Greg took her to a dark, dingy bar with no windows and low lighting. It wasn't a groovy nightclub kind of place like the one she'd taken him to the first night they met, more a place where people went with a purpose – and that purpose was to drink, a lot. They looked surreal in that environment in their evening finery, but no one seemed to care much.
Jen was surprised when the bartender greeted Greg by name.
"Hey, Doc House. Good to see you. What's with the penguin suit?"
"Work thing," Greg said gruffly.
"Usual?"
"Times two. Put some water in hers." Greg nodded towards her and the bartender gave Jen a surprised look before pouring two shots of Lagavulin.
"You want a slot tonight?" he asked Greg as he topped up Jen's drink.
Jen frowned, wondering what that meant.
"Nah…maybe…dunno right now. I'll let you know later."
"Sure."
Jen grabbed their drinks and Greg led her to the end of the bar, to a small table tucked away in a corner. It had a clear view to a small stage which held a grand piano, currently concealed by a dust cover, a chair and an acoustic guitar which someone was obviously about to play.
"You a regular here?" Jen asked, putting the drinks down before taking a seat next to Greg.
"Kind of. I play sometimes when they have an open mic night."
Ah, that's what the bartender meant. Jen felt a little flicker of excitement that she might get to see him perform. She'd seen the piano at his place, of course, but they'd never discussed it.
"Piano?"
"Mostly."
There was a guitar at his home as well, and Jen was amazed that he not only played two instruments, but played them well enough to perform in public.
"I brought you here because Glen's on tonight. He plays guitar and he's amazing."
Jen nodded and took a sip of her drink.
"It feels weird to be in a place like this in a dress like this," she said.
"You look beautiful." He didn't turn to look at her as he said it, instead watching as the guy on stage tuned his guitar and then began to play with an intense concentration.
"I wasn't fishing," she protested.
"I know." He still didn't look at her.
"Well, thanks. I'd love to see you play."
"Maybe." His tone was dismissive.
"Well, if not here, then maybe at home?"
He shrugged.
Jen smiled weakly and looked away, taking another drink, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was shaking slightly. It had been a bizarre night. And he was confusing the hell out of her. Jokes about being married, followed by comments about not wanting to get hooked. Right now he seemed so disinterested in her. His hot-and-cold running feelings were tough to deal with.
And through it all, an undercurrent –or over-current – of sexual innuendo. She had to stick with her original understanding. He was in it for the sex. She was the one that had made it more than that. So she was the one that needed to keep her feelings reigned in. If she wanted to keep it going, keep him around a bit longer, she had to keep it light.
As if he'd read her mind, he turned to her and winked. "I can think of better things to play at home."
She smiled at the surge of heat his glance sent shooting through her body. At least she didn't have to hide her feelings about that side of things. That would be impossible.
"Really?" she asked quietly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. She watched as he followed it with his eyes and then leaned in to kiss her quickly, just a brief touch of his mouth, grasping her pouting lower lip between his and then pulling away again. A kiss that promised more.
He settled back with his drink watching intently as the guitarist began to sing along to the melodic strumming of the guitar.
They were silent for the first couple of songs. Greg was right, the guy could really play and he had a nice, soft voice too.
"Did you enjoy the dinner tonight?" Greg asked her after a while.
She looked at him.
"Is that a serious question?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"I just didn't think you would really care whether or not I enjoyed dinner."
He frowned, obviously not expecting her to question him back.
"I just wondered if you liked…the people at the table."
"Ah." Hmmm, tricky. What did he expect her to say? What did he want to hear? "Well, I think you and I both know what I thought of Doctor Milson."
He chuckled again, obviously still amused by his own outburst.
"Don't start laughing again," she warned. "I'm easily set off."
"Don't I know it," he said suggestively, his hand finding her knee under the table. Jen caught a little gasp as his fingers moved the silky fabric of her dress over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
"I think your boss is a bit scary," she continued, trying to ignore his fingers' progress up her leg.
"Little Lisa Cuddy scary? Nah."
"Well, I think you're a little scary, so you two probably work well together."
"Really? Me? Scary?" He pulled a silly scary face and Jen giggled.
"At work, sure."
He nodded and shrugged. "Yeah, you're right."
