bakerstreet | the Surprise Kiss Meme

She stayed close, breathing hard, grinning like the devil herself. She hadn't expected quite such an enthusiastic response. Most men swallowed their tongue when she came at them like the world was on fire and she content to watch it burn. Clearly, he wasn't 'most men'. She cast a wary eye down the alley, looked back at him.

"I have a case of Pappy Van Winkle 20 year old in my trunk. I think I could be persuaded to part with a bottle. But I suspect my little outburst might have drawn unwanted attention."

Her hips rolled against his as she pushed herself away, and that was clearly what she was doing. Forcing herself to manage some level of restraint, at least for the moment, judging by the way she was licking her lips and looking at him.

"You want to get out of here?"

As a rule, Boyd was not the type of guy who thought with his dick. (No, he'd leave that to Raylan.) And this situation here had more red flags than most—a primary concern being if things should go sideways, he was currently unarmed, on account of having had to leave his gun in the glovebox of his truck, it being sort of frowned on for a convicted felon to walk into the Federal Building packing a firearm.

But on the plus side, she was an extremely hot woman and that was a pretty rare, expensive bottle of bourbon (possibly also hot) she was offering to share. And somehow, he didn't think she was licking her lips in anticipation of the whiskey. Seriously, how often did an opportunity like this come along?

"Well, you can color my interest piqued." That was kind of obvious. "I believe I heard tell of a few cases of Pappy 20 Year goin' missin' a while back." He lifted his eyebrows in a friendly, inquisitive expression. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"I might," she said. "But that's privileged information."

She grinned at him again, the look akin to the one crocodiles get as they see the wildebeest herd approaching the watering hole. Hungry just didn't quite cover it. She spoke to him as she opened the backdoor and headed back in, moving with purpose. One hand fished in the front pocket of her jeans and came up with a wad of bills, which she threw at the bartender.

"But I might be persuaded to part with it, Mister..?"

She headed for the front door, the crowd parting in front of her like bait fish around a shark. She turned her head to catch his eye, and yes, make sure he was keeping up. She had things to do, him included, and she wasn't about to wait around to explain the misunderstanding to local PD.

"Well, I will certainly do my best to be persuasive."

It was maybe just slightly unnerving to see that kind of expression on a woman's face (even if his dick was disagreeing), but he followed her back into the bar all the same, albeit slowly, trying not to look too much like a dog on an invisible leash and feeling more committed with every moment that passed to solving the puzzle of this very intriguing and probably very dangerous lady.

"Crowder. Boyd Crowder. And with whom do I have the pleasure of conversin'?" Or kissing passionately, as the case may be.

"Boyd Crowder, mmm." She rolled his name around in his mouth like a pearl. Once they were free of the crowd, she slowed down to his pace. He moved much like everything here in Kentucky, just a little bit more leisurely than she liked. It was both fascinating and maddening, making her feel like she was struggling to stay in sync.

"Wednesday. Barking Mad Wednesday. Though you, sir, may call me Ari."

In the parking lot, she spun on one heel and walked backward, keeping an eye on her surroundings. And him, lord have mercy she could not keep her eyes off him.

"I'm right over here. Need anything out of yours before we go?" The car she was headed towards was a little black Stingray with a paint job that had seen better days. Just classy enough to be hers, just ratty enough not to stand out too much.

Edited (words) 2014-01-20 19:02 (UTC)

While Boyd might be considered to be a touch more energetic than many of his fellow Kentuckians, he could still saunter as slowly as the best of them and he took full advantage of the opportunity to watch her just as closely as she was watching him, with enough distance between them to enable him to get a very good view of the entire package.

"Barkin' Mad, huh? Ain't that a colorful appellation. I'll wager there's an interestin' story behind that. Is it well-deserved?"

His truck was in a parking garage about a block and a half away and he debated whether or not taking the trouble to go over there to fetch his Glock was a necessity or just a precaution. "Well, that all depends on how long we're gonna be gone and whether or not I'll need my overnight things."

