Only You by K.T. Quinn

14

Molly

The Day I Broke The Rules

We went down to the lounge on the second floor. It extended away from the main building, which allowed it to have a vaulted ceiling with glass that showed the night sky high above. It was decorated like a cigar room from the nineteenth century, with dark wood and earthen tones. There were two pool tables, some leather couches and chairs, and a projector aimed at one wall.

“They host movie nights in here when things are normal,” Donovan explained. “I didn’t go to any of them, but the concierge told me about it. Drinks are free.”

I went to the bar and gently pulled on the glass. “They’re not free now. The bar is locked.”

Donovan came over to check them. He pointed. “Damn. It looks like the pool cues and balls are locked away, too. I don’t think I’m desperate enough to break the glass.”

“Maybe when we run out of wine,” I said.

It felt like the wind had been taken out of our sails. We stood around, not sure what else to do.

“Seinfeld in the lobby?” Donovan suggested.

I frowned while thinking about our options. “Do you know how the supply delivery guy gets in every day?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The front door is locked,” I said, thinking out loud. “He must have a key. Maybe he has a key that can unlock this, too.” I tapped the bar cabinet. “We can ask him tomorrow.”

Donovan’s eyes brightened. “I have a better idea.”

We descended another floor to the lobby. Donovan led me behind the concierge desk, where he began opening drawers at random.

“There has to be a spare key around here,” he said. “The concierge and everyone else left in a hurry. I bet if we search hard enough…”

The concierge desk didn’t turn up anything, so we went into the back office. There was a desk with an array of computer monitors showing security camera feeds from around the hotel: outside the front door, by the loading dock, the lounge, the lobby, and the pool room. Donovan went under the desk, and seconds later the monitors all turned off. He crawled back out and held up an unplugged power cord.

“Don’t need anyone recording all the rules we’re breaking,” he said with a smile. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble for ignoring a sign.”

The other desks in the office were used by administrators, and were covered with paperwork. One had a lunch bag open with the contents spread out on the desk. A half-empty can of Coke was next to it.

“Everyone left in a hurry,” I said. “Probably rushing home when the lockdown was first announced.”

Donovan opened a drawer and made a victorious sound. “Found them!” He held up a big ring of keys.

“There must be thirty keys on there,” I said.

“Which means one of them has to work. Come on.”

We rushed back upstairs like kids who had solved a puzzle. Donovan opened the key ring and dumped out half the keys on the bar top so we could try them simultaneously. One by one we jammed keys into the lock and jiggled them.

“Bingo!” I said when my sixth key opened the liquor cabinet. “And God said, let there be booze!”

Donovan quickly put his hand on the cabinet to keep it closed. “Hold on a second, Feisty. As soon as we open this cabinet, there’s no going back. You’re living a life of crime from that moment on. Are you sure you want to take that step?”

I nodded solemnly. “I’m ready. Even if it means I have to get a gang tattoo on my ass.”

Donovan laughed, then took the key from me and opened two more cabinets. “Take the pool balls and rack a game. I’ll make us a couple of drinks.”

“How do you know what I like?” I pointed out.

“I don’t.” He pulled down a bottle of Campari. “But we’re in Rome, so I’m making you a Negroni.”

I carried the pool balls to the table. “I thought you were a line cook, not a bartender.”

“I can do both,” he said, “but I’ve only ever been paid for one.”

I had the balls racked and ready by the time he brought me an amber-colored drink in a highball glass. It tasted like dark licorice and fruit, with a bitter aftertaste.

“It’s better with an orange garnish,” Donovan said while grabbing a pool cue. “But alas, no oranges.”

“I like it!” I took a deeper sip. “I’m not very good at pool, by the way.”

Donovan placed the white cue ball at the end of the table and stretched out the cue. “That’s okay. I’m not very—”

He jabbed the stick forward, but it only glanced off his target. The cue ball rolled off at a diagonal angle, bounced off the railing, and then hit the rack of colored balls weakly. They drifted apart a few inches, but remained clustered down at the other end of the table.

I raised my glass and said, “You may not be a good pool player, but you make a good drink.”

“Apparently.” He looked at the tip of his cue stick and frowned.

