit. The feet are huge, the stomach is accented with a pink felt oval, and the head is like a big hood that allows just his face to show. The topper is the set of ears. They’re a couple of feet tall and both appear to be fixed in a ridiculous bent-over position, which I assume is supposed to be “cute.” He looks like a giant toddler in feet-pajamas.
“Jesus Rabb, what the hell are you wearing?”
“Last thing left at the costume shop,” he mumbles before perking up as of what I’m wearing sinks in, “I might ask you the same thing Webb.”
“Yeah, well…it was a favor for my mother.” It’s not exactly a lie.
“Okay. Well listen, if you see Mac, tell her I look cute, okay?” He gets this hopeful puppy dog look on his face and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
What the hell is going on with those two now, I wonder. Mac is smart, amazing looking, and utterly desirable. Rabb on the other hand, is such an ass. People think I’m arrogant, but this guy takes the cake. She could do so much better. As the thought crosses my mind, I imagine she and I together someplace private, doing private things.
And sensing that there’s tension between Harm and Mac changes everything. If I can get over this turtle - tortoise - issue tonight, Mac is someone I’d seriously consider seeing socially, assuming I wouldn’t get beat up by Rabb for my troubles.
“Sure Rabb. Excuse me, I have to pass a message along to the First Lady.”
He steps to the side as I nearly knock him over with the widest part of my shell, heading towards Mrs. Bartlet and the President who have finally shown up - dressed like Marc Anthony and Cleopatra.
After a brief conversation with Abby and Jed Bartlet, wherein the First Lady offers to fix me up with one of her nieces, and the President calls me “James Bond” and asks if I have any nifty assassination gadgets on me that could possibly get him out of a Cabinet meeting tomorrow, they lead me into the ballroom and move off to greet other guests. I look for another plant or pillar to hide behind until I can make my exit.
The dancing has started and I watch for about thirty-five minutes as Mac is asked to dance by nearly every man in the room, including the President. Rabb seems to be with her every other dance though, but she looks progressively more annoyed by his attentions, which increases my interest in sticking around a little longer. Plus she looks extraordinarily sexy in that outfit. The low-waisted flowing skirt and short top show off her great curves and flat stomach; and I can hear the jingle of her ankle bracelets from here.
//MAC//
Harm won’t leave me alone. It’s driving me nuts. And while a similar bunny outfit might be adorable on AJ Roberts, on Harm it’s just ridiculous. I think he waited until the last minute to get a costume because he was assuming I’d finally come around and agree to be his date and we could pick out costumes together. He really should learn to take no for an answer. Like I said, he’s channeling Mic.
Other than Harm’s unwelcome advances and too-close dancing, I’ve had a great time on the dance floor. I took a spin with the Admiral, who looks fantastic in his green tights; Sturgis, whose date from the National Weather Service has dressed them up like thunder clouds and lightning; and the even the President. He’s a little short for me though, but I don’t think he minded being face to face with my chest, most men don’t.
As I head through the foyer to restroom, Harm pulls me aside and tries to kiss me. It’s a really sloppy attempt, like when you’re in junior high and just figuring out how to kiss. He says a few strange and almost lewd comments to me before I shove him to the side and proceed to the ladies’ room. What is wrong with that man and what did I ever see in him?
Touching up my lipstick in the restroom, I give myself an appraising look in the mirror and think I don’t look half bad. Why is finding a nice guy so difficult? Heaving a big sigh, I exit with crossed fingers that Harm won’t be stalking me outside the bathroom.
Darting my head back and forth before crossing back to the ballroom, Harm’s nowhere in sight. But I think I see Clayton Webb next to a huge philodendron looking concerned. And dressed like a turtle. He hasn’t spotted me yet, so I watch him for as long as I can get away with.
It’s a really strange costume choice. Most people here aren’t dressed as reptiles. But I have to admit he’s pulling it off quite well. It lends an air of innocence to Webb that he doesn’t normally project in those three-piece suits, or even in field gear like in Afghanistan.
That man becomes more and more of an enigma every day. Oh shit, he’s caught me watching him and is coming this way. I walk towards him as well, and we meet halfway across the small hall that was used earlier for the reception area.
“Go ahead, say it.”
Poor guy, he seems resigned to be mocked about his costume. And damn it, I can’t help making the pun, “Webb, far be it from me to *mock* a *turtle*!”
“Tortoise actually, but that was a good one Mac.” He’s trying to sound bitter, but I can see his lips twitching and straining to curb a smile.