What he saw was a woman almost as tall as he was, in a black tank top, skin tight khaki trousers, and English riding boots that had seen better days. She's lithe without being overly muscular. More curves than angles. Her skin was a dark tan, possibly some Mediterranean blood. She loved the sun, that much was clear. No visible tattoos, but a few scars. Knife slashes mostly, if he had to guess. The one near her right shoulder might have been from a small calibre round, but it's old and faded.

She bit her lip, laughing under her breath, only shooting him a look in answer to his first question.

"Well," she drawled, dropping her chin and rolling her jaw. "I have no plans for the next 48 hours but to enjoy this bourbon and possibly a good steak." Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him for a long moment. Whatever the thoughts had come to mind made her eyes grow dark and drew a quiet, sensual hum from her throat.

"If you need an excuse, I could hold you at gunpoint. You could tell them you were waylaid by a mysterious stranger, one who took liberties with your--tender virtues."

His impossibly white teeth flashed in a grin as he put his own interpretation on that look she gave him. "I'm gonna take that as a 'yes'. Question is, whether that makes me just as crazy to keep on followin' you." Which he does, going around to the passenger side of her car.

"However, I would advise you against pointin' a gun at me. People do that and I have a tendency to point one back and that might cast a pall over the evenin'. But as it so happens, my schedule is fairly flexible at the moment, there ain't no need to go to extremes." A little bit of a bluff, seeing as how he was somewhat deficient in the weapons department, currently.

"I surely hope that means," he went on, looking incongruously angelic, "that I can trust you to relieve me of any lingerin' virtues I might possess."

She opens the driver's side door and stands there for a moment, leaning on the hard top and looking across at him. If he had to guess, the idea of him pointing a gun back at her didn't cast a pall over anything. In fact, it may have been pouring gasoline on the bonfire.

"Let's just say, if you weren't crazy before you decided to join me on this little expedition, I promise you, I will do my level best to drive you there and back again by this time tomorrow. And any virtue you have that remains will be on your head. Door's open."

She slid down into the seat and grabbed the keys from behind the visor, closing the door behind her. The 'Vette growled to life and The Eagles blared out of the speakers in the back. ...faster, faster, the lights are turnin' red. She punched a button and the radio went silent.

When he was seated, and his door shut, she leaned across. One hand rested on his jaw, and turned his face to her. This time when she kissed him, it was less aggressive and more sensual. It's hungry, and not exactly soft, but somewhere near it. An oblique attack meant to keep him off balance, possibly, or merely her appetites boiling over again. Regardless, this one lingers, giving him time to respond in kind.

There were just so many better things he could be doing with his hands than having one of them preoccupied with having to hold a gun. "Well, I must say I'm pretty partial to those wild loop-de-loop roller coaster rides, but I generally do prefer the car to stay on the rails while I'm inside it."

His smirk was followed by the door opening as he gracefully folded his wiry frame into the small car. He didn't bother looking for a seat-belt. "Well, this is nice, albeit a little cramped," he remarked, not because he figured she cared one way or another what he thought of her ride, but more because he was the type of person who seldom just sat quietly when he could be talking. "So I'm hopin' you've got somewhere else in mind for—

But once again, her actions cut his words short.

If he were unbalanced, he recovered easily enough, his hand hovering undecided in midair for only a moment before settling lightly on her khaki-covered thigh, his tongue flirting with hers; teasing at something deeper.

When they eventually broke apart, he didn't sit back at all, keeping eyes locked on hers as surely as his lips had been the moment before, his voice quietly husky. "So tell me—what have I got that that guy back there in the bar didn't?"

The kiss broke and it took a moment for her to open her eyes, a little sound of disappointment caught in the back of her throat. She met his gaze, held it as she considered her answer. He might have got the impression that, despite the appellation, she actually had thought this through. When she spoke, her voice was honey dark, the tempo of her words slowing to match his.

"Well... For one, that's the first time you've touched me, even though some might say I've extended an invitation to do so. You were at a table, not the bar, and by your expression, you were either playing chess in your head, or pondering your next move. Not many men think quite so much as you, Mr. Crowder. I find that impossibly attractive. Not to mention the tattoo across your knuckles." She caught his hand and brought it up to rub her cheek across the letters, her eyes dropping shut again for just a brief moment. "It doesn't jive with the rest of what I see, which I suspect means you've undergone a personal renaissance of a sort. And judging by the way you're sitting here with me now, I'm guessing it wasn't god you found."

