A/N: I'm still working on my other story but I was inspired by a Maroon 5 song. So I wrote this little ditty. I'm not sure if I want to make it into a longer story or just keep it as a one shot. You tell me. Enjoy and review!
She's wearing a lace dress that scoops low in the front; the tops of her breast peek out tantalizingly as she bends to adjust the straps of her strappy stilettos. Chase looks down her dress in an unabashed fashion while Foreman and Wilson avert their gaze.
Your gaze however is focused on Chase as he drapes his arm around the back of her chair shifting closer to get a better look. You're just about to whack his shin with the end of your cane when Foreman hits his arm telling him to watch his wandering eye.
Cameron looks over as Chase offers her a sheepish look while she pulls up her dress. It stays put on it's new perch, but slowly starts to fall giving way to those tempting mounds of flesh that were enticing the entire table a few minutes ago. She brings her drink to her lips; a diet coke with ice. Her lipstick stains the glass in a beautiful shade of strawberries, and you envision her kneeling before you the lipstick smeared around her mouth as she looks up at you, eyes heavy with lust as she holds your straining erection against her wet mouth.
You shift in your seat and bounce your cane against the floor, your other hand grips the glass of whiskey. You lift it to your mouth and you take a quick sip as she stands up dragging Chase and Foreman's arms, insisting that they join her on the dance floor.
A quick contemporary piece has begun to blare through the speakers and your eyes narrow in the direction of the band. They've taken a break and are beginning to flirt with the single nurses lingering near the bar. Wilson taps you on the shoulder and points to Cuddy. You follow his line of vision and chuckle to yourself as you watch one of the members in the band flirting shamelessly with the Dean of Medicine. She fiddles with her necklace as he tells her some awful joke and she gives up her laughter freely.
You scoff at this hook up pool disguised cleverly as a charity event and your eyes drift to the dance floor where your fellows are dancing to their young hearts content. Foreman is holding Cameron's hand as he moves to the rhythmic beats of the hip-hop song being played. Cameron shimmies against him as she runs her free hand through the loose spirals of chocolate curls. She alternates between the two of them grinding and laughing as Chase slips his hand around her wiggling waist.
The grip on your cane tightens as you watch Chase moving in on his target, but your fears are quickly relieved as you watch her pry his fingers from her body and tisks at him playfully. She's a little tipsy, thats the only explanation for the dancing, amiable mood, and the coy looks she's been sending you from across the table. You rub your hand against your thigh, the dull throbbing a welcome distraction from thoughts of peeling that short dress from her svelte form and bending her over the table and plunging into her moist heat.
The group returns to the table as the band picks up their instruments again and begin to play their stuffy brand of music that should only be played in waiting rooms and elevators. You stand as they take their seats and reach for the cigar tucked safely away in your pocket, you jerk your head in the direction of the balcony to Wilson and he stands quickly pushing his chair back to follow you.
It's a cool night, a soft breeze hits your face as you puff on the cigar Wilson has just lit. The two of you stand there as you alternate between smoking and laughing over Cuddy's latest conquest. Then the familiar scent of vanilla wafts into the air as you turn to find Cameron standing behind the two of you.
You're not sure how you've come to learn that this sweet spice emits from her, but the smell ignites a fire in your belly that has yet to be quenched.
Her eyes are lined with a thick liquid eye liner giving her otherwise innocent green eyes a mischievous glint. Wilson swallows hard and you can tell he's reminding himself of his wife at home who is sure to throw him out for good if she finds even a whiff of another woman's perfume on him. So he artfully excuses himself and puts out his cigar, moving inside to rejoin the party.
She's smiling at you in that coquettish way of hers that makes you forget that she's your immunologist, just some young thing that has a ridiculous school girl crush on you. You offer her what's left of your diminishing cigar. You do it because you expect her to withdraw and grimace claiming that she's never lifted a product of tobacco to her fine lips. Instead she surprises you; she takes it from your hand making sure her fingers brushes yours and wraps her red lips around it puffing quickly. A grey plume of smoke escapes her mouth and she grins and hands it back.