“Sorry Webb, couldn’t resist. Been taking a lot of flack for the costume?”
“Not so bad actually. Only from Rabb, Chegwidden, and the White House Press Secretary.”
“Ouch. Well if it’s any consolation, I think it takes a big man to wear a tortoise costume.” I hit the words “big man” just hard enough for him to get that I’m teasing him again.
“Why Scheherazade, I didn’t know you had such a rapier wit. We ought to spar more often.”
Well I’ll be damned; I think he’s flirting with me. Another clue in the cipher of Clay Webb, and it’s got me wanting to unscramble more of his puzzle.
Surprisingly, Webb asks if he can buy me a drink and we stand together by the ballroom bar nursing our sparkling waters and watching the crowd. Even though we’re not really conversing much, I find it’s nice to be in his company. Webb really is quite the gentleman. I guess his mother taught him well.
We start to make more and more comments about the couples on the dance floor and his sharp dry humor has me giggling. Pretty soon we’re both laughing as our conspiratorial commentary becomes streaming.
He points out the alarmingly high number of men in various versions of tights or snug-fitting pants, “I bet their dates made them dress that way, and the only reason they agreed is the promise of a happy ending to their evening.”
“Yeah, if they’ve got any circulation left. Look at that guy.”
I nod in the direction of a 50-something year old man trying to discretely adjust himself while his date is talking to another couple, and we burst in to giggles all over again.
“Poor guy. At least his date’s pretty.” I kind of feel sorry for the man, he really looks uncomfortable.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
What.
“What?” I say it out loud this time.
“You look fantastic Mac.” The silliness is completely absent from his voice and he’s looking right at me, his eyes darting over my body and returning to meet my gaze. Jesus, he’s serious. Not that I haven’t had men tell me I’m beautiful before, but this is a surprise coming from Webb; and the way he’s looking at me is making my pulse accelerate.
“Webb are you undercover or something?”
“No. If I were, I’d have to kill whoever put together the operation that involved me dressing like a tortoise.” Webb’s not sure where I’m going with this, so he’s back on the defensive.
“It just that you’re acting awfully different than the Webb I know.”
“You’ve never seen me socially before Mac.”
It’s a true assessment; I’ve never seen him in a situation outside of work. But there’s a playfulness edging back into his tone, so I decide to run with it.
“We didn’t come here together, Mr. Webb. Yet you just implied that I’m ‘seeing you socially.’ Moving a little fast, aren’t we?”
“Moving fast with an attractive woman is never my intention, Sarah.”
He’s talking softer now and we’ve inched our way between the bar station and a palm tree. If his shell weren’t in the way we’d be standing hip to hip. The undertones to our banter now have a slightly sexual edge. It feels fun and a little dangerous all at the same time.
Put the man in a tuxedo and Webb could probably give James Bond a run for his money. He’s being down right charming. It’s flattering to feel the open attentions of a man who’s not being too aggressive or frustratingly evasive. How mature; what a concept.
Just when I think things are about to get interesting, or at least are going to continue to be fun, Harm crashes our little party.
“Hey Webb. Mac, there you are, where’d you go? I’ve looked everywhere for you. Come on, let’s dance.”
//WEBB//
I’ve got no idea what’s transpired between Mac and Rabb. But one thing is very clear to me, if not to him, and that’s the fact that Mac doesn’t want to have anything to do with him tonight, if ever.
“No thanks,” she rejects him gently, “Webb and I were just about to dance.”
What? No objections here, but it’s news to me. I hope she’s not just spending time with me to get Rabb off her back, because I was serious about how great she looks and wanting to see her socially. I was getting the impression that she was receptive too.
I offer my arm to Mac and she takes hold of my hand instead. I give her a supportive squeeze as we brush past Harm, and it’s really more convenient this way since not enough of my arm can stick out of the shell for her to hold onto any other way. But really, Sarah MacKenzie can hold onto me any way she likes.
We step to the dance floor in the middle of a song and find an empty spot near the bandstand.
~ Fly the ocean in a silver plane
See the jungle when it's wet with rain
Just remember till you’re home again
You belong to me~
Rabb follows us; what a jerk, can’t the guy take a hint - or even a direct order?
“Mac, don’t you hear the lyrics, ‘fly the ocean in a silver plane?’ This should be our song, ‘you belong to me.’”
I don’t want to fight Mac’s battles for her, I’ve no doubt that she can handle herself and wouldn’t appreciate the appearance that anyone thought otherwise, but I’m ready to deck the guy.