She sat back into her own space, and studied him from one eye, backing the 'Vette out, keeping half her attention focused on him. "Oh and you didn't freeze up when I kissed you the first time. Means you can keep your wits about you. Also an attractive quality in a man."

Her feral smile returned, and she dragged a hand through her hair.

"That all sounds better than, you smell divine and I want you to shag me blind, don't you think?"

Edited (response, verb tense) 2014-01-22 18:13 (UTC)

He managed to stay silent for the entirety of that explanation, breaking into a soft laugh at the concluding words. "You totally could've gone with that. Sometimes there's somethin' to be said for concisely gettin' straight to the point." Not a thing he ever did, but he could definitely appreciate it in others.

Eyes resting on his tattooed knuckles, Boyd repeated her evaluation, his mouth twisting wryly. "'Personal renaissance.' Yeah, you could say that. Although I found God, all right—found Him, repented my evil ways, went on a holy crusade, got a lot of men killed and lost Him again." Okay, maybe he could be concise when it came to things he didn't really want to talk about. Like religion. "At this point in time, I'm a born-again atheist."

Without missing a beat, he attempted to circumvent any continued explanation of that particular subject by mischievously cocking an eyebrow and moving on to the subsequent one. "And is that a thing which you do often? Impulsively and passionately kissin' strange men in alleyways, that is."

She did the math in her head, and came to the conclusion he was back to his 'evil ways'. And she thought he couldn't get any more interesting. She merged into traffic and down-shifted, making the engine scream before shifting again. The two lane highway wasn't straight or flat, but she threw herself into the curves like he'd seen her do everything else.

"Not often," she confessed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on the gearshift. "It's got me out of a pinch or two, I'll admit. When you're in my line of work, it pays to not be predictable. And today has been," she cut a glance at him, "anything but. Sometimes I even manage to surprise myself."

There's a brochure for a vacation cabin stuck in the visor of the passenger's seat. It's about twenty minutes away from their current location, and set away from the road, overlooking the Kentucky River. There's also a stack of tourist brochures, most of them for the bourbon distilleries that dot the countryside. Nothing about Harlan, nothing to suggest law enforcement, nothing really personal at all.

"Having second thoughts?"

Settling back in his seat, Boyd's gaze slid over the car's interior, taking note of the various pamphlets without touching them. If he were looking for clues about her without actually coming out and asking, he wasn't being obvious about it. The only thing all this was saying to him was that she appeared to be very interested in bourbon production—or perhaps, in the production facilities. It would be all the easier to remove entire cases of expensive product if one were familiar with the premises, he would think.

But, since she brought it up, he figured he might as well ask outright. "What line of work would that be, Miss Ari? If you don't mind me inquirin'. I confess to bein' somewhat nonplussed by my inability to come to any conclusion on my own." Other than international bourbon thief. Which sounded a little far-fetched.

His initial response to her question wasn't really a response at all; just a tiny smile while he let her speculate for a moment. "If I were, just what would you do about that?" For the record, Boyd didn't look like a man who was having second thoughts.

"Ari will do just fine, if you please." His gaze slid over the interior and she knew exactly what he was doing. It might even have earned him a sly look of approval. "I am a procurer of rare and valuable items. My clients come to me when they want something no one else can seem to get their hands on. And I'm very good at what I do."

She returned that little look, and a slow moving tingle of anticipation rolled down her spine, grounding between her thighs. She had no compunction against letting him see just what the thought of him was doing to her, judging by the expression on her face, and the subtle roll of her hips.

"I guess I might have to pull over and convince you again. But we're almost there. Do you often get into cars with strange women?"

Boyd took a moment over that one; brow wrinkled in mock deliberation, complete with cartoonish head-scratch until his face became illuminated with sudden comprehension. "Oh, I get it. You're an art thief. Along with antiques and maybe jewelry? Or those vintage bottles of cognac that get auctioned off for two grand each. Well, ain't that classy." It seemed as though international bourbon thief had been a good guess after all.

