Whiskey at Midnight, page 11
Wren finds Steve on the other side of the bar. His hand is draped over a girl’s shoulder. She looks vaguely familiar. Her eyebrows are plucked into a thin line, her black hair pulled back tightly. Steve wears a white tanktop with suspenders and one of those plastic red hats firemen give out to elementary school students. His cheeks are already pink. The sight of him is so familiar, so normal, that Wren breaks out into a grin and hustles over to give him a hug. Steve won’t remember it in the morning, not with the amount of shots lined up on the bar in front of him, and that makes her hugging him less strange.
“Wren!” Steve calls out and pulls her into his arms. She spills a few drops of her vodka and feels her feet lift off the ground an inch or two.
The girl standing next to Steve gives Wren a withering look. And that’s how Wren recognizes her. That look that is part hate and part smelling something bad. It’s the hostess from work. Tanya? Vicki? Wren’s never gotten her name before, so she just nods at the girl.
Wren’s back on the floor and out of Steve’s arms before the girl relaxes. It’s so ridiculous that Wren actually laughs at it. “I’ll see you later,” she tells Steve and wanders away. She doesn’t have time for scowls from girls.
Emma and Cam dance to some horribly poppy song about Halloween. Their hips gyrate, their arms raise, each of them still holding a drink. Mark stands off to the side watching, enjoying it all. It’s not intimate, the way they dance. It’s not even particularly skillful. And yet, Wren can’t keep still long enough to watch them and pivots around to go back to the bar.
Things have calmed considerably. Most people are either outside or dancing like Emma and Cam. A few people sit at the bar, nursing their drinks. Only the guest bartender is behind the bar. He almost looks bored. Wren doesn’t know him, so she chugs her drink and leaves the glass on the bar top. Then, she heads toward the bathroom. She ignores the man who reaches out and touches the hem of her skirt.
Wren doesn’t think twice when the doorknob turns in her hand. She walks into the unlocked room like normal. She supposes Emma must be right, that Halloween is anything but a normal day, because Wren walks in to find the bathroom already occupied by Reese and Taylor.
Reese has Taylor backed against one of the walls, kissing her heatedly. Taylor’s hands rest on Reese’s ass.
All their glances and comments had to bubble over one day. Anyone with eyes could see it was inevitable.
Wren tries to look away, but only manages to notice that Reese’s hand is down Taylor’s pants. “Ahem,” she says.
She has to clear her throat one more time before the two bartenders hear her and break away. Reese carefully pulls her hand out of Taylor’s pants and washes her hands, never looking in Wren’s direction.
“Hey,” Wren says, breaking the awkward silence. It’d be easy to ask the only question Wren has. Why not the office? But she doesn’t. Taylor’s cheeks have turned a shade of red that Wren has only seen on Emma before. Wren smiles, but Taylor just looks dazed and embarrassed.
“You won’t…?” Reese asks. She shoots Taylor a look meant to make her feel better.
“I won’t tell,” says Wren.
“Okay, good. Shot of whiskey will be waiting for you when you come to the bar,” Reese says and winks. She takes Taylor’s hand and leads her out of the bathroom, back into the throng of people dressed as anything and everything. One of the gangster hats is left behind on the floor.
Had Emma caught the two bartenders at it, she’d never be able to look at them without imagining what she saw. That would be uncomfortable for everyone. Had it been Cam, she would get self-righteous and talk about professionalism until her face turned blue. Better that it was Wren. She smirks in the mirror. It was about time.
Just like Reese said, there’s a shot for her at the bar when she returns. Taylor’s embarrassment has faded. She looks at Wren with a happy smile. The guest bartender is back to wandering around and taking drink orders for Reese and Taylor.
Right as Wren puts the empty shot glass back on the bar, she feels a hand on the small of her back.
“Did I tell you yet how much I like your costume?” Emma asks quietly.
Wren doesn’t stop the laughter that bubbles up and out of her. Maybe Halloween is a little normal, after all, despite the bathroom scene. She turns to face Emma and kisses her, pulls her as close to her as she can. “No, I don’t believe you have.”