“Harm, once and for all I do not *belong* to you, or to anyone for that matter. I never will.” She hasn’t let go of me, and we’re still sort of dancing as she fends him off. At last Rabb looks like he’s getting a clue and if possible, I think his rabbit ears are drooping farther and farther down. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “Go away Rabb. ‘Anchors away’ or what ever it is you say in the Navy.”
He sulks off and Mac says, “I’m gonna take a walk.”
I don’t want to be pushy like Rabb, but want her to know I’m here if she wants to talk, “Mac, I understand if you want to go alone, but if you want company…”
She looks at me, as if she’s seriously considering me for the first time tonight, but she’s not saying anything. We stand like that, completely still on the dance floor, staring at each other for a moment or two until she takes my hand again and leads me back to the foyer.
We sit on a bench around a curved corner from the entrance where people are coming and going. Mac’s still got a hold of my hand and I’m not about to let it go.
“Would it be over stepping my bounds to ask what’s going on with you and Rabb?”
“He’s all of a sudden decided that ‘now’s the time’ for us to get romantically involved and apparently the man’s never had a woman say no to him.”
“If you hear ‘no’ often enough, you get used to it,” I say quietly.
“I find it hard to believe that Clay Webb, international man of mystery, would get turned down. Surely, ‘I’m a secret agent’ is a guaranteed pick up line.” She’s teasing me again, but it kind of stings when it hits so close to home.
“I realize you don’t know much about my personal life, but I definitely don’t go around picking up women using lines like that. Or any lines for that matter. In fact, it’s been a very long time since I’ve had the company of a woman at all.”
Oh God, I think I just admitted to Mac that I haven’t gotten laid in ages. All of a sudden, the pattern on the carpet is very fascinating. How pathetic, admitting to a woman you’d like to go to bed with that you’re possibly out of practice. Not to say that I haven’t been “practicing” with myself mind you - a guy’s got to relieve the tension somehow. It’ just that it has been an embarrassingly long time since I’ve been with a woman.
“Now *that* I really do have a hard time believing. From what I’ve seen this evening, you’d be a great catch.” Mac takes a firmer grip on my hand, cranes her head down and around to look me in the face since I’m still counting carpet fibers, and she starts to run her thumb back and forth over my knuckles. If she’s trying to flatter me, it’s working. And in this case, flattery will get her anywhere she wants to go.
Looking into her eyes I hope to discern if she’s just being nice or if she genuinely feels that way herself. “I’m sure you can relate, career wise; it’s not very easy to date. And take tonight for example, I hope you haven’t been spending time with me just to escape Rabb - which I’d gladly do for you, but I was having fun thinking you liked my company.”
“I’ve been enjoying your company very much.”
Wow.
We’re distracted by a sudden influx of people passing by as the band returns from the short break they were on. The music starts up again, with a male singer this time; it’s a really slow old standard.
~Where is love?
Does it fall from skies above?
Is it underneath the willow tree that I've been dreaming of?~
I’m feeling more confident about Mac’s possible affections for me so I stand up and nod my head in the direction of the dance floor. “Shall we try this again?”
“My pleasure.” Mac smiles sweetly at me and my heart starts to speed up.
~Where is she,
Who I close my eyes to see?? Will I ever know the sweet "hello" that's meant for only me?~
We find a corner of the crowded dance floor just inside the doorway, and fall into an easy stance. She’s got her arms up around my neck because of my costume, and I’ve got my arms loosely around her waist. Which I’m all of a sudden remembering is bare.
~Who can say where she may hide?
Must I travel far an' wide,
till I am beside the someone who, I can mean something to?
Where, where is love?~
Her skin is so silky beneath my hands and I want so badly to feel more of it under my touch. With my thumb I slowly trace a line down the part of her spine I can reach without moving my hands. Mac takes in deep breaths as I stroke my thumb over and over her flesh.
~Where is she,
Who I close my eyes to see?
Will I ever know the sweet "hello" that's meant for only me?~
“If you’re trying to pick up on me Webb, I don’t think you’ll need that ‘secret agent’ line.”
“Oh good, ‘cause I forgot my double-oh-seven ID card at home.”
~Every night I kneel an' pray, let tomorrow be the day, when I see the face of someone who, I can mean something to! Where, where is love?~
As the song ends we lean towards each other and in the split second before my lips are about to touch hers, Mac lets out a laugh. How mortifying. I can’t even kiss a woman without her laughing at me.
