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Rafael’s outfit hung mockingly from the wardrobe door and with hesitant fingers he gently tugged the hem of the black vest. His hair was still damp from his shower and quick, cool droplets ran from the tips of his dark curls down the back of his neck to his shoulder blades. Soft footsteps of his partner patted in the other room, the strong smell of her hairspray still lingering in the air around him, in his nostrils. He’d glimpsed her from the doorway and thought she looked incredible, though he wasn’t ready to say it aloud, to display any acceptance for what they were about to do.
He was sulking.
The fluffy white bath towel clinging to his waist dropped to the floor in a damp thud and he stepped around it to his underwear drawer. His desire to stay in for the night grew for every second he rummaged through the drawer; what if he strode out into the living room right now, dripping and naked, picked her up and carried her to their bed – would she really object? Peering downwards past the soft dark hair trailing form his bellybutton Rafael observed the involuntary twitch of his body reacting to his imagination. Perhaps if he could work himself up a little before he suggested staying in for the night he’d have more chance of persuasion. It wouldn’t take much, he always felt relaxed and amorous after a long shower and, unknowingly to her, her ensemble had tuned into a long buried fantasy of his.
A quick glance over his shoulder to the coat hanger displaying his outfit caused a defeated sigh, there was no way to avoid it – he couldn’t let her down, especially after her hard work.
He moved to take out a plain navy pair of boxer briefs when he abruptly returned them and grabbed the black patterned pair toward the back of the drawer. He ardently told himself they were more comfortable, felt more supportive, that his choice had nothing to do with the way the minute white specks that weaved into the dark fabric reminded him of space, of faraway celestial bodies, that they were more appropriate for the evening.
The soft bamboo-blend felt cool against his warm skin as he pulled the underwear on slowly and he looked down again to admire the pattern against his fading tan. Adjusting the elastic band at his hips Rafael cast his memory back to the precise moment when his resolve had crumbled, when he’d begrudgingly, or lovingly he wasn’t sure, agreed to this ridiculous exercise.
---
It was midway through their lazy hump day dinner of leftovers when Rafael noticed she had zoned out of the conversation. He continued with his description of the opposing council’s preposterous opening statements despite her glazed faraway stare, keeping a close eye on her slender fingers as they idly traced the damp ring of condensation her glass left on their dining table. Rafael’s fork dangled from his left hand as he mimicked Buchanan’s argument, his chest puffing up in an attempt to widen himself. The cheeky giggles he’d come to expect from her whenever he impersonated the doughy slimeball didn’t come and he rolled his eyes.
“And then he called his first witness and it was a monkey wearing a bowtie, it rode in on a little tricycle.”
Nothing.
“He crawled up onto the judge’s shoulders and threw monkey shit at juror number seven.”
Silence.
Rafael sighed before gently laying his right hand on her thigh, “Cariño?”
With a flinch she was back with him, her blue eyes wide as she realised she’d abandoned the conversation some time ago. She offered him an apologetic frown while deftly stacking their plates and cutlery with one hand, running the other against his chest before she left the room. Rafael was quick on her tail, scooping up their empty glasses and joining her in the pokey kitchen, ready to solve whatever she found so troubling.
“We were invited to a party next month,” she revealed with a sigh as Rafael stacked the dishwasher.
Really, that’s it? He offered her a vague hum.
“It’s my boss’ 50th so it’s kind of a big deal,” she offered whilst wiping over the laminate bench, careful not to bump into him as he crouched over the dishwasher.
“Everyone in the office is convinced I’ve made you up because they’ve never met you and I go to all these things solo.”
Rafael pursed his lips; he’d cancelled on her more times than he cared to admit. Of course she understood the unpredictable nature of his work and the long hours that came with it but that didn’t subdue the shame he felt every time he cancelled, how bad he felt when she’d returned from a night alone enduring nosy assholes and painful small talk without him, her face wary and tired and ready for sleep. She’d accompanied him to charity galas and the DA’s Christmas parties, always with a delicate hand in the crook of his arm and a polite smile on her face but he’d never seemed able to return the favour.