The alcohol has made her cheeks a soft pink, and her eyes are slightly glazed over as she looks you over.
"You're drunk." You say with the cigar perched between your lips. She shrugs and comes to stand next to you with one hand holding the railing, probably to help her keep her balance.
"You're high." She accuses back. You tell her it's a vicodin high, nothing out of the norm and she gives you that grin again. This time it's accompanied by a hungry look as her gaze sweeps over your body. Cameron moves closer and her small hands slip under your jacket as she runs them over your chest.
"You..." She pauses as she continues her seduction with broad strokes, "Are super gorgeous." You disagree with her deluded comment but hold your tongue for once in your life as her hands snake to fold behind your neck. Now she's staring intently into your eyes as she presses her body into yours. The free hand you have has come to rest on the small of her back as your eyes flick to the open doors of the balcony. No has seem to notice the two of you so there's still time for you to remove her from your embrace.
She won't budge. Her hands are locked at your neck and that enticing smell of vanilla is stronger than ever. Luring you into her sweet and innocent world. You're no good for her, and she knows it. Maybe that's what gets her off, you wonder. The thrill of the chase, going after her ridiculously older boss who's damaged beyond repair.
Now she's staring at your mouth and she stands on her tip toes to place a quick kiss on your waiting lips. It's fast and you barely have time to respond. She's smiling and she rises again to capture your lips. This time you respond, you've dropped the extinguished nub of your cigar and your hands are on her waist drawing her closer. You can taste the saccharine sweet taste of diet coke on her tongue as she pushes past your unsuspecting lips.
A tipsy Cameron is a forward Cameron. You store this fact in your head to use to the best of your advantage. She rubs against you and you groan into her mouth, cupping the firm globes of her ass as you still her movements considerably. She pulls back with a questioning look on her face.
"It's a rental." You tell her. "Don't want to have to explain some embarrassing stains when I return it." You reason with her. She nods mutely and slows her gyrations as she pulls your earlobe between her teeth. Her breathe is warm on your skin as she sucks on it gently pulling at it.
Wilson clears his throat from the entrance of the balcony. She slowly extracts herself from your arms and turns to Wilson. He's scratching his head while he blushes profusely.
"The party's dying down and the taxi's are lining up." He says, then moves back into the hall.
Cameron grabs your hand and leads you back into the party. Her hips sway in a hypnotic motion and you're sprung, willing to do her bidding whatever it is. You make your way outside and she pulls you into an empty cab. The driver starts to pull out of the large cue after you give him your address.
Cameron giggles as she puts her hand on your good thigh and gives it a squeeze for good measure. You're really doing it, you are bringing Allison Cameron home to your town house for a quick fuck.
You know she's a good lay, you've over heard Chase brag to Foreman how tight she was and she looks like a good lay. Everything about her screams sex. Though she could stand to put on a few pounds, you know you won't be disappointed.
The driver pulls up to your apartment and you get out, the ride: courtesy of the generous PPTH. She hugs you from your back as you fumble with your keys and you can't focus with her lips pressed against your neck.
Finally you manage to open the door. Next thing you know your naked and sweaty in your bed. Her lipstick is smeared and has taken on an arterial red as it shows up vibrant on your pale collarbone. Those thick curls have lost their luster and fall demurely around her snow white shoulders. Her taste is still on your lips from your amorous activities.
It's strong.
Kiwi.
She sprawls out across your broad chest and doses off. A pang of male satisfaction is felt as you pride yourself of rendering her in this condition. You reach for the bottle of vicodin on your dresser, because that familiar feeling of pain is beginning to creep into your system.
You dry swallow one then reach for the light she insisted on keeping off. The sleep overtakes you and leave all feelings of remorse and regret for the morning.