"I don't think James likes me."
"Why do you say that?" His hand stopped moving and she could tell she had his full attention.
"Oh, he was polite and everything. It was more subtle. He kept watching us. Giving me strange looks. I wasn't sure…"
"Nah, he's just jealous because he picked you."
"What?" Jen was astonished. Had there been a competition between them over her? Surely not. And why did he sound so pleased with himself about James being jealous?
"That night in the bar. He picked you out. Said you'd be right for me. It was an experiment."
"Experiment?" Suddenly Jen didn't feel light-hearted any more. She put her hand over his on her leg and pulled it away. "What sort of experiment?"
He looked both annoyed and a little anxious, as if he regretted saying anything. "Don't get upset. It was just…" he sighed as if trying to work out how to explain. "Wilson has a girlfriend."
"Amber."
"Yes, Amber. And he has three ex-wives."
"Really?" Jen was amazed. Sure, James was handsome, but three divorces? She wondered what could have happened to cause three divorces. Not to mention three weddings. And he was so young!
"Uh-huh. Three."
"Wow."
"And Amber is really different to his ex-wives."
"In what way?"
"Just a completely different…type of person."
"He and Amber are really close, aren't they?" When Jen first sat down at the table that night she was curious about what could have drawn the warm James to the cold Amber. But as dinner had gone on she'd seen they looks they'd shared, the discreet touches; they were obviously a couple very much in love.
"Yes…" Greg sighed and his eyes got a faraway look that Jen couldn't decipher.
"So, experiment?" she prompted, still feeling a little sick about what it might mean.
"So I was saying that Wilson had a woman who was different to the usual type of woman he was attracted to. And I wondered if that might work for me."
"So you looked around the bar for someone who was different to your usual type of woman," Jen filled in the rest, ignoring the quieter tone Greg had adopted. Ignoring the hesitancy in his voice. "And James pointed me out."
"Yep. Exactly."
Jen released a breath. It wasn't as bad as she thought it might have been, but there was still something a bit humiliating about having been chosen because she was exactly the opposite of the woman he'd normally find attractive.
"So your normal type is what? Tall, skinny, brunette?"
"No, blonde, I always liked blonde." He reached over and twisted one of her loose tendrils of hair around his finger.
She flinched. So she had been chosen because she was short and fat.
Suddenly her dress felt too tight and she was overwhelmed by feeling out of place and out of her comfort zone. She was hurt, embarrassed and disappointed that he'd ruined their night out.
"I think I'll go now." Jen bent to pick up her purse and began to pull her coat from the chair.
"What?" He looked confused and annoyed. "Jen, don't do this." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from rising.
"Do what?"
"Get huffy."
"Huffy?" Now she was angry. "You think you can just play with me like that?"
"I'm not playing with you. I mean, I am, but not how you mean."
"What?" she asked sharply.
He rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. She could see him mouth the word "women" as he did.
"You should be glad I decided to experiment."
Jen sucked in a breath, astonished at his lack of understanding. "You don't get it at all, do you?"
He grabbed her chin and forced her face close to his. "Jen, if Wilson and I hadn't had that conversation, you and I wouldn't be sitting here right now. We wouldn't have just had dinner together. We wouldn't have had the amazing sex that we've had. I wouldn't have had your pretty mouth all over me. You wouldn't have had me buried so deep inside you it took your breath away."
He paused a moment. "I, for one, am pretty grateful for taking a chance on the 'experiment'," he said finally.
He kissed her and Jen tried really, really hard not to kiss him back. He clearly still didn't get why she was upset. But his lips worked on hers gently, not letting up until she sighed and in doing so parted her lips. Then the kiss heated up until Jen couldn't think straight. She knew she shouldn't be forgiving him this easily. There was still so much that wasn't right between them. And she still didn't really know where she stood. But when he was around, when he kissed her, her brain just…stopped functioning.
There was a cough and they pulled apart to see the bartender at their table holding the bottle of Lagavulin. Jen felt flushed and dishevelled; Greg looked…perfect. Calm, together and unflappable. Right then she hated him. Just a bit.
"What's up Dave?" Greg asked.