“They joke that the photograph on my desk is photo-shopped and that I found your image in a catalogue,” her smile was weak.
In what he thought was a genuine after-thought she quickly mumbled, “that wasn’t supposed to make you feel bad, it’s actually a little amusing.”
That photograph. It was the home screen on his phone. Taken their first Christmas together after a little too much brandy, his cheeks and nose were rosy from the alcohol and cold and just before the flash burned his bright eyes she turned her face to the side of his, her lips pressed against his ear to whisper, low and hot, that she loved him. It was the first time she’d said those words to him and the photo captured their secret, the adoration in his eyes and her sneaky grin, lips turned up lovingly.
He loved that photograph.
“I’m sorry, Cariño. I promise I’ll make it to this one.”
Her hand was warm when he took it in his own and brought it to his lips to place a sweet, quick kiss on her palm.
“It’s at his apartment on the upper west side…” she advised him as she slinked away from him and out of the kitchen. The conversation continued into the next room at a lower volume and she was virtually whispering by the end of the sentence, Rafael straining to hear her.
“And it’s a…” the rest was inaudible.
Rafael’s head shot up quickly and he paced after her, loosening his paisley tie as he followed.
“It’s a what?”
She murmured quietly as she busied herself unfolding and folding his Abuelita’s quilt slung over the couch. Rafael watched her quietly for a moment before taking the quilt from her. She repeated herself in a whisper, “It’s a cah meh pah…”
“Cariño,” he warned with a low, stern voice. “Please don’t be saying what I think you’re saying. It’s a what?”
She often described him as a bloodhound seeking out a scent that could lead him to the truth and right now he was hunting for it one raised eyebrow at a time. Her cheeks ballooned and she blew the air out in defeat, there was no getting around him and judging by the pained expression she offered him, he wasn’t going to like what was coming.
“Please remember that you already agreed to go. In fact, you promised,” she stepped towards him to run her hands over the soft fabric of his dress shirt. Her nails raked over his pectorals and she looked up at him innocently. Staring back down at her he fought the urge to sigh with pleasure, to learn into her delicate touch. With a raised, unimpressed eyebrow Rafael waited.
“It’s a costume party,” she rushed. “I don’t like it anymore than you do. Please don’t make me go alone, Rafi. Please!”
In hindsight the miserable whining sound that emanated from him and filled their otherwise silent living room was not his finest moment and he reigned it in as quickly as it had escaped but it was already out there, whiny and ringing in their ears. It was a pathetic noise, as was the way his head flung backwards, his eyes scrunched tight as he looked up to the ceiling. The display was a far cry from his normally distinguished demeanour.
He covered his face in his large hands, a muffled and elongated ‘No’ spilling into his palms. Her revelation was worse than he could have imagined. What kind of self-respected 50-year-old man willingly agrees to host a costume party? What the fuck is wrong with her boss?
“Rafi, you promised me.”
Her hands trailed upwards to take his hands, tugging them away from his face and resting them at her waist.
“You didn’t present all the facts,” he growled. “There was no meeting of the minds!”
Rafael’s head fell forward in defeat. He loved clothes, loved mixing patterns and fabrics and fitting himself up in his tailored suits of armour before he took on the world but costumes were a different matter all together, they were childish and ridiculous. The thought of looking stupid before a room full of strangers made his chest tighten but the idea of disappointing her, sending her dressed up and alone made him feel worse.
“It’ll be fun,” she tried, though she was hardly convincing. “Free booze and food. And there will be cake, you love cake!”
“Better be the best friggin’ cake I’ve ever eaten,” his pouting was hushed and he nodded his head slowly, begrudgingly.
---
Rafael tugged the vest on and examined himself in the full-length mirror, turning in a circle and looking over his shoulder to inspect all angles of his now costumed body. Noticing the rumpled SAKS bag he’d smuggled into the room in his briefcase he quickly plucked it off the bed and hid it in the trash, she didn’t need any evidence he’d made any kind of effort for the evening. He checked his hair once more in the mirror, dry and uncharacteristically untamed, Rafael decided on something a little more casual without the pristine side part and coif.