She must be able to see the embarrassment in my expression. Not to mention the fact that I’ve backed away and nearly knocked over a plant stand with my shell.
“I’m so sorry. I just realized how perfect your costume is.”
“And how funny it is that a turtle like me wants to kiss a belly dancer like you?” I’m getting kind of angry now and wish I could put my hands on my hips, but this fucking shell is in the way.
“Tortoise. As in ‘The Tortoise and the Hare.’ Harm’s been the fast and furious hare tonight, you’ve been ‘Mr. Slow and Steady Wins the Race.’”
“I don’t know Mac, laughing as a man is about to put the moves on you isn’t exactly winning the race.” I still think she’s trying to backpedal out of completely humiliating me.
“That, just now, between us, was far more erotic than the slobbery mess of a kiss Harm gave me earlier.”
“He kissed you?? And did you say ‘erotic?’” Mac has turned away and is pulling my hand in the direction of the bench we were sitting on earlier. I’m dumbstruck; both by her categorization of what almost happened between us, and the fact that Rabb would have the balls to kiss Mac when she so clearly isn’t interested.
“Yes, erotic.” We sit just where we were before, her hand holding mine in the same way. “And yes, he did. The man’s got an ego the size of the Grand Canyon. Can you believe he suggested we watch pornos to get over our ‘sexual tension?’”
I wait for the humor of her statement to dissipate before speaking. “The sexual tension’s the best part, don’t you think?” I lean in again as if to kiss her, but back away just as I feel the heat of her lips on mine.
“Yeah,” she whispers as our gazes lock.
We’re both breathing through parted lips and that delicious tension I’m talking about is tangible in the space between us.
//MAC//
Wow, he’s right. In seven years Harm and I never got to the fun part of the sexual tension. He always put himself too far out of reach, leaving me wanting more but too afraid of being rejected. Webb and I have only been at it for a couple of hours, but it’s better than a lot of actual sex I’ve had. Upping the ante of innuendo, the small touches, and being so close to his lips that I could feel his breath have made me warm and wet; and we haven’t even kissed. Slow and steady will win my race any day.
Eyes still locked on each other’s, I want to kiss him but don’t want this to stop - this amazing feeling of anticipation. We draw it out as long as humanly possible until I feel like I’m going to implode or fuck his brains out right here in the White House.
Our lips finally meet and in a miracle of restraint it’s soft and tenuous. We still aren’t willing to let that tension go; there’s more to be built up before release.
We’re barely kissing, letting our lips just play off one another. My heart’s pounding in my ears and Webb’s running his hands through my hair with the same scarcely restrained passion with which we’re kissing.
“Webb.” I very much want to not be in the White House as we expand on what we’re doing. “Let’s not give CJ Cregg any more stories for her morning briefing than what costume the First Lady wore.”
“Umm,” he kind of hums against my mouth. I think he’s trying to process what I said and how we can leave, and hopefully who’s house it would be better to go back to.
When we’re both able to converse again, I decide to give the keys to my ‘vette to Harriet - she’ll love driving it, although I might have to answer to Bud when she decides she wants one of her own - and we’ll go to Webb’s townhouse in the limo he came in.
Harriet practically squeals when lean over to whisper the plan to her. She just keeps nodding and saying, “Yes, Ma’am. Good for you, Ma’am,” as I warn her not to speed. I hope she doesn’t get herself into trouble with that car.
As soon as Webb and I are in the limo, the tension breaks. As does the clasp on my bra, the zipper around the edge of Webb’s tortoise shell, and one of his shoelaces. So much for slow and steady.
Webb’s sucking and nibbling on my neck and my body’s reacting and reaching for his. I maneuver us so we’re lying down along seats that stretch across the back of the limo and we’re kissing deeply. His back is to the seat-backs and I press into him harder when he bunches up my skirt and runs a hand up the length of my leg and over my hip to grab me firmly.
I feel his erection grow harder as I grind into it and Webb moves on to my earlobe. He’s sucking and blowing, and damn that man is good with his mouth. While I’m trying to get his lips back on mine, he winds his hands around the edge of my underwear and slides them down. Once he’s done, and the limo’s finished turning a corner, Webb kisses me again.
His tongue slides past my lips, and over and over my tongue with firm motions; I duel back with mine. He slips his hands back up my skirt and I scoot away to make room for his right hand to explore my sex. Parting my lips there, he gives a small groan when he discovers how wet I am. Spreading the moisture around, he slicks his fingers over my folds and thrusts his middle finger inside me. Now I’m groaning.