They’re right underneath the picture of them. Wren doesn’t have to look up to be able to imagine it in her head. Emma looks better with glitter on her cheeks and fairy wings on her back instead of wearing a silly shirt that should be burned, but she always looks beautiful.
They dance after that. Some normal songs play between holiday favorites. For once, it doesn’t seem so awkward dancing next to Cam and Mark. Cam even smiles at Wren from time to time. Mark looks at her and winks. Wren thinks that he’s wanting to share a moment with her after his announcement from before, about wanting to take Cam away for Christmas. She twirls Emma around so that Mark can’t see her face anymore.
Wren puts her forehead against Emma’s. She can smell alcohol on Emma’s breath. She’ll wake up with glitter all in her hair and on her face, but she kisses Emma anyway. The rest of the bar doesn’t fade away, that’s not the kind of thing Wren looks for in a kiss, but she does forget about Mark and his stupid winking until a guy dressed as a cop bumps into them and Emma accidentally bites Wren’s bottom lip. Pain shoots through Wren. It feels worse than the time in Wren’s bed when Emma bit her until she bled. She can taste the blood coming out now, and she can’t stop the moan that comes out.
“Smoke,” Wren says, roughly.
There are too many people outside to afford them much privacy, even in the alley where most people stay away. Wren licks the spot on her lip, feels the sting. Goosebumps appear on her flesh. It’s cooler outside, more like autumn finally. The moon is high in the sky and lights the alley. Wren barely manages to light her cigarette before Emma is kissing her. Nails glide across her back, underneath her shirt.
Emma kisses along Wren’s neck. Wren lifts the cigarette back up to her lips. The filter turns a pink color where it’s touched Wren’s lip. Wren can’t stop staring at it. It’s barely noticeable due to the darkness, but it’s all Wren can see.
Emma pushes her hand up Wren’s skirt and touches over Wren’s panties. Wren moans, allows herself that one moment, before pulling Emma’s hand away. Emma looks at her, hurt, and Wren kisses her until she can pull back and the look is gone. “Too many people,” Wren says.
Emma doesn’t seem to understand at first. She steps back and stares at Wren, as if trying to comprehend the words.
“Too many people,” Wren says again.
Realization dawns on Emma’s face. She looks down at Wren’s lips, kisses her one more time. “We should go back inside then.”
It’s not such a bad idea, after all. Reese and Taylor are singing along to the music while they work behind the bar. They’re both a little more happy, a little more open tonight. Reese is glowing, as if Halloween is as important to her as it is to Emma. Maybe it is. Maybe Wren is the only person who hasn’t fallen completely into the holiday craze.
Steve winks at Wren and jumps around to the music. He finishes off his beer and kisses the hostess. For the first time since the girl saw Wren, she looks happy.
Emma’s hand rests on the small of Wren’s back. Cam and Mark are dancing by Steve. Wren has no intention of dancing. “You should go dance with Cam again,” she tells Emma. Cam seems a little friendlier and maybe it’ll be good for Emma, instead of the way Cam normally does her head in. The way the two dance and laugh, all friendly with no tension, it feels like it was the right choice.
By the end of the night, Reese is yawning uncontrollably and Taylor has mostly taken over. The guest bartender was sent home around one. Reese hums a tune under her breath and smiles at Taylor whenever she comes near. Cam has sobered up and hugs both Emma and Wren on her way out with Mark. She hugs Wren a little too long. Warning bells go off in Wren’s head, but Wren isn’t sure what it means or if she cares.
Emma is easy to corral into the cab that waits for them outside. Without speaking about it, the assumption is that she’s coming home with Wren. When Wren gives her address to the driver, Emma doesn’t argue and follows Wren up the steps to her apartment on light feet.
As soon as the front door closes behind them, Emma kisses Wren. The spot on Wren’s lip throbs.
“It was a good night, wasn’t it?” Emma asks.
“Mhmm,” Wren says.
Wren guides them to her bedroom and rips her shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. Next, she takes her bra and skirt off. She eases off her shoes and hooks her fingers into her panties to let them fall onto the floor as well. She straightens and sees Emma standing in the middle of the room, watching her. She hasn’t even attempted to take any of her clothes off.
