ROMANCING MO RYAN (12 page)

She got on and rode.
 
There was still some resistance as she eased down on top of his penis, especially as it responded to her and he became erect again.
 
And she rode him despite the discomfort.
 
She rode him hard.
 

The feeling began to intensify for Mo all over again.
 
He tried to resist, but it felt too good.
 
Once again, it felt too good!
 
And he soon was so engrossed in the feeling that he placed his hands on the side of her hips, and helped.

“Do me, Mo,” Nikki decried.
 
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do this!”

Mo moved her onto her back and did as she commanded.
 
He did it gladly.
 

He stared at Nikki as he fucked her this time, as his already massive penis seemed to keep expanding with every thrust he made inside of her.
 

And she felt him.
 
She felt him as if she was feeling an old, familiar place of warmth.
 
As if she knew him somehow, but only on a deep, hidden level she couldn’t even explain.
 
And that sense of knowing that this was no ordinary lay, that this was no ordinary man, intensified her already intense feelings.
 
She lifted her chin as her head lobbed back, as her eyes now stared away from him and at the ceiling, as she fought not to cry, not to break down in tears like the innocent he took her for.

Mo’s gyrations were this time sweet and easy, but the rhythm was changing.
 
He was still sliding in and out, but with more thrusting motions now, as his lust began to build and that moment of truth became harder and harder to stave off.
 
He laid his body down on top of hers, wrapping her completely in his muscular arms, as his tight ass moved back and forward, back and forward, tightening even more the deeper he thrust into her.
 
He didn’t want this feeling to end.
 
He didn’t want to pour into her and then have to get out of her.
 
He wanted to rest in her, to live in her, to take possession of her.
 
And that feeling, of wanting her so completely, was shocking him.

And again, despite his herculean attempt at self-control, he lost it.
 
And he began to thrash her again.
 
He didn’t want to feel this way.
 
So he changed.
 
Maybe if he treated her as if she didn’t matter to him; maybe if he lost all regard for delicacy and pumped on her ass as if he couldn’t care less what pain it caused, then this great need he was feeling for her would leave him alone.
 

So he fired away, losing all restraint, but it backfired on him.
 
Because even as he pounded her, it only intensified the feeling.
 
Even as his penis rammed in and out of her in frantic, near-chaotic thrusts, that feeling grew stronger and stronger.
 

And just like that, as his arms tightened around her and hers tightened around him, she was precious to him again.
 
And his rhythm slowed again.
 
Every other woman he’d ever been with was nothing to him compared to Nikki.
 
They were like sex toys.
 
Because it was for certain, he thought as he slowly gyrated her, that this woman was no sex kitten purring for his pleasure.
 
She was pleasure itself, and he was purring for her.
 

And there was no doubt about it.
 
He was hers.
 
Lock and loaded.
 
Screaming out
Yes! Yes! Yes!
as he made love to her.
 
He wanted to pour inside of her so badly that he was terrified that he could die from the intensity of the impact.
 

And when that moment came, when he broke like a dam inside of her, as he filled her up so full it began to ooze out on either side of her, running down her sides in a stream of milky silk, he couldn’t stop gyrating.
 
She was screaming his name, holding onto his hair, nearly passing out as the feeling wouldn’t ebb, it wouldn’t ease up, it wouldn’t do anything but continue to intensify.
 
Until neither of them could take it anymore, and their bodies, nearly glued together with sweat and passion, collapsed on the bed.

Neither knew what to say, as they lay there, as their breathing was so heavy, so unregulated, that it concerned them both.
 
Mo lifted up and they both looked into each other’s eyes.
 
What the hell just happened
, the amazement in those eyes seemed to say.
 

 
And when he rolled off of her, he rolled her into his arms.

He unlocked the door of her condo and handed her back her keys.

She looked at him.
 
Her feelings were so all over the place that she literally didn’t know how to feel.
 
It was as if she had had the best night of her life, and the most terrifying night, both at the same time.
 
And it had her in a tailspin.

“I’ll take very good care of your Charlie Parker,” she said to him.

“I know you will, Nikki.”

“And Judge?”

He was already looking at her, but his interest peaked.
 
“Yes?”

“Would you be offended if I called you Mo?”

He laughed, a great, booming laugh.
 
“Since that’s my name, and you call me that already, I think it’ll be okay.”

Then she turned serious.
 
“Did you read my article?”

His smile didn’t fade, but it weakened.
 
“Hero or Zero?
 
Yes, I read it.”

“What did you think?”

“I thought it was the kind of article you would write.”

“Meaning?”

“More commentary than objective.”