“I am not catching the subway,” he yelled through the closed bedroom door.
There was a muffled sigh from the other room and he could see her shadow under the door, “we’re taking a cab,” she confirmed.
“C’mon out, I want to see you!”
With one last long stare he moved toward the door, listening to the shaky creak as he opened it hesitantly. She had made such an effort and the last thing he wanted was to dishearten her but his physique didn’t quite match, his lopsided grin not really the same.
As he emerged at a snail’s pace she began singing the famous score.
“Baah bahh ba ba ba baaaah baah…”
Rafael trained his expression to remain bored and he avoided her eyes as he planted himself in the doorway, his arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. When they’d discussed ideas for the party she’d told him his initial choice of dark suit and black-framed glasses was ‘boring’ and had blown a clownish raspberry at him coupled with a thumbs-down gesture. She had to explain to him the notion of ‘being someone else for a night’ and decided Rafael could do better than a straight-laced justice seeker.
He felt her eyes all over him and he flicked his gaze towards her just long enough to gage her reaction. The fear he’d underwhelm her expectations, perhaps even ruin her fantasy, was bubbling away beneath his stoic surface. His body grew rigid under her careful stare. She started at his feet, clad in her brother’s leather boots (Rafael still had no clue why he even owned such ridiculous footwear), up to his navy moleskin jeans, the ones she said hugged his ass sinfully. Her eyes lingered on the utility belt she’d cobbled together at 1am after a burst of inspiration; upwards to the cream Henley he had rolled to the elbows and topped off with a second-hand black vest she’d found at a local charity store three blocks from her office.
She whistled in appreciation.
Rafael didn’t move. His face remained stony.
“Ohh you even have the surly expression down pat,” she cooed as she moved toward him. “Your mother told me you used to pretend to be Han all the time when you were a kid, running around your apartment with your homemade blaster pistol. You should be loving this!”
A frustrated sigh fell from his lips and he watched her arms snake around his middle as she cuddled into him.
“I was seven, Cariño. I ate chocolate for breakfast and thought farts were funny. I pay taxes now.”
He hoped she hadn’t seen him eat that chocolate glazed donut for breakfast last week.
The smell of hairspray once again filled his nostrils as she nuzzled his neck and he felt her pillowy lips graze over the hollow of his throat before planting a chaste kiss an inch below where his dark hair, soft and downy, protruded from the open buttons of his henley. A momentary sense of realisation sent a flush to his cheeks, she was close enough to notice his new cologne, the one he’d spent thirty minutes deciding over at the men’s counter on his way home last night, the one that was less citrusy and a little more musky and masculine, something more in the spirit of the night. The flirty glance that met his quick downcast eyes confirmed his suspicions. Godammit.
“You’re right, baby. Adults playing dress-ups is ridiculous. And farts are definitely not amusing,” she offered him with a grave expression.
“You don’t have to go if you’re not comfortable, it was wrong of me to make you.”
Her hands fell to his utility belt to unbuckle it.
“No,” he was quick to stop her. Too quick. “I promised you I’d go.”
She nipped twice at his bottom lip before extending her kiss; cupping his face with her hands and stroking her thumbs over his cheeks, keen for him to know how appreciative she was. Rafael didn’t move. He felt her thigh creep between his own and lift upwards, with a slight pressure to grind against him. Between her thumbs now trailing over his earlobes and her leg rubbing slowly against the crotch of his jeans he could do little but relent. A long sigh passed his swollen lips and his hands ran up and down her back, over the soft white jersey fabric of her costume. Rafael knew this moment wouldn’t last much longer, they were already an hour late, but he savoured the feeling of her gratitude.
With one last peck her lips left his and she backed away from him slowly, her eyes raking over him one last time. He clung to the quick glimmer of lust in her eyes.
“You smell nice… like a sexy space cowboy,” she winked.