With his finger exploring my passage, he twists his hand and places his thumb on my clit. It takes about a minute of him circling there combined with the way he’s kissing me and I’m dizzy from it.
“Don’t stop,” I say into his mouth.
“You like that?” He sounds a little surprised and kind of proud. It’s endearing. But as soon as I think that, he’s lifting up my top and moving his mouth to my breast where he attacks my nipple with such confidence that the word “endearing” is left miles behind.
As he sucks hard at my breast, the taught peak between his teeth, he keeps his hand busy below. Stretching me farther, I feel a second finger slip into me, and he rubs his thumb faster and harder against my clit. I’ve got his head in a vice-like grip, holding him against me, feeding the tightening of my body. I let my mind go blank as I reach the top of the spiral and relish the waves that take me over.
Loosening my grip on Webb, he sits up a little and gently strokes my mound with his the flat of his hand. He’s smiling at me and “endearing” is back in my mind now. He just looks so darn sweet; kind of sweaty, his hair tossed in all directions, and again he looks proud and a little taken aback.
“You are a talented man, Mr. Webb. I can’t wait to see what else you can do with that mouth of yours.”
I lean up to kiss him and it starts out fairly chaste until my tongue ventures past his lips and I circle his with mine, conveying a mix of affection and anticipation for how I’d like to return the favor.
The limo rounds another corner and stops fast, presumably at a light. Webb and I go rolling off the seat and end up on the floor, on top of his tortoise shell.
“Looks like I’ve got Clayton Webb on the half-shell.” I take my top off, toss aside my torn bra, and straddle his hips, with my skirt still bunched up around my waist.
“Am I ever going to live this down?”
“No, but I’ll make it up to you.” I pivot my hips, reviving his erection.
“I’m a really sensitive guy. Making it up to me might take a while,” he bandies back.
I’m having a hard time reading him. The Webb I’m used to working with is nothing but confidence. The Webb I’ve gotten to know tonight has insecurities that I’d never have guessed. His voice carries the familiar conceit, but his expression betrays an uncertainty. I wonder if he’s worried that I’m a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” kind of woman. I’m starting to think he doesn’t want me to be.
“I think I’m up to the challenge,” I say, dropping my hands to the floor on either side of his head just before I kiss him hard.
I let my breasts brush against the t-shirt he’s wearing and am impressed that I can feel his muscles beneath it. This man hides behind his suits like he was hiding behind that tortoise shell, but from what I’ve experienced so far, he’s in really good shape.
I leave him panting as I kiss down his neck and stop on my way farther south to suck on his nipples through the cotton of his shirt. I abandon one for the other before pressing my lips to his cock through his jeans.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t come with a date who made you wearing tights?”
“I’m glad I didn’t come with a date who wouldn’t have let me go home with you.”
“Hmmm, me too,” I say into his crotch, my hands at the top of his button fly. Pop, pop, pop, pop. Ah, boxers, every woman’s dream.
“Nice green boxers to match the costume, Webb.”
“Tease all you want Sarah, at this point I don’t care.”
I look up to meet his gaze and smile wickedly as I flick my tongue out to taste the moisture forming on his head. His eyes just about roll back in their sockets as I circle my lips around his length. When I wiggle his boxers and jeans down far enough to stroke his balls, I see Webb out of the corner of my eye reaching out and clutching the edge of the leather-covered seats.
He must’ve been serious about not being with a woman in a while, because I barely get my other hand around the base of his shaft to join the rhythm of my mouth, when he’s bucking his hips and crying out as he comes in hot spurts into my mouth.
“Jesus that was embarrassing.” His voice is shaky and unsure. He’s staring at the ceiling and won’t look at me.
I hover above him, forcing eye contact. “Nah, I’m just *really* good,” I say quietly, smiling as I finger-comb his hair back into place. I don’t want him to be self-conscious. I wanted him to have a good time, and from where I was standing - kneeling - it sure seemed like I achieved my goal.
“That wasn’t exactly slow and steady, but did we win the race?” he lightly strokes the sides of my ribcage with the tips of his fingers, the confidence beginning to return to his timbre.
“I think we’re only half way there.”
PART 2
//WEBB//
Sarah MacKenzie seems to have gotten past my shell. Oh Hell, now I’m doing it. She’s amazing. I acted like a first-time teenager and she just smiled winningly at me. I promise her that the second half of our evening will be much more “mature” in pace. I’m looking forward to getting home and sort of starting fresh at building the tension between us all over again.
