Thank you for the flurry of reviews. A heatwave inducing update...
Harry smiles at Rusty, who is on guard outside the VIP rooms tonight. The hulking man nods in return and draws back a curtain.
Usually, Harry thinks Dempsey would be cocksure of himself in all ways. She expected him to be full of quips and offering to get her undressed, trying to bribe Rusty to walk away, and persuading her to go home with him, and work open that space he would've found. It has his name inside it.
He's thrown her along with himself. He looks awestruck and confused, both new looks on him, for her anyway. He is, for once, obedient. It is this reaction that made her invite him to the VIP room.
Outside, Magenta is being introduced to the stage. Harry closes the curtain. Deep breath. It's Dempsey.
Her partner is standing in the middle of the space, and she lets her eyes drink him in, lingering, taking her fill just as he's done with her. His breath decelerates as if he's chased a suspect with his endless legs. He's utterly out of his element in a space that's been home to her for weeks.
What would Marilyn do? Harry dismisses this, for Marilyn might want to do things that would get herself the sack and Dempsey put in the hospital.
She smiles sweetly and confidently, allowing a little of Harry back into her voice. "Hi."
"Hey." He shuffles his feet with nerves; even at her doorstep the first time, he never did that.
"Take a seat. I suggest the middle; it's more comfortable." She feels a flush of heat as his eyes widen. She could sit beside him and tell him how she's been, ask how life is out there. He knows enough about clubs to understand that could happen, and perhaps that's what he's anticipating.
It isn't what she wants to do. Not now.
Dempsey sits down carefully as if any movement might blow this moment. Harry resumes their earlier position. Because she's always wanted to, she runs her hands through his hair and tilts his face. She remembers him doing the same on the Heath when he moved her face to kiss her as the suspect walked by. Dempsey had got up with his usual swagger, acting as if his tongue hadn't just been in her mouth.
"You don't have to.." He croaks, eyes like saucers.
"I don't, but do you want me to dance?" She can't say for you; it doesn't feel entirely honest. She sways her hips to the song playing on Magenta's set. "Why are you here?"
"I don't know.' Dempsey swallows hard, and Harry believes him, his eyes filled with wonder as he tries to keep his focus on her face.
"How did you find me?" She turns her back and slides down to the floor, aware of his body and the reaction she's creating. It has been somewhat of a complication in their partnership, but this is entirely different. She rises and moves her weight to her feet to rest her back against his chest. When her hips flex, he curses.
"I… you know me." He answers, his voice strained. She wonders if he knows her. "Harry…"
"My name is Marilyn." She places her hands on his knees to dip down and wriggle her ass in his face. His hands flex by his side and he lifts them up.
"You can't touch me," Harry warns, "but you can look."
She turns to find his eyes flitting away from her.
"You want me to look?" Dempsey asks, his voice low with intent. She nods, raising her hands above her head and planting one foot beside his hand. His dark-blown eyes roam, taking her in, accepting her permission.
She wrestles with what next. Decision made, she releases the catch on her dress and lets it fall away. A first for her in this space and possibly for Dempsey. His mouth drops open, and he takes a deep breath; his tongue runs across his lips. A visceral response to all he sees.
Turning her back to him again, Harry presses her body against his chest and he curses again. Her arm wraps around his neck when she balances herself on his knee. "You shouldn't be here."
"I had to know you were okay." He says, leaving her in no doubt of his feelings for her. "You don't have a weapon."
"I have myself." Harry says; he nods in agreement.
Harry gets to her feet, takes his money from the table, and decides on another 'first.' It'll astonish Rusty; she's got a reputation of not being that sort of dancer.
She hands the notes through the curtain. "I need a little privacy."
There's a pause, and the bouncer looks at her for a moment, "Two minutes."
She catches Dempsey as he yanks his eyes away from her body to look at her face. He looks like he's about to snap; that air of feral behaviour she does recognise. Before she changes her mind, Harry lunges forward and slides onto his lap, pressing her body to his, feeling a shock of pleasure run through her core. The heat of him and his groan encourage her to kiss him; this time, she takes his face in her hands and nips at his lip, allowing his hands to roam over her body. It's heaven.
"Time's up." Rusty calls from outside.
Harry kisses her partner one last time, scattering glitter on his black shirt. "You can't come back, Dempsey."
When she leaves the room, Harry doesn't look back, grabbing her bag and pulling on her outerwear, desperate to get home.
She can't have Dempsey follow her. She's cracked the case, and it's time to get back to being Harry. How dare he turn up! However much she tries to be angry, she can't. Just one flick of the buttons on his fly, and he'd have been inside her.
He must go home.