Rafael tried to hide the grin that tugged at his lips and though he managed to reel it in, the final result was a tiny flicker at the corner of his mouth. He refused admit to the effort he’d made or how her compliment, coupled with how she was looking at him, filled him with so much unabashed pride.
“C’mon, Leia. We’ll be late.”
She picked up the delicately wrapped gift box from the dining table and followed Rafael toward the door, “right behind you, Han.”
Silence accompanied them in the elevator to the fourteenth floor and Rafael’s fingers gently traced circles on her hip as they climbed skywards. To his surprise and concern the elevator and lobby were empty, not a costumed body in sight and the pre-costume party anxiety he’d not felt since his sophomore year gnawed away at him. With some effort Rafael covertly admired his partner, his neck slightly turned and protruding forward to properly take in her beauty and he felt himself slack-jawed as he raked his gaze over her.
“You look really beautiful,” the compliment left him in a whisper. “Your hair,” he paused as his hand rose to touch one perfectly mounted bun of chestnut hair only to withdraw before making contact, realising the precarious nature of the style and the hard fight she’d had to keep the thick locks in place.
He opted for her cheek instead and ran the soft pad of his thumb along her fair skin. It was only then that she met his gaze, finishing her text message and sliding her phone into the hidden pocket of her dress. He thought about the last month, the various YouTube tutorials and charity shops that had occupied her time and then the satisfied beam she wore at her achievements. She was not a woman to do anything by halves and to her a silly costume party was no different to Christmas dinner with his mother or a best friend’s wedding.
‘It may not be my jam,’ she’d reasoned with him late one night, hunched over a half finished pistol holster, eyes tired and crazed, ‘but I’m still going to cosplay the shit outta this thing.’
“You’re incredible,” Rafael finally said as the elevator came to a halt. He didn’t tell her enough though she proved it to him daily.
She gave him a quiet thankyou in return and he heard it catch in her throat on its way out, he should tell her more often. The doors slid open with an overly sunny chime to signify their arrival and he looked at her one last time before stepping into the corridor. Her eyes were locked with his, grateful and loving but apologetic.
Elvis’ Patch It Up boomed from the apartment, the chorus echoing into the hallway as they tentatively reached the source, the bass sending vibrations through the floor into their uncertain bodies.
“I love you,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he smirked as he followed her into the crowd of people spilling out of the doorframe and threatening to overflow into the hall.
For all his protests Rafael didn’t completely hate the costume party experience and much to his relief their outfits weren’t that elaborate compared to some of the other guests that milled about around them. He found himself leaning against his host’s bookshelf nursing a Heineken and discussing 1970s cinema with someone called Murray who worked in finance. Murray was dressed as Jake Gittes from Chinatown and Rafael felt himself painfully bored with the conversation and jealous that Murray was allowed to wear his three-piece suit, even if it was accompanied by a fedora and nose bandage.
The books lining the shelf at his shoulder held his interest far better than his companion’s complete recount of Soylent Green and he furtively wished she’d return from the other side of the room to rescue him. The pained expression she offered told him she was enduring her own social hardship.
A pointy-featured woman named Aparna found him surveying the culinary options in the kitchen and subsequently grilled him on his work, his relationship, even his heritage. The turquoise and gold beads hanging from her Egyptian-styled headpiece jingled every time she shook her head in exaggerated agreement. An hour later he found himself trying to convince a man wearing a panda suit that he was not, and never had been, in a catalogue of any kind.
With time beer progressed to whiskey and he found himself back where he belonged, at her side with a possessive but affectionate arm around her shoulders, his hand dangling precariously close to her left breast. Rafael finally allowed himself to relax. When she craned her neck to nestle her face into his neck and plant a tender kiss under his jaw he felt the tension leave his shoulders, his body growing slack and warm in her presence. Leading her to a dimly lit corner outside their host’s study he manoeuvred her back against the wall, locking her between this arms.
“Did you know,” his voice low and secretive, a tad slurred from the free alcohol. “Princess Leia was my first love?”
The satisfied hum that vibrated low in her throat was dulled by the music blaring from the speakers a few feet away. Her arms were tucked behind her back, pressed against the garish wallpaper behind her and she popped her hips forward slightly to press into him teasingly.