“I’m really happy with you,” Emma says, cutting through the silence.
She looks like she wants to say more. It’s all a little too much, a little too real. Wren’s never been good with words, saying them or hearing them. And even though Emma has seemed perfectly happy at times, she’s also had those nights when she cries in Wren’s shower or can’t look Wren in the eye when they’re fucking. The words don’t sound right, taking it all into consideration. And it’s not the kind of relationship Emma wants. It’s been so little time, there’s no way Emma isn’t still in love with Cam somewhere inside and that makes all the words she wants to say even more dangerous.
So Wren does what she does best. She crosses the distance between them and kisses Emma so nothing else can come out of her mouth. She begins to take Emma’s clothes off, starting with the fairy wings. By the time Wren is finished undressing her, Emma is trembling in her arms. The only thing on Emma’s face is wanting.
Wren’s not as gentle as she should be. She doesn’t bite to leave bruises, not the way Emma does, but she takes control and doesn’t yield at all. Beneath her on the bed, Emma’s lips are swollen from their kissing. Wren presses her thigh up against Emma and her name is whispered through those swollen lips. So she kisses her, to keep the name from slipping out again.
No matter what Wren does, it’s not enough. She kisses Emma’s lips, her jaw, down to her neck, then nips at a shoulder. Her hands trace all along Emma’s body, down from her arms to her thighs and back up again. She lets her nails skim along the soft flesh of Emma’s stomach and around to her sides. But it’s still not working. There’s not enough of Wren to stop whatever is forming on Emma’s lips, in Emma’s mind. She kisses her roughly every time her mouth opens, until Wren’s lip bleeds all over again. She’s too scared to use her fingers to fuck Emma, and using her mouth is out of the question.
She grinds herself into Emma for long minutes, changing the pressure and timing based on Emma’s moans. So focused on her task, Wren gets no pleasure from it and watches Emma like a hawk. But no other words form on her lips.
When Emma cums, it’s short and sweet. She lets out a long breath and smiles. She pulls Wren to her and brushes her fingers through Wren’s long hair. All of the energy saps out of Wren, and being too tired to stop anything else, she lets Emma kiss her on the forehead, fearful of what might come next.
Wren’s on her back after that, staring up into Emma’s eyes. From there, the look on Emma’s face isn’t so startling. It might even be something that Wren could get used to. The thought is quickly gone as Emma kisses her harshly. The spot on her lip stings all over again. There’s a balance to it all, like maybe things don’t have to change so much just because some words have been said. When Emma stops for a moment, straddling Wren and staring down at her, her fingers still pulling gently at Wren’s nipples, there’s an expectant look on her face.
It’s another one of those moments that seem to happen too often, when Wren has to find the right thing to say or do, otherwise everything might break or fall apart.
A confession, Wren thinks. That must be what Emma is waiting for. Words that Wren doesn’t say, maybe couldn’t say even if she tried. Wren closes her eyes, trying to think.
“You can tie me up,” she says, finally. “There are scarves in the drawer next to the bed.”
It’s not a declaration of love or a confessed need to be with Emma. It’s probably not the sort of thing Emma was expecting. But it’s something.
Emma’s eyes narrow for a brief moment, but then she smiles. She moves off of Wren to retrieve the scarves and kisses her while she ties each wrist to the headboard. They’ve never fucked like this. For all the bruises that have marked Wren’s body, they’ve never used anything but their bodies to get off.
Maybe it isn’t the best idea. Emma’s eyes glint as she looks down at Wren’s naked body. It can’t be the nudity that affects Wren. Emma has seen every angle of her body, has probably touched every inch of it. This is what Wren does. She offers her body rather than words. But lying on the bed at the mercy of Emma is the most vulnerable she’s felt in awhile.
Emma, it turns out, is a fan of the scarves. She runs her fingers along Wren’s sides and leans forward to nip at Wren’s lip. Wren tastes iron all over again. Wren pushes up into Emma, hisses at the pain in her lip. She’s wet, unbelievably so, but Emma doesn’t seem ready to touch her yet.