Nikki sighed.
 
She didn’t know how to be objective?
 
First Phil told her so, now Mo was telling her too.
 
She had a big-ass problem.
 
A journalist who didn’t know how to be objective had a problem.
 
“I never said you were a zero,” she said.
 
“I wouldn’t call any human being such a thing.”

He looked at her.
 
“I know that, Nikki.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Great.
 
Wonderful.
 
It made me feel like shit, Nikki, how do you think?”
 

Her heart sank.
 
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.
 
I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly.
 
“How I feel is irrelevant.
 
And it better stay irrelevant, Nikki, even after what we did tonight.
 
You’re a journalist first.
 
And don’t forget it.
 
If you think my views are imbecilic, then you call it as you see it.
 
You always have.
 
And you always should.”

“What about you?”

He hesitated.
 
He seemed touched by her concern.
 
“I can take care of myself,” he said. “Just do your job.”

“Even if I don’t know how to be objective?”

“You know.
 
And someday you will be.”

She nodded.
 
“Thanks.
 
I think,” she said.

He smiled.
 
And then hesitated before speaking again.
 
“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mo.”
 

She didn’t know if it was her voice or the look on her face, but instead of leaving as it appeared he was about to do, he stood there staring at her.
 
And then he walked closer and placed his hands on her arms.
 
He seemed indecisive standing there, gently caressing her arms, as if he wasn’t sure if he should hold her or get the hell away from her as fast as his good sense could take him.
 

She knew she wasn’t exactly his type either.
 
She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman he imagined spending his winter evenings with.
 
But he didn’t run away.
 
He held her.
 
He pulled her into his arms and held her closely against him.
 
His touch felt so good, she felt so protected in his arms, that she wanted to cry.
 
It had been too damn long.
 
Now it was torture.
 
Now she wasn’t just hugging him, but clinging to him.
 
Because this had to be right, because she was finally experiencing what the fuss was about and it had to be the real deal.
 
It was a happy feeling, a wildly exhilarating feeling.
 

But a terrifying feeling as well.

He removed his arms from around her and placed his hand under her chin.
 
When he lifted her face to his, he stared into her eyes.
 
And he kissed her gently on her lips.

“Take care of yourself,” he said to her.

Nikki smiled.
 
“You too,” she replied.

Mo smiled a smile that seemed almost radiant.
 

Then his smile disappeared.
 
“Alright, enough of this,” he said, opening her door.
 
“Get inside and make sure you lock up,” he ordered.

Nikki chuckled.
 
“Yes, sir,” she said, and did as he had commanded.

When her door was closed, and he heard the lock, he began walking back to his Benz.
 
And that smile of his returned.
 
Small at first, and then grand.

“Doing what to you?”

“Why you jerkin’ me around like this?”

“What are you talking about, Phil?”

He waved the paper around in his hand.
 
“This touchy, feely bullshit!”
 
Her colleagues looked up.
 
“That’s what!”
 
Then he attempted to calm back down, but failed.
 
“You make this guy sound like Mother Teresa!”
 
He read from the page: “
It was refreshing to know that there are still great men in our criminal justice system.
 
Judge Monty Ryan showed his greatness when he admitted that even he could be wrong too and the Shepard case may need to be revisited.
”
 
Phil looked at Nikki.
 
“Even he could be wrong too?
 
Who the hell is he?
 
He’s Judge Zero, remember?
 
He’s the enemy, remember?!”

Phil was angrier than Nikki had ever seen him.
 
And disappointed as hell in her.
 
He thought she would be his voice, his unyielding liberal voice, and she had let him down.
 
“Clean up this shit and get it on my desk by five!” he ordered, as he threw the paper across her desk.
 
He did not go back to his office, but hurried out of the newsroom, slamming the door as he went.

Helen was sitting in waiting, her big eyes looking, her wide mouth smiling.
 
“What?” Nikki asked angrily, and then grabbed the article from her desk.

She re-read the story.
 
And Phil was right.
 
It was loaded with praises and platitudes of Mo, a man who wined and dined and sexed her the night before but hadn’t bothered to even phone to see if she was alive the next day.
 
And she was praising him?
 
It was still her unfair, unbalanced style, but in the opposite extreme.
 
She balled up the paper and tossed it in the waste basket.
 
She was a journalist first, even Mo said so himself, and she decided to start acting like one.

Her story made the front page fold the next day and her co-workers couldn’t stop congratulating her.
 
Even Helen got in some congrats, nicknaming her
the slash and burn queen
.
 
Phil loved the nickname.
 
Nikki found it reprehensible.