“When you said I could be the Han to your Leia I was picturing something a little more…” he swayed his head from side to side as if he was rolling the words around to make them fit. “A little less…” the jarred sentence was punctuated with a predatory grin.
The growing blush in her cheeks made his entire body rush with desire. Her eyes were wide as she giggled, “I have to work with these people, Rafi!”
She was absolutely right he quickly realised. He didn’t want the likes of Murray or anyone else eyeing his girlfriend clad in only a skimpy gold and burgundy bikini, he wanted that privilege solely for himself. His eyes roamed over the crowd for Murray who was chewing an innocent bystanders ear off and Rafael lobbed a warning glare at the suited man; it was absurd and childish but wholly necessary in his mind.
Her sultry voice brought his attention back, “And anyway, I think you’ll like what’s under here a lot better.”
A coy little smile brandished her face just as the track changed and he immediately recalled the song from the catalogue of his memory, Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police. How appropriate. Rafael recalled a warm summer evening sitting in a deck chair on the roof of her building, his arms and legs bare to the balmy air and her iPod at his side serenading them as they lounged; the song had started and he moved to raise the volume a few notches higher. ‘Hey, this song is about you,’ he’d declared. In time the comment had become as guaranteed as the lyrics themselves.
And after four years the words no longer had to pass his lips, he told her with his eyes and the crinkle of his smile lines, this song is about you. He brought his hand down to her hip where he noticed the smooth feel of her skin under the white fabric. There were no seams or elastic or lace to disrupt the trail of his fingers.
“Starts with N and ends with G,” her whisper was low against his ear.
Everything she do just turns me on.
Naturally he sought more evidence before he could believe her claim and his hand curved down and around until it cupped her ass, bare and free beneath her costume.
“How did I not notice this, Cariño?” his eyes were fixed on her lower half, wide and dark with the newfound knowledge.
He sensed her shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug though his stare never relented, “I guess you were too busy sulking.”
His hand sought hers and led her through the crowded hallway into the living room, his objective to escape the party and get her home as soon as possible. They darted between guests and furniture, Rafael almost tripping on someone’s bulky dinosaur tail blocking his path and squeezing past a six-foot California Raisin in his haste to find the exit. He felt his body be pulled back into the throng of dancing couples and she tugged him against her, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Don’t you want to trip the light fantastic with me?” her body swayed before him.
Tease.
Draping an arm around her waist he indulged for a brief moment, “I’d like to do a lot more than that.”
As she searched for her host to farewell Rafael manoeuvred towards the door, keeping a trained eye on his partner while she kissed cheeks and embraced people who had grilled him hours earlier. He was too distracted by her to notice the familiar set of blue eyes watching him, moving towards him.
“Counselor!” a loud shout permeated his surrounds. Rafael immediately turned toward the approaching Staten Island accent, thick and heavy with amusement.
“Barba, hey! Fancy seein’ you here,” Carisi laughed, dragging a pipe from his upturned lips.
Rafael felt himself tense as the lanky man inched beside him with his overly familiar manner and bright smile. Carisi wasn’t supposed to be here, no one he knew was. Her eyes met his and he willed her back to his side to rescue him, and if his pleading expression hadn’t convinced her then their secret code (index finger smoothing across an eyebrow) would tell her just how much he needed her.
“Detective,” Rafael sighed. “How inspired,” the quip was matched with a glance up and down his body, examining the officer’s Sherlock Holmes costume.
Carisi ignored the dig and even held his tongue as he surveyed Rafael in return. An effort in self-preservation, Rafael thought.
“How do you know my cousin Manny?”
A familiar, comforting hand found his and she answered before Rafael could, “he’s my boss. I love your costume, Sonny.”
Sonny. Don’t encourage him he wanted to say. When she reached out to squeeze his arm affectionately Rafael sniffed in annoyance.
“You two look really great, you know that? I love couples costumes,” Carisi beamed with not an ounce of irony.
“Of course you do,” Rafael sighed, the jibe lost to the noise around them.
