We Both Paid the Same Stranger to Sublet the Same One-Bedroom, and Neither of Us Would Move Out novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: Fire Escape

Dolores had hung the poncho on our doorknob at seven, with a note pinned to the hood.

Size XL. For the big fella. Return it dry. D.

It was clear plastic, the kind they sell at ballparks, and it was meant for one very large man.

Randy sat on the iron landing of the fire escape with his back against the brick.

I sat in his lap, and the poncho went over both of us like a tent.

The rain came down on it in a steady drumroll.

Below us the courtyard was black and shining, and the string lights Gloria had hung for Saturday swung in the wind.

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," I said.

"It was Dolores's idea."

"It's still the worst idea you've ever had."

"You came out the window anyway."

"I'm bad at ideas, I'm great at windows."

He laughed, with his whole chest, and I felt it through every layer between us.

The plastic fogged with our breath.

His hands found my hips under the hem of my sweatshirt and pulled me in closer.

I put my knees on either side of his thighs.

I wore jeans and nothing under them but a thin cotton thong, and he wore jeans.

The iron grid was cold even through the folded towel he'd put under him.

"Kiss me," I said.

He kissed me.

It tasted like rain and the cinnamon gum he chewed on the bus.

His beard was wet, and his mouth was warm, and the contrast made me shiver down to my feet.

I slid my hands up under his shirt and spread my fingers across his stomach.

He sucked in a breath.

"Your hands are freezing."

"Then warm them."

He took both my hands and put them flat against his chest, under the cotton.

He held them there until the skin under my palms was hot.

His heart beat steady and strong against my left thumb.

I rolled my hips.

I hadn't meant to.

It happened.

It was a slow slide of my body against the hard line of him through two layers of denim.

He grunted.

"Careful."

"I'm being careful."

"You're being a menace."

"I'm being a professional."

He barked a laugh into my neck.

I did it again.

I ground down on him, slowly, and the seam of my jeans dragged right over my clit, and sparks went up my spine.

His hands tightened on my hips and began to guide me, back and forward, a long lazy rock.

We were two grown adults in a rainstorm on a fire escape, dry-humping like teenagers.

I had never been so turned on in my life.

"God, I can feel you," I whispered.

"Feel what?"

"All of it. You're so hard."

"I've been hard since you climbed out the window."

"Then do something about it."

"I'm doing it."

He rocked me harder.

The friction built slowly, steady and hot, and the rain drummed on the plastic over our heads.

I leaned my forehead against his and watched his eyes go dark.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"I want to come like this."

"In your jeans?"

"In my jeans. On you. With you watching me."

"Tina."

"Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping."

He fit one big hand under my ass and pulled me harder against his cock, and held me there, grinding.

I felt it gather low in my belly, a tight bright knot.

I gripped the back of his neck.

"There," I gasped. "Right there."

"Come on, sweetheart. I've got you."

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