The limo pulls up in front of my place and we laugh at ourselves trying to gather up clothes, shoes, and parts of my costume as we exit the car in an awkward state of undress. I pay the driver and lead Sarah upstairs and into the house.
Padding around in sock feet, I relieve her of carrying my shoes and half of the tortoise shell. Dropping it all in a heap next to the wet bar, I pour us each a glass of water. When I turn around to offer her the drink I see Sarah snooping around, and I let her. I don’t have to hide anything from her.
She asks about the cello, and straddles the piano bench. I tell her I’ll play for her sometime, especially if she dresses like a belly dancer and sits like that. We finish re-hydrating as she browses my bookshelves and appraises my décor. I think I’m being sized up.
“You’ve got a really nice place.”
“Thanks. A lot of stuff belonged to my grandparents. And I like collecting pieces from my travels.”
I stand directly behind her as she’s bending over to get a closer look at the fish. They’re the only pets that can put up with my travel schedule. I match the angle of her stance and reach around to take her empty glass, pushing into her far more than a polite host should. She holds onto the glass, not letting me take it or retreat. I still need a little time to recover from my performance in the limo, but I can feel my body winding up again.
I nuzzle her neck and bite at her shoulder. “Ms. MacKenzie, would you like to join me in the shower?”
That costume was hot, and I’m sticky from our exploits in the car. I bet she is too.
“Lead the way,” she lets go of her glass and I leave our cups in the kitchen sink before taking her hand, to guide her upstairs to the master bedroom.
“Wow, great bed. It’s a shame you haven’t shared it in a while.” She’s teasing again. But as long as she’s here now, I don’t care how long it’s been.
I have to admit, it is a nice bed; it’s a reproduction of a Restoration period piece. The huge planes of dark wood are intricately carved, and it’s giant. I think of it as a retreat. Someplace I can escape my job and the stresses that go with it. Plus it’s extremely comfortable, with a feather mattress on top of the Sealy Posturepedic.
“I’ll share it with you as often as you’ll let me.” It occurs to me that seeing her naked in my bed would be a welcome sight any night of the week - or day, for that matter. I hope I haven’t ruined my chances of a relationship with her by getting sexually involved so fast.
“Anytime you issue an invitation…” She leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid and kisses me sweetly. I think I might have a chance.
“Now, where’s that shower of yours?”
Holding her shoulders, I rotate her around and push her in front of me towards the bathroom, where the shower and bathtub are.
“Jesus Clay. Forget that line about working for the State Department. You should just tell people you’re an interior designer.”
“I was wondering if you were ever going to use my first name.” I avoid the design comment. I just like nice things. My mother imparted her impeccable taste on me, but it’s a sensitive subject. I got teased a lot growing up. Just because you dress neatly and know about color pallets doesn’t mean you’re gay. Which, by the way, there is nothing wrong with. I just happen to like women and I think my mother gets tired of fielding thinly veiled inquires from her friends about my “preference.” Although, if Sarah had any doubts about my sexuality, I think they’re probably not an issue anymore.
“There appear to be many more facets to you that meet the eye, Clay.”
“I guess you were right, I am an international man of mystery.”
She asks me if I’d like to shag now or later, and I pin her to the counter with my hips. “Both,” I tease before turning to start the water in the shower.
We make quick work of the rest of our clothes and when we’re naked, shyness takes both of us over. I suppose stripping down in front of someone for the first time under the bright lights of the bathroom is different than “hot and heavy” in the back of a car.
Our inhibitions start the sexual tension building up all over again though. It’s clear we’re checking each other out and I catch her eye as she looks quickly from my butt to my face when I turn to tell her the temperature’s adjusted.
Once in the shower we wash ourselves, hands and arms carefully avoiding contact. I’ve finally got Sarah MacKenzie in my shower and I’m too nervous to touch her. Some James Bond I’d make. Sean Connery would have her up against the tiles in seconds flat. Of course, some giant hairy tarantula would probably come down and bite Sarah and kill her. So it’s probably better this way.
“Clay? You home?” She’s waving her hand back and forth in front of my eyes.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m here. I’m done, you stay in while I find some towels.”
I step from the shower and pull out two white fluffy towels. I dry myself off with one and wrap it around my waist before telling Sarah I’ve got a towel for her.
I can see her shapely form through the fogged up shower doors. I watch her turn and shut the water off, squeeze the excess moisture from her hair, and slide the door open. She steps into the open towel I’m holding for her and we embrace. This feels really home-y and I just hold her for a minute before beginning to gently rub her all over with the towel.