Emma scratches Wren’s chest, the nails digging in and leaving red trails on her white skin. She bites at a soft spot just beneath Wren’s collarbone. There will be marks all along Wren’s chest in the morning. Hesitant ones that barely show up the next day and then the more forceful ones that will make Wren wet all over again when her shirt rubs against them. Emma pulls at one of her nipples again, grazes the other with her teeth until Wren is pulling on the scarves. The headboard creaks but she can’t get free.
Emma runs her fingers along the marks that are already forming, down the middle of Wren, leaving goosebumps everywhere she touches. All Emma has to do is touch Wren’s clit for a second for Wren’s eyes to snap shut.
“Open them,” Emma says. “I want to see you.”
Emma stops touching Wren completely. Confused, Wren opens her eyes then remembers what Emma said. Emma’s looking at her with that expression again, like she might say something else. Just the look has Wren biting her lip, right on that damn spot, until the blood is flowing more freely than before and the thought of it all is making her wetter. Emma’s face softens even more. She looks almost hesitant.
“You can’t break me,” Wren says. She closes her eyes after that, no matter what Emma wants.
With her eyes closed, and pounding in her ear drums, Wren doesn’t have any idea when Emma might decide to touch her again. Emma is still straddling her and one hand rests on Wren’s stomach, holding her down. As if she could move. And so it’s a complete surprise when Emma forces three fingers into Wren’s cunt with no warning.
A strangled gasp leaves Wren. Her toes curl. She licks at her bleeding lip since Emma isn’t kissing her. She keeps her eyes shut tight the whole time and feels the way Emma works her fingers in and out. Both of them are breathing hard.
“Like this?” Emma asks.
“Yeah,” Wren manages to say. Between the swift movements of Emma’s fingers, relentless inside, and the way Emma has worked the rest of Wren’s body so well, it doesn’t take long for Wren’s orgasm to envelope her. Her back arches off the bed and she pulls at the headboard. It’s a great orgasm, and Wren almost opens her mouth to say so, but when she opens her eyes Emma is looking at her and Emma’s face makes her pause.
Wren doesn’t get a chance to say anything, after all. Emma keeps her tied up for a little longer, fucks her with her mouth because Wren is sensitive inside from Emma’s fingers. After another orgasm, Wren clears her throat. “No more,” she says. “Too sensitive.” Only then does Emma kiss her on the lips, ignoring the blood, and untie her, placing a wet kiss on each wrist.
“You didn’t do Halloween right,” Wren says. The morning light brightens the room. Wren’s body is sore. It feels magnificent. “We didn’t have any apple cider.”
Emma is cuddled up next to Wren in the bed, tracing circles on Wren’s stomach with a finger. She pokes Wren at the comment. “We’ll just have to get Christmas right.”
Something in Wren drops at that.
Wren’s cell phone rings. It’s the ringtone she set for her father. He’d told her he’d call sometime that week, that it was important she actually pick up for once. There’s nothing she can send Emma off to do, and she can’t ignore the call.
Wren rises from the bed, grabs the phone and her cigarettes and heads to the bedroom window. She’s left it a little open so she can smoke. She lights a cigarette before answering the phone.
Emma watches from her spot on the bed. Her eyes are still a little droopy, her grin a little lazy. She turns her head so that her right ear can try and pick up the conversation on the other side of the room. Wren’s father has a deep voice and he speaks quietly over the phone. The only thing Emma has to go on are Wren’s infrequent responses which range from “mhmm” to “okay.”
“So I’ll expect to see you on your Christmas break then,” Wren’s father says. There’s warning in his voice, a tone that he rarely uses for Wren.
“Okay,” Wren says and hangs up before he can say goodbye. He won’t like it, but he won’t call back. Wren finishes her cigarette by the window, stares outside at the birds chirping and the cyclists riding by. She stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray by the bed. She tosses her phone back toward the window, shrugs when it lands on the floor with a clatter.
“So what was--” Emma says, but then Wren’s lips are on hers, needy and insistent. Wren climbs on top of Emma and straddles her. A moan slips through Emma’s mouth and the morning has been saved. Wren smiles into the kiss while she rakes her nails over Emma’s chest. Fucking Emma is easy, it’s all the other stuff that gives her problems.