"Top up?" the bartender asked and started to pour without waiting for an answer. "Just wanted to check if you wanted that spot. Glen's about to finish so you can go next if you want."
"Oh…uh…"
Greg looked at Jen. She looked away, her emotions still roiling, not caring what decision he made.
"Nah, I think I'd better be getting home."
The bartender chuckled. "Yeah, looked that way to me, too."
--
When they got home he kissed her, tenderly, as if he was finally admitting he'd hurt her feelings. He just wouldn't be saying it out loud. Jen realised she was probably going to have to accept that.
"Ouch." She jerked back when he tried to push his fingers through her hair and snagged on one of the many pins holding it all in place.
"Sorry. But I want to run my fingers through your hair. How would I go about doing that?" He gave her a goofy grin.
She smiled. He was impossible to stay angry with. "Actually, I'm going to need your help with that." She took his hand and went into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror. She reached up and pulled out one of the bobby pins that Marc had used.
"See these? Take out as many as you can find."
"Right." He frowned and adopted a look of concentration as he searched through her hair and pulled out pins. She worked on the pins at the front, but as she watched him, she slowly stopped and let him continue. His expression was priceless and she couldn't help but smile as she watched him focus on the task at hand. Of course, he noticed.
"What?"
"You look as if you're doing brain surgery. Not finding hair pins."
He grunted, but kept going, his expression the same. "I feel like a chimpanzee, grooming a mate."
"Is that a hint? Do I need to wax?" She was teasing, but he looked up sharply, obviously concerned that he might have said the wrong thing. Again.
He rolled his eyes and smiled when he met her grin in the mirror.
"Death of me, I'm sure of it," he said under his breath.
After a couple of minutes' work, he ran his fingers through her hair few times, from roots to ends, making sure there were no pins left.
"All gone. Geez, how many did you need?" He looked at the considerable pile of pins he'd amassed next to the sink.
"Yeah, Marc did go a bit overboard. But I told him I needed it to last all night."
"Marc, hey? This someone I should be jealous of?"
There he went again. Comments like that, that made it seem like he cared. Cared about more than the sex. He was so hard to understand.
"Not unless you want to sleep with George Clooney too," Jen answered lightly.
Their eyes met in the mirror and Jen watched as he leant down and pressed his lips to her neck. His eyes didn't leave hers as his tongue flicked out to taste her collarbone and his hand came around to cup her breast over the fabric of her corset top while the other tangled in her hair.
Jen was instantly aroused, and wished that they weren't in the bathroom and, bizarrely, that the mirror was longer. Not that she'd possibly make love in front of a mirror, that would be hideous, but watching him touch her like this was very, very nice.
"I wish I had a full-length mirror," he mumbled. "Well, I do, but it's on the inside of the closet door. Not quite suitable for what you have in mind."
"How do you know what I have in mind?" she asked cheekily, covering the fact that she was actually a little startled by how close he was to what she was thinking.
"Oh, I know."
He leaned back and started fiddling with the buttons on the back of her corset. "God, these are annoying. And there are a million of them."
Jen twisted around. "Take me into the bedroom and I'll show you a secret."
"Secret huh?"
Once they were in the bedroom Jen showed him the cleverly hidden zipper that negated the need to undo any of the buttons. He smiled, pleased, but before he could do anything with it, Jen pressed her hands to his chest, pushing out to his shoulders to pull his tuxedo jacket apart.
"You first," she said.
She took her time removing each item of his clothing, including his cufflinks and special dress-shirt button things that she'd never seen before.
When he was standing in black silky boxers, his shirt open with his undone bow tie hanging around his neck, Jen stepped back to survey her work.
"Oh, wow."
"What?" He looked embarrassed.
"You're just…phew," Jen sighed. "Beautiful."
"Beautiful?" He was clearly uncomfortable. "I don't think that's the word you're supposed to use."
"Well, it's the right one."
She was surprised and touched to see him squirm at her words. He put his hand up to take off his shirt and she pounced on him.
"No! Leave it!"
"Leave it on?" He raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, leave it on."
"Okay." He shook his head as if he didn't quite understand what was going on. "You, on the other hand. Lovely dress. Now take it off," he commanded.
Jen went to turn off the lights before undressing.
