Chapter 370: Having Sex In The Cinema I

The screen went dark.

The credits ran and then the screen was just the screen. White and empty at the far end of the field.

The stadium held its silence.

Makima had not moved her head from his shoulder when the credits started. She did not move it now.

He did not move either.

They sat in the center of forty thousand empty seats with the night sky through the open roof above and the remnants of the evening on the small table between the chairs.

After a while she lifted her head.

She sat up and looked at the screen.

"Good film," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"Worth saving it," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the field. At the seats going up in every direction. At the open roof above with the city’s ambient light above it and the stars beyond that.

She had been quiet about the stadium since they arrived. Not stunned quiet. The Makima quiet. The one that meant something had been received completely and was being held correctly.

"How long were you planning this," she said.

"A while," he said.

"Since I mentioned the film," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at him.

"One sentence," she said. "Four months ago."

"Yes," he said.

She held his gaze for a moment.

Then she looked back at the dark screen.

"You know what I kept thinking during the film," she said.

"Tell me," he said.

"That I was watching it in the right place," she said. "I’ve been saving it for a night worth watching it on and I didn’t know what that meant and now I do."

He said nothing.

She looked at him.

"You always do this," she said.

"Do what," he said.

"Make things exactly right without being asked to," she said. "Without making it a thing. You just show up with it and it’s right."

"Yes," he said.

"I know you do," she said. She paused. "I’m not complaining."

"I know," he said.

She almost smiled. The real kind. The one that didn’t arrive often.

They sat in the stadium quiet.

The night above. The dark field below. The forty thousand empty seats holding nothing except them.

"Sean," she said.

"Yeah."

She looked at him

"The stadium is still ours," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"The night is still ours," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She stood.

She reached over and took his hand.

Makima’s hand was warm over his.

She stood slowly, her fingers still laced through Sean’s, and the movement brought her body into the soft ambient light that spilled from the section around them. The dress she wore was simple—black, fitted, ending just above her knees—but on her it was devastating. The earrings caught the light. The bracelet shifted on her wrist. Her black hair was down tonight, falling in loose waves past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were dark with something that had been building all evening.

"Come here," she said again.

Sean rose. The small table between them held the remnants of their evening—two glasses, a bottle of wine, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries that they’d barely touched. He stepped around it and into her space.

She didn’t step back.

Her free hand came up to his chest, palm flat against the dark fabric of his shirt, and she held it there for a moment as if reading something through the material. Then she slid it upward to the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

It started soft. Almost chaste. The kind of kiss that acknowledged everything they’d just said to each other.

Then her fingers tightened in his hair, and it became something else entirely.

Sean’s hands found her waist and pulled her against him. She made a sound—low, needy, entirely unguarded—and her body molded itself to his. Through the thin fabric of her dress he could feel the heat of her, the soft curves that had been driving him insane all evening. His palms slid lower, over the flare of her hips, down to grip her ass through the dress.

"Sean," she breathed against his mouth. "There are forty thousand empty seats here."

"I know."

"We can’t possibly use all of them."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "We only need one."

Her lips parted. That was all the answer she gave before she was kissing him again, harder this time, her tongue sliding against his with a desperation that matched his own. She tugged at his shirt, and he helped her pull it off, the night air cool against his skin. Her hands roamed over his chest, his shoulders, the muscles of his back, touching him like she’d been thinking about touching him all through the film and was only now allowing herself the reality of it.

Sean reached for the zipper of her dress.

It slid down with a whisper, and she shrugged the straps off her shoulders. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in a black lace bra and matching panties that made his mouth go dry. She unhooked the bra herself, never breaking eye contact, and let it fall.

Her breasts were full and high, her nipples already hard. The moonlight from the open roof caught the lines of her body, painting her in silver and shadow.

"Your turn," she said, and her hands were at his belt, unfastening it with quick, efficient movements that made him wonder how many times she’d imagined doing this. His trousers came down. His boxers followed. When his cock sprang free she wrapped her hand around it and made a sound that was half approval, half anticipation.

"I want you to eat me out first," she said, stroking him slowly. "I want your mouth on me until I come all over your tongue. Then I want to suck your dick until you come in my mouth and I swallow every drop. And then I want you to fuck me. Raw. And I want you to come inside me. In my pussy. In my ass. And in my mouth again if you can manage it."