I eyed the table. I didn’t have any good options thanks to his bad break. I lowered my pool stick to the table, gripping the front of it while using my other hand to push it forward. The stick hit the cue ball flush, but it wasn’t very hard, and my aim was so poor that I didn’t even hit the ball I was aiming at.

“You may not be a good pool player,” Donovan teased, “but you… Huh. What are you good at, Feisty?”

“Oh, I’m good at plenty of things.”

“I bet you are,” he said while chalking his cue.

We played pool while flirting and teasing each other. I smiled at Donovan while watching him bend over the table to line up a shot. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders now that I had told him about my parents. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide it from him. It’s just that people always reacted so awkwardly when they found out. They looked at me with pity, like I was a poor orphan girl who was suddenly all alone.

But Donovan had reacted perfectly. He hugged me, told me he was sorry, and then helped take my mind off things with food and drinks and pool. He didn’t treat me differently now that he knew.

That meant more to me than all the pasta he’d been sharing. It made me feel like things were normal.

“You’re holding the pool cue wrong,” he said casually. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

I leaned on my cue and said, “Not sure I want to take pointers from the guy who couldn’t make a solid break.”

“I’m rusty, but I know how to play.” He held his cue stick out and motioned. “Curl your index finger over the tip. You’ve been gripping it like you’re giving it a hand-job.”

The strong liquor was going to my head, which made the sexual metaphor sound extra dirty. Especially the way he said it while motioning on the stick and narrowing his eyes suggestively. I tried to think of a good retort, something funny and dirty, but nothing came to mind.

“Like this?” I followed his suggestion with just one finger.

“Almost. You still need to use the other fingers to stabilize it. Here.”

Donovan rested his stick against the wall and came up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, pressing his strong body against mine and surrounding me with his warmth.

“Bring your other fingers up.” His breath was hot on my neck and unleashed a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Aside from our hug, this was the closest we had been together.

“Like this?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “Just like that. You’re a natural.”

Is this his way of getting even with me? I wondered. If so, it was working. The entire world had narrowed to Donovan’s ridiculously-hot body, a body which was currently pressed against mine like a sexy shadow.

The front of his jeans brushed against my ass. He pulled away slightly, but I could still feel his body heat just out of reach. The liquor in the Negroni was strong, and it made me want to have some fun. The kind of fun I was normally too chicken to try.

What are you good at, Feisty? he had asked.

I wanted to show him.

His hands were still on the pool cue to show me what to do. I bent over the table and stuck my ass back until it pressed against his crotch. If this were a poker game, then I had just called his bet and raised him.

“How’s this?” I asked softly.

“That’s good,” he rumbled. “Really good.”

Something twitched against me. Something warm and hard and rapidly growing. Feeling bold, I pushed my ass harder against him until there was no denying it.

“Now what?” I asked.

He let out a strained sigh. “Pull the cue back smoothly. See how it feels in your fingers this way?”

“It feels good,” I breathed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said in a tight voice. “Give it a shot.”

I gave the cue a few slow, steady strokes. Like I was holding him in my fingers instead of the polished wood of the cue. The fabric of my dress was so thin I could feel his cock pressed firmly between my cheeks, grinding against me slowly. I got the sense he was holding himself back. Like he was on the edge of throwing aside all pretext and pulling my dress over my ass, ripping my panties aside, and burying himself into me from behind.

I want him to do it, I realized. If he made his move now I would surrender and never look back.

I pushed my ass into him a little more, then swung the pool stick. It hit the cue ball firmly, shooting it across the table at the seven ball, my target. The ball rolled toward the corner pocket, bounced against both rims, and then rolled away.

“So close,” Donovan sighed in my ear. Then he pulled away from me. “But your form was good.”

He retrieved his stick and rounded the table to set up his next shot. There was a noticeable bulge in his jeans which pulled my eyes like a magnet.

Okay, maybe he does have the willpower of a saint, I thought as we continued playing.

Donovan was rusty, and missed more shots than he made, but that was still good enough to beat me. He racked the balls and we played another game, but there wasn’t any more sexy grinding or thinly-veiled pool euphemisms. The moment we had shared was gone.

When we went to make two more drinks, he eyed the key ring for a long time. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I just realized something,” he said slowly. “You know what else these probably unlock?”

“What?”

“The front door.”