She bends to kiss the top of my head as I carefully wipe the moisture from her legs and the tops of her feet. Damn, even her toes are sexy. I slide the towel up her right leg and turn it inward to caress her inner thigh and the juncture between her legs. I stop there, rubbing back and forth, and she steadies herself with her hands on my shoulders. She leans in to kiss me and I back away. The tension’s ramping up, and I really want to milk it for all it’s worth this time.
“Mmmm,” she says with closed eyes in what sounds like a cross between frustration and pleasure as I dodge her lips but continue to “dry” her off. Brining a hand up, I touch her face as lightly as I can with the tips of my fingers, letting them run down the bridge of her nose and over her lips. I trace the perfect form of her mouth and can barely restrain myself from giving in and kissing her.
To distract myself, I let my hand slide down, fingers trailing a path down her chin. Sarah reaches her neck upward, allowing my touch to glide easily over her neck to the top of her chest where I have to make a decision. My eyes dart back and forth between her breasts. In the end, I lean over to kiss one while letting my fingers discover the other.
Pinching one nipple with my fingers, I suck the other into my mouth and whirl my tongue around, feeling the skin pucker into a hard peak in my mouth. Sarah starts to sway and she reaches for the counter to steady herself.
She’s right, I’m getting a bit too distracted to stand as well, so I slowly, reluctantly, release her from my grasp and stand up. We’re face to face again and she’s flushed with arousal. Seeing her that way elevates my arousal as well, but I’m still not done with her yet. I kiss her quickly on the cheek and silently pull her into the bedroom by the hand.
She sits on the edge of the bed and slowly lays back. It’s clearly an invitation and I’m not about to say “no.” She scoots herself up to the top of the bed and rests her head on one of the pillows, one arm behind her head, her long lean legs splayed over the white of the down comforter.
I come up onto the bed on my knees and take in the scene. I want to tell her how perfect she looks there, but she surprises me with a compliment.
“You have a beautiful body.”
I’m sure she can see the blush go from my face to my chest to my groin. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Come here,” she simply answers.
Walking on my knees, I come closer and begin to touch her, again barely grazing her skin with my fingers. I start at her toes and feel her skin hot under my touch, as I proceed up her legs. She feels positively electric to me. There’s a charge between us and a buzz in my head.
Once I reach her sex I play with the patch of hair there. Sarah’s flexing her butt muscles in an undulating motion and as she spreads her legs farther apart, I can see her moisture shining. Never taking my hands from her, I lie on my stomach between her legs and kiss my way up her thighs. First one side, then the other; my fingers lightly sweeping over the outside of her lips and clit.
The only sounds in the room are her breathing and occasional humms, and my kisses on her skin. When I finally allow my lips to reach her sex, she’s moving around so much it’s hard to maintain the soft-touch approach I was enjoying.
“Relax,” I encourage.
I move my hands to her stomach and nip at her hipbone to let her calm down before I proceed. There’s nothing I love more than the feel of a woman on my lips and tongue; the womanly scent and taste are so arousing. I’ve never understood men who won’t do this for their lovers.
Finally, I bring my lips back to her sex and slowly caress her lower lips with mine. I blow hot breaths on her skin and slide my hands up her thighs to meet my mouth at her apex.
Long languid traces with my tongue along her opening, I at last taste her and can’t help but grind my hips into the bed as we moan together in pleasure. I wrap my arms around her legs and let my thumbs meet over her clit to stimulate her there while I test her opening with my tongue.
Finally plunging my tongue into her, she bucks her hips into my face and I meet her thrust with a hard squeeze of her clit as I work my mouth on her opening. Now the wet sound of my mouth and her moist sex fill the room and the smell of our bodies permeates the air.
“God, that feels so good.”
I smile with ridiculous manly pride as I reverse the positions of my hands and mouth, to fill her more fully with two of my fingers as my tongue swirls around her clit. I take the swollen bundle between my teeth and suckle her there as I thrust my fingers in time with the movements of her hips.
Her actions speed up and I feel her muscles clenching around my fingers in spasms as she unintelligibly moans her release. Once the waves have subsided, I lick my tongue a final time from her opening to her clit and raise my head to look at her face.
She’s up on her elbows and panting hard as she looks down at me, her expression unreadable.
//MAC//
Oh yeah.
“Clay. I think I lost consciousness. That was incredible.”