"No. Lights on. You got to see me, now I get to see you."
"Greg…" Jen pleaded, knowing she'd be incredibly uncomfortable if all the lights were on.
"Why? Why can they be on for me, but not for you? You know I've seen it all before anyway." He lowered his voice. "And I do mean all."
"Well, you're gorgeous. And your body's almost perfect. Mine's not," she said bluntly, even though he was right – after that time in his shower, there was barely an inch of her skin that he hadn't seen. But this time she knew that the boning in the corset top was going to have left red marks over her torso and she was wearing control-top pantyhose that she'd really like the chance to take off without him watching.
"You call this perfect?" He took her hand and put it on his scarred thigh.
When she heard the bitterness in his voice Jen realised she had no reasonable argument and suddenly felt guilty about being shy about a little extra weight when his leg was a permanent disfigurement. "I know, but…"
"But what?" he asked.
Regardless, she still didn't want all the lights on. "I've got these pantyhose on…" she whined.
He looked up at the ceiling and Jen caught her breath, wondering if he was about to lose his temper. Then he laughed. "All right. I hate pantyhose. One lamp. Okay?"
"Okay."
While he adjusted the lighting, Jen quickly hitched up her skirt and dragged off the tights.
Having been shown the hidden zip, he made short work of getting her out of her skirt and bustier and then they were on the bed, kissing. Jen loved feeling his chest under her hands and the fact that he was still half-dressed was a real turn-on.
Instinctively, Jen knew that unlike the other times they'd made love, this time wouldn't be long and drawn out. His hand rubbed between her legs impatiently, and hers sought his shaft, pulling down his boxers to stroke and pull on him.
"Jen," he whispered as his head buried into her shoulder, arching his back into her pumping hand. "I can go commando, right? Pill, yeah?"
"Yes, yes." Jen didn't even want that small barrier between them.
He pushed her lacy thong down her legs and Jen sat up to take it off all the way.
"I want you to…" he started.
"What?"
Instead of explaining further he showed her instead, pulling one of her legs over him. Jen soon worked out that he wanted her straddling him. She didn't feel entirely comfortable, but then realised it would give her a perfect view of him – lying beneath her in his open shirt and tie. The soft light from the bedside lamp was kind, and he'd seen her pouchy belly before anyway. It didn't take much for the part of her brain that really wanted to do it to talk her into it.
She sat over him on her knees and then reached down and grasped his shaft, moving him against her core, coating him in her juices and then using the slippery head to stroke her clit until she heard him groan with impatience. Smiling at his urgent need, she positioned him at her entrance and lowered herself onto him inch by inch, wanting at least one thing to happen slowly.
Once she had him fully inside her, Jen paused. She had forgotten how that position made a man's penis feel huge. He wasn't freakishly enormous, but certainly bigger than Matt, and sitting on top of him made her gasp.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes…just…you feel so big like this."
"Excellent." He sounded pleased with himself, but then gave her a concerned look. "Does it hurt?"
"No, no," Jen shook her head, it didn't hurt, she just felt so full. "It's…I just need to…"
Together they began to move and that did it for Jen, that was what she needed in order to adjust, and suddenly the fullness at the top of every stroke was one of the most pleasurable sensations she could imagine. It felt like he was so far inside her she could barely breathe, just like he'd described in the bar.
He pushed his thumb against her clit as she rode him, thrusting up to meet her body, and Jen could feel her muscles begin to tighten. She angled herself so he stroked inside her in just the right way and it took barely any time before she felt the shudders begin, her eyes closing and her head thrown back.
"Oh Greg, I'm coming…"
He kept up the thrusts and the pressure on her clit as she rode out her orgasm, right up to when she put her hand over his to stop him when she got too sensitive. She continued to move on him in a gentle rocking movement, lost in the pleasure of him inside her, trapped by the little aftershocks of her orgasm, until he reminded her of his presence.
"Jen," his voice sounded strangled. "I'm nearly there…"
She came back to earth and opened her eyes, seeing the twist of almost-pain on his face as he sought his peak. He put his hands on her hips, holding her in place so he could thrust into her in his own rhythm, and Jen pushed his shirt aside so her hands were on his bare chest for balance.