"I believe you can save the convincin' until we get wherever we're goin'. And I do not," he continued, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the movement of her hips, inching slowly up her torso to trace the curves of her breasts with a sultry look that was not subtle in the least. "This is a bona fide adventure."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her eyes glittering with dark humor at his little pantomime. "I am not a thief. I make sure the people I acquire things from are adequately compensated. Perhaps, in the case of certain private collectors, they require some persuasion to part with their prizes, but I am most certainly not a thief."

She kept her eyes on the road, enjoying the heat of his gaze. She bit her lower lip and let it drag through her teeth. "Good thing we don't have long to wait."

She made the turn onto River Road without even slowing down, tires threatening to squeal against the asphalt as she muscled her way through the last few curves. She did slow as they approached a mail box, turning down a long private drive that took them well off the main road. The little stone cottages were tucked up against the river, so close you could hear the water if you closed your eyes and listened.

Ari barely had the engine killed before she was out of the car again, moving around to the trunk. She popped it open with the key, and sure enough, there were two open cases of liquor, one of bourbon and one of rye. She grabbed a bottle of the former, and closed the trunk, spinning the key ring around her index finger until the keys smacked into her palm.

Again, she gave him a subtle and wicked smile, stepping away lightly, the bottle tucked into the crook of her arm. "I do believe I owe you a drink." This time it looked like she wanted him to follow her. Maybe there's even an element of 'catch me if you can' to the sway in her hips.

"If you say so." His tone was mild enough so as to not be condescending, even if that was traditionally a response which sarcastically indicated skepticism. But even so, he wasn't quite buying it and the little accompanying lift of his eyebrows indicated that his imagination was having fun speculating about just what that persuasion and compensation might entail.

As they approached what was obviously their destination, Boyd's attention shifted to take in the scenery, which was unfamiliar, outside of any tourism ads on TV. He'd lived in Kentucky his entire life, but this was not a neighborhood he'd ever had cause (or money) to visit before. It seemed like a world away from Harlan and Black Mountain.

He was a little bit slower to get out of the car than she was; silent and fairly inscrutable as he stretched his legs. For a moment, it almost seemed as though he'd forgotten her presence, given the way her remark about the drink appeared to have brought him out of some sort of brief preoccupation.

"I seem to recall somethin' bein' said along those lines," he drawled, recovering quickly enough. If something had bothered him, it was just as quickly put aside as his feet took directions from his crotch, following those hips.

She caught it, the instant his boots hit the gravel. She'd yanked him out of his world, out of his comfort zone, and he was still getting his sea legs. That was fine. Ari's life fairly well depended on her being able to read people, and reading him, she saw both the kicked dog and the hungry, wary wolf. The wolf in winter, starved and hunting, always hunting for something to fill the void.

She knew a little about that wolf. Not how to tame, but how to feed it without losing a hand. Maybe. She filed that little detail away for later.

Really, the cottage wasn't as grandiose on the inside as it was on the outside. The sliding glass doors opened on a little kitchen table, and she set the bottle down, moving to retrieve a couple of glasses from the sideboard. "There's a deck upstairs, if you'd rather sit outside." The upstairs deck was also attached to the bedroom, but she wasn't diving headlong into that part of the programme just yet.

By the time he'd made it into the room more than a few steps, she stood waiting, holding out a glass to him. The same dark fire burned in her gaze, but it was banked now, if only just long enough to let him get his lips around the other masterpiece in the room. She licked her lips, and watched him, breath held in anticipation, letting the wolf come to her.

He probably should have been expecting something better than a no-tell motel; she was pretty obviously a little too classy for that type of thing. And while he may have been more comfortable there, he had to acknowledge that it would have been disappointing. She was too uncommon a woman for such a common place, even if he would have fit in only too well.

Lifting his chin, he walked across the threshold; embracing his white-trash background and wearing it like armor rather than pushing it to the side in shame. His fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the glass from her hand; examining the amber liquid through sight and smell before moving on to taste. "So, this is the good stuff, huh?" He savored the first sip, rolling it over his tongue appreciatively. "I guess that's not bad, for forty bucks a swallow."