The excited detective fumbled with his iPhone, swiping his thumb upwards to open the camera application. “Let’s get a quick selfie, huh?”
“Let’s not,” Rafael returned before seizing the doorknob with his free hand and pulling her along with him. He could hear her apologizing to the detective as they moved into the hallway and he knew he’d have hear about it later, Carisi probably asking how he enjoyed the party in front of the squad on Monday. He’d probably want to discuss Star Wars with him, ask his opinions and theories. Jesus Christ.
To his surprise Rafael no longer cared about the weird looks from their cab driver, the doorman or his neighbours as they made their way home. Maybe it was the alcohol, she was right free booze does help, or maybe it was her hand caressing his thigh during the cab ride, his knowledge of what was waiting for him underneath her dress. Whatever it was it made him giddy and excitable.
As the elevator lurched to their floor and the doors creaked open she pushed herself off the back wall to step into the hallway but before her feet could hit the cream carpet Rafael stopped her, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back into the box. He blocked her body from the entrance with his own.
“Rafi, what’re you doing?”
He looked over his shoulder at her confused expression and pressed a finger to his lips. Leaning forward to peer into the hallway he checked left then right before returning to the elevator, his right foot against the door to keep it from closing on them. He glanced at her again, a fleeting glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Storm troopers,” he whispered as he slowly took the replica blaster pistol from its holster on his thigh.
Her lips twitched into a smile as Rafael raised the pistol against his chest, his expression deadly serious. She met his stare with an equally dramatic look. “What are we going to do?”
God, he loved it when she played along. “Stay close, Princess. End of the hall number 7R, we’ll be safe in there.”
He kissed her suddenly, hard and passionate, while his free hand gripped the back of her neck before dropping to her hand and releasing her from his lips. With a self-assured wink he tugged her from the elevator and began running with her down the quiet hallway. The pistol was pointed in front of them, authentic sound effects ringing from the toy as Rafael shot at their imaginary attackers. Their pounding footsteps thumped along the carpeted halls.
“Han, behind us!” she shrieked and Rafael reached back to shoot at the danger approaching in their wake. As they rounded the corner he took the lead again, shielding her with his body as they closed in on the door they were searching for. His fingers muddled with the belt, frantically pulling out his keys from the small leather pouch on his hip. Popping open the button the keys slipped from his hand to drop at his feet, his right hand still outstretched to shoot the pistol.
“Hurry,” she breathed as she watched him fumble with his less dextrous left hand.
Grabbing the pistol from him she stood with her back to his, covering him as she shot right and left into the empty hallway while Rafael scooped up the keys and quickly unlocked the door. The sounds from the pistol continued into the hall until Rafael’s hands locked around her middle and swung her into the apartment, the door slamming hard milliseconds after they entered.
Their laboured breath occupied the darkness of their home. His heart was racing and his cheeks ached from smiling as he leaning himself back against the door. He could only just make her out, the glimmer in her eyes shining in the shadows but he heard her soft giggles. Their stares were fixed on each other for a long moment.
“Come here,” he finally whispered.
She wasted no time and was seized into his tight grip and spun around until her back was flush against the door. Rafael couldn’t wait any longer and he brushed his lips over her jawline and up to her earlobe where he took it between his teeth, ever careful not to disturb her hair as his tongue ran along the soft skin. When her breath hitched he felt himself tingle and grow with excitement and he brought her hips forward against his own. He sought her lips and kissed her longingly, her tongue dancing with his as her nimble fingers traced through his hair. The scrape of her nails along his scalp made him shudder and moan into her mouth.
“Princess,” Rafael smirked as he dropped to his knees.
The fabric of her costume bunched in his hands and he ducked his head underneath the skirt to plant long open-mouthed kisses over her silky skin. She’d teased him all night and now she was going to endure a little teasing herself. His warm tongue ran over her skin before immediately blowing cool air onto the same spot and after the third repeat he heard her moan in frustration.
Rafael removed his face from beneath her skirt to look up at her, his hair mussed from the friction. “Don’t make a sound, Princess. We don’t want to give away our location.”
