Free Depths by Steph Campbell, Liz Reinhardt

on her skin, her eyes are closed, her mouth is parted, and her body drags over mine like she has plans that she’s going to carry out, no questions. I rub my hands along her shoulders, down to her elbows, then get bolder. Touch her hip. Drag her closer. Tilt her back on my arm and watch the slow, smooth dip of her neck.
    Suddenly the music changes. I don’t think I would have noticed except for the fact that Tracey has snapped to attention and is staring at the stage. My arms are still loose around her waist, and I follow her line of site.
    A guy with a shaved head and a lot of piercings and tattoos looks at her with possessive eyes, nods once, and straps his guitar on.
    Tracey presses one hand to her breastplate and shakes her head. “Um, can we go? I’m so sorry. Do you mind? Is it okay?”
    “Sure. If you’re ready, I’m ready.” I get to pay the tab, only because Tracey is so shaken, she’s not really paying attention anymore.
    Before we get on the bike, she stands up on her tiptoes and presses her mouth to mine, long and sweet and hard all at once. She pulls back, panting, and gasps, “Your place? Can we go to your place? Please.”
    I know the answer should be ‘no,’ but I’m in no position to tell her ‘no.’ Again, I wonder if she’s ever heard it. I can’t imagine a guy who could resist her.
    So I give her my address. We fly through the cool night and, when we get to my place, she drags me to the front door by my wrist like it’s her place.
    “Tracey,” I say as we get to the door. I have the key in, she turns the knob and presses us into the foyer, kicking the door shut with one heel.
    Her mouth covers mine before I can say what I need to say. A few incredible minutes later we stop for a split second so she can tug me back to the bedrooms.
    “Tracey,” I try again. It’s hard to pull away from her.
    “Cohen?” She smiles, tries to sound coy, but something about this isn’t quite right, isn’t the way I want this to happen with her.
    Though I do want something to happen with her. Badly.
    “That guy at the bar? On stage?”
    She blows a short breath out and pulls at my shirt with her fists.
    “That obvious, huh?” Her lips curve into a half smile that’s got way too much frown peppered in.
    “Who is he?” I don’t really want to know. I just want to enjoy her in my arms for a few more minutes before this night ends worse than I had hoped.
    “A boyfriend. A fiancé. For a few weeks. Almost my husband. But I got cold feet.” She presses her lips together. “And I got cold feet for a good reason. But it still hurts to see him and remember all the good stuff.” She puts her hands on my face. “Cohen? Sexy, sweet Cohen? Please let me forget Tanner. Just for tonight. Please.”
    She’s definitely never heard ‘no,’ and it doesn’t occur to her that I may be thinking ‘no.’
    Because, even though I know we shouldn’t, I let her lead me to the bedroom. When she kicks off her heels and strips off her leather and denim, I know I should tell her that she probably needs time, that things are obviously unresolved between her and Tanner.
    But then she undoes the buttons on my shirt and unzips my jeans. With a flick and a push, we’re standing close, almost naked. Her skin is smooth and warm against mine, her hands small and gentle on my back. I kiss her and she moans into my mouth, letting me know how much she wants this, wants me.
    My hands go to work and we move from being almost naked to completely naked in short order. She walks me back to the bed, our hands and mouths moving hungrily, our bodies twined together. It’s hot, it’s sweet, and neither one of us is very patient about it. I reach for my jeans and find one of the damn weird vegan condoms.
    Tracey smells so good. She feels so good in my arms, wrapped around me, rubbed against me. And she’s whispering things, pleading in a way that makes everything rush too fast. I press deep into her, and it’s so freaking good. She