Stone Cold

Chapter 6

The cinema is packed, so the seats we managed to get are not the best. Last row on the left side, and of those four seats, two next to the wall are ours. Max lets me pick a seat, and I decide it's better to sit next to the enemy I know, so I take the seat next to the wall. Plus, I have an armrest to myself.

An older couple takes the other two, a gentleman decked out in suit with handkerchief in the top pocket, doting a coke, and a lady with a beautiful silver hair holding popcorn. They smile at us as they settle in, and Max leans towards me to give the man some room while he arranges their coats.

"How cute are they?" I whisper to Max, before settling deeper into my seat. He's leaning towards me, so close I can smell his aftershave. It's sharp, but not overwhelming. I like it.

"Very cute," he finally answers, almost caressing my face with his gaze. I suck in my bottom lip, the distance so short between us I can feel his breath on it. His eyes drop down to it, and he draws in a long breath. For a moment, I believe he is going to kiss me. For a moment, I want him to kiss me.

After all, against my better judgement, I do find him attractive. Also, we are in a cinema. It's almost annoyingly romantic.

Eventually though, after I almost start sweating with anticipation, he pulls back. The movie starts. After half an hour, I find the fact that Max is actually watching the movie without talking a rare likeable trait of his. But just as I come to this conclusion, he nudges my arm, and all my goodwill towards him shatters.

"What?" I grumble.

"He fell asleep," Max says and nods towards the gentleman. I crane my neck and there he is, head leaned back and eyes firmly closed, a faint snore coming out of him.

"Aww," I say, finding this much preferable to people texting or talking in the cinema. But then, a phone ring goes off somewhere in front of us, and the man wakes up with a jolt. The coke he's holding goes flying, and sprays him, his wife, and Max.

"Mon dieu!" I hear the lady exclaim, shooting out of her seat. Max gets up as well, the left sleeve of his blue cardigan blotched with soda. There's a commotion while the couple gathers their stuff, apologizes profusely to Max who assures them it's no big deal, and shuffle out of the cinema.

"Well, do sit down," I say to Max, who's still standing and taking off his cardigan, revealing a pale grey