He grins at me. And if I hadn’t just had one of the most intense orgasms of my life, “endearing” would be foremost in my mind again. His face is wet from my juices and his kisses, and his hair is positively disastrous.
“Come here,” I say. Which, I believe, is what started this round in the first place.
This time though, he comes to lie next to me and we cuddle like that in silence for a few minutes while my heart rate returns back to something this side of a coronary.
“Clayton Webb, if your mouth and fingers aren’t registered as deadly weapons, they ought to be.”
“Did you like that?” He’s gone back to acting shy again. I think I’m going to have to do something about that.
“Allow me to demonstrate my appreciation.”
I’ve got him on his back in a split second and am hovering over him like I was in the car. This time, instead of going down on him with my mouth, I tease him the way he teased me: with my fingers. I start at his chest and lightly scrape my nails over his nipples. Clay closes his eyes and smiles.
“Demonstrate away.”
I switch directions and move my body to allow me to reach his legs, and I again use my nails to make a path toward his balls. He’s already hard and by the time I reach my goal, his cock’s twitching with lust.
Letting one hand linger lightly over his erection, I bring my body back up over his and place my mouth just over his lips. He rises off the bed in an effort to kiss me, but I back away at the last second.
I’m enjoying our game of coming in and backing away. But there’s only so much a person can take, and I guess Clay’s reached his limit. He grabs my arms and flips us over, crushing his body into mine, thrusting his erection into my leg and kissing me hard.
That breaks the delicate tension that had built up and I feel my insides tightening up all over again, longing to feel him inside me. We’re kissing with hot wet open mouths and his hands are tugging at my nipples as my hands squeeze his butt muscles rhythmically to match the way his hips are moving against my leg.
“Wait. Please don’t go anywhere.” Clay rolls off me and stumbles into the bathroom. I hear him rummaging around in one of the cabinets, presumably to find some long forgotten box of condoms. I pray he’s successful and soon hear, “Yes!” as he practically runs back to the bed, tossing a wrapped condom to me.
I unwrap it and roll it over his length as he kneels before me. Once it’s in place, I look back to his face and he looks so serious. I guess I feel the same way. It’s pretty clear, even though we’ve not said a word about it, that this is more than a one night stand.
Silently, Clay places himself between my legs and nudges his erection at my opening. “Come here,” I whisper as he sinks slowly into me. We are still for a long time and I soak in the full feeling of having him inside me.
He pulls out a little and pushes in harder. Repeating the process a few times, his speed increases and I resume my grip on his rear. Clay props himself up on his forearms and moves faster and faster until he’s slamming into me and I lock my ankles around his waist to intensify the experience.
The large room fills with the sound of each of us groaning in pleasure as the final build-up of tension forms between us. He pauses for a second and when he resumes his motions, I’m coming again, squeezing him tight with my contractions. A moment later, he drops his head to my shoulder and groans his own release.
We’re panting hard as he collapses on top of me. I caress his back and run my fingers through his sweaty hair. He smells so good and I think it’s the smell of us that I’m so enamored with.
Clay turns his head to kiss me on the cheek before lifting himself up, grasping the base of the condom and pulling out of me. Sliding it carefully from his shrinking erection, he goes to the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth.
“I don’t think that’s going to do the trick,” I inform him.
He looks at me, and gives himself a once over before smiling sheepishly, and allowing me to drag him into the shower. This time, we touch each other freely.
We stay up all night laughing about Harm in his bunny “pajamas” and the Admiral in his green tights. He can’t believe that I thought he looked good in them. I threaten to pick out Clay’s costume next time.
“I’ll gladly suffer a tight-crotched pair of whatever you want me to wear. I’m that smitten.” He looks quickly away.
“Since I’m just as enamored, I’ll be more gentle than that with my choice of what goes over that fine set of equipment you’ve got. You just have to promise to buy me dinner next time we do this, I’m starving.” I give his now-flaccid cock a squeeze to emphasize my point.
“Sarah, I’ll buy you breakfast, lunch, and dinner if you’ll go out with me sooner than next year’s White House costume party.” He props himself up on one elbow to look down at me.
“Just like sharing your bed, I’ll go out with you anytime you extend an invitation.”
“I’m just so glad you didn’t go home with Rabb.” Clay leans down for a kiss. I think he’s still perplexed by Harm’s behavior.
“Not a chance. I bet he fucks like he flies - fast and all over the place.”
“And from what I’ve heard, he’s got a problem with ‘pre-mature ejection.’”
END