With that he traced a slow finger over her clit and listened to her hum in pleasure. “Not a sound,” he warned.
Returning to his position he took her left leg over his shoulder and anchored her to the door with his other hand. He breathed in her scent, familiar and sweet, and he ran the tip of his nose along her slit before surveying her with his broad, eager tongue. She was like honey in his mouth and he nibbled, sucked and licked at her as her muffled hums filled his ears causing him to chuckle against her. Rafael wondered whether the whiskey on his lips caused any extra sensation when he kissed her.
A dull thud rattled the door, the back of her head bumped against the wood as she writhed and Rafael knew she wouldn’t last much longer as her hips involuntarily thrust against him. It was his favourite part of her pleasure, when she ground against him, whimpering and warm, and her hands tugged at his hair while his tongue refused to relent. When her legs shook and her chest heaved he smiled against her, his own heady desire threatening to burst.
“Raf,” her whisper was laboured and she tried to bring him back to her. He shook his head, tongue still lapping at her.
“Han,” she tried again and he rose to his feet slowly with a smug smile plastered across his face.
His bottom lip was slick and he ran his tongue over it before kissing her softly. The small moan released from her pillowy lips was almost drowned out by Rafael’s own as he felt her reach down to unbuckle his utility belt, letting it fall to the floor around his feet. The sweet pressure of her palm sliding into his unzipped jeans caused a strangled groan to escape from deep within him. His forehead sought out the comfort of her shoulder while her hand continued its languid pace over his erection.
She breathed into his ear, “Shh, wouldn’t want to give away our location.”
His amused chuckle vibrated against her shoulder and he scooped her up in his arms, coaxing her legs around his waist, and carried her the couple of paces to the console table in the small hallway. It was the perfect height and width for his intentions and she fit wonderfully on top of it with her back against the wall and her knees either side of his body. The rush of pleasure from her hand around him interrupted his internal praise for his furniture choice. When did she pull down his jeans?
“Here,” Rafael helped push his costume down to his ankles before running both hands up her smooth legs, clearing her dress away. Their lips met again, wet tongues continuing their waltz as Rafael’s hands gripped her thighs. Her long legs locked around him until there was no space between their bodies and that was all the encouragement he needed to bury himself inside the warm safety of her love.
Their harmonised rocking caused the console to knock against the wall with every forward thrust, creating a soundtrack to their rushed lovemaking. Her breathy encouragements caused his hips to snap harder and he felt the muscles in his thighs and ass tense with his mounting pleasure. The glass vase to his left rattled with the force of their movement, the yellow petals of the scented roses he’d bought her earlier in the week shaking and threatening to scatter. Rafael wondered if he should stop just long enough to save the vase, before his thrusts grow too fast and erratic. He didn’t think he could stop himself, he was too close, too intoxicated by her.
Her hand left the back of his neck and steadied the vase against the table, her other hand gripping the collar of his henley, pulling it down to better expose the hair on his chest. “Keep going,” she sobbed and he kissed her again; flawed by her ability to read him so well, they were one in mind and body.
Her heat around him intensified and contracted as her back arched and voice cracked. A smile broke out across her face, sated and dreamy, and Rafael followed her lead, his body melting into hers as he jerked and shuddered. He could hear her pulse beating next to his ear, hypnotic and comforting.
His lips found hers again, leaving a soft loving nip while he caught his breath. Her perfect hair now looked chaotic with wayward strands hanging around her ears and trailing down her neck. Rafael stirred with excitement as he observed her, lips swollen and eyes heavy lidded, her hair dishevelled and dress hiked up around her waist, the pink blush of pleasure tinting her perfect skin; she was the definition of debauched and he wanted her all over again.
“Maybe next time,” she bit her lip as she carefully moved off the table. “We could try Indiana Jones?”
Next time they would stay at home, no cab rides across town or god-awful small talk with strangers. Next time would be just the two of them. Next time.
Rafael hitched up his jeans and followed her towards their bedroom, “Well, Halloween is coming up.”