She flexed one hand, dug her fingernails in and scraped across his chest leaving long red marks trailing behind. She didn't know where the words came from but she was talking to him, encouraging him, her voice low, sexy and so aroused.
"Greg, yes, come inside me. You feel so good, so big."
He shuddered. "Oh, Jen, I love it when you say things like that."
Jen didn't need further encouragement. "Come on Greg, fill me up. I love the way you fuck me. I want to feel your come in me."
Her words did it, she saw and felt the moment that he lost control, his face contorted, his cock pulsing inside of her. And if she'd thought he was beautiful earlier…well…Jen had to swallow hard to contain her emotions.
He fell back, gasping, and Jen made sure to follow him with her hips, not wanting him to leave her body yet. She lay down, pressing her breasts to him, lying her head on his chest where she could feel his heart thudding. He wrapped his arms around her.
They lay like that for a while until he softened and slipped out of her. He turned, rolling her over without taking his arms from around her, and they lay side-by-side, wrapped together, his shirt tangled around them, tie lost somewhere in the bed. She could feel the light hair of his chest pressed against her cheek as one of his large hands cradled her head, and his chin rested on the top of her forehead. He was holding her to him, tight, and Jen couldn't help the ache in her heart in response.
"Greg…" she took a deep breath.
God she was tired. She'd been nauseous with anxiety, hysterical with laughter, fuming with rage and shuddering in ecstasy – all in one night. She had a sneaking suspicion that spending time with him would often be that exhilarating – and exhausting. And now she was about to push him even further. Would it ruin everything? Maybe. But she knew she wouldn't rest unless she could get things off her mind.
"Greg, is this just about sex for you?"
He stiffened, Jen could feel the instant tension in his body.
He took a deep breath. "Jen, do we have to…?"
"I'm sorry Greg. I know I shouldn't ask. I know I should just leave things, but I can't, I…" she trailed off.
"I'm…" he paused. "I'm really bad at relationships, Jen."
"I don't care. I mean, I care, I just…" She sighed. "I don't want promises and I don't want guarantees. I guess I just want to know if I mean more to you than sex. If it's about more than that. Everything else can wait, if I know there's more to it than that."
His arms around her tightened imperceptibly.
"Yeah, it's about more than that."
Jen nodded, suddenly flooded by immense relief. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it was an indication of something more, something to build from. It meant she could relax in his arms – knowing she'd feel them around her again soon.
--
On Saturday morning Jen dressed and called a cab. They'd slept together like limpets, holding each other and touching throughout the night. But in the morning, something told her that she needed to give him space. He was someone obviously used to spending a certain amount of time alone, and he had had a very stressful week. She actually didn't mind leaving – kissing him thoroughly as he lay in bed before she walked out – after his admission the previous night she didn't feel so desperate anymore, no longer so anxious about leaving in case she never saw him again.
In the cab in her evening dress she looked out at the Saturday morning shoppers and felt very decadent, but the night she'd had and the man she'd been with just made her smile a secret smile to herself.
At home she took a shower and had a short nap and then busied herself around the house, cleaning, doing laundry, cooking herself something nice for dinner and sitting down to watch the family movie on TV. Sarah had been working all day and came home briefly to change and then headed out for a night with the girls, and to be honest, Jen was happy to have the place to herself.
Just as she was relaxing back into the sofa cushions with a glass of chardonnay there was a knock at the door.
"Did you forget your keys?" she called as she rose to answer it, expecting it to be Sarah.
She was pretty sure her heart actually skipped a beat when she opened the door and saw him standing there. So stunned to see him, she just stood, looking at him with a gaping mouth.
At her response he looked down and shuffled his feet. He seemed suddenly nervous. "Don't make me look like an ass for doing this."
"No, of course not. Come in."
He walked in holding a bottle of whisky.
"I just cooked, there's enough for two. Would you like some?" Jen offered.
"Sounds good." He settled on her sofa and opened the plastic seal around the top of the whisky bottle. "And a glass." He was instantly back to his normal self, giving out orders and acting like he owned the place.
Jen smiled to herself as she headed into the kitchen to check the pot in the oven and get him a glass.
Well, well. Miracles did happen after all.