In response to her invitation to sit outside, he moved over to glance out at the deck through the slider, but rather than continuing on in that direction, he instead took a little walk around the room; ostensibly checking out the amenities, examining whatever objects of interest were to be found, and while he certainly wasn't pissing in every corner, it was very reminiscent of an animal marking his territory.

"Nice place," he concluded eventually, with a little smirk. "I do hope there's a hot tub."

She watched him prowl the new territory, keeping her hands occupied with the glass of mighty fine bourbon. But she barely tasted it, she was so focused on watching him. He made her mouth water, and it was important to her that he felt comfortable here. Which was ludicrous considering she'd probably never see him again after their little tryst, but she didn't think of people as disposable commodities.

"There is." She grabbed the bottle and headed for the stairs. "In fact, there's two. The big one is under a gazebo out back. The little one is up here, on the deck." Up here meant the third floor.

The bedroom had obviously been slept in, and it looked like she was living out of a suitcase. The only real personal touch was the paperback novels on the nightstand. She set the bottle and her glass down, and took a couple of towels out of a small closet near the bathroom. They were set on a chair by the door to the little deck. He could, in fact, see the smaller hot tub outside, steam curling up from beneath the edge of the cover.

And then, her eyes still on him, she unzipped her boots. It wasn't a slow sensual striptease. She stripped her blouse and bra off in one go, and then shimmied out of her khakis. She stood before him, not exactly relaxed, but comfortable in her own skin. "Well?"

Ordinarily, he would have been pretty interested in what she was reading, being an avid reader himself, but he would have had to actually notice the books on the nightstand first; his attention, when he entered the room, entirely commanded by the disrobing already in progress.

Heat curled through his gut at the sight of her bare skin, with his mouth suddenly too dry for speech until he remembered the glass of bourbon in his hand. Thankfully, he hadn't dropped it.

"Well... done," he managed to get out, as soon as he'd taken a quick swallow. No seriously, good job.

Getting undressed himself was going to have to wait a moment, as the first thing he desperately needed to do was reach out to touch one of her perfect breasts; his fingers feather-light as they trailed down from clavicle to nipple. A little bit forward perhaps, considering how little he'd touched her so far, but he was unable to resist the impulse.

It wasn't forward at all. In fact, by her standards, it wasn't forward enough. But it would do. He continued to surprise her, in the most intriguing ways.

A lazy smile curled the edge of her mouth, and her hand lit on the back of his. She stepped in close to him and gently took the glass from his fingers, tipping it back to take the last swallow and then lightly tossing it onto the bed. She stood with her weight on one foot, her body language relaxed and open.

But that nipple under his fingertips ruched and drew to a peak, and her breath shivered over her lips. The air between them virtually shimmered with heat.

Edited (words ) 2014-01-24 21:46 (UTC)

The little peak hardening under his touch sent a hot tingle straight to his loins and his nostrils flared as he breathed in her scent. During the course of the evening, his expression had by turns been introspective, animated, inscrutable and astonished; some more easily read than others, obviously.

But at this very moment, there was no mistaking the desire darkening his deep-set, greenish-brown eyes, which looked into hers with an intensity some people might find unnerving. His left hand lifted; fingers lightly skating up the length of her arm, curving over her bare shoulder and coming to rest on her neck, his rough thumb brushing the line of her jaw.

He half-leaned in, half-pulled her to him, his lips moving over hers hungrily, with hints of teeth and tongue.

That dark, hungry gaze fanned the embers burning in her skin. In an instant, every inch of her body was alive and awake. It was a different kind of adrenaline spike, the rare kind. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his fingertips, up her shoulder and across her décolletage. Her areolas grew dark and her nipples stood up proud. Her hand closed around his wrist, pulling his palm flush against her breast.

He pulled her in and her eyes fell closed, a quiet, wanton little moan caught in the back of her throat. He smelled of wood smoke and whiskey, and his own subtle musk that went straight to her head. She let him lead the kiss this time, exploring his mouth instead of plundering it, listening to this new, delightfully maddening slow reveal. Her free hand smoothed over the soft wool of his waistcoat, around his ribs, down to curl around his ass. She pulled his hips forward into hers, molding her body along his lean frame. Everything about her kiss said, stay and talk for awhile. There's nothing more important in the whole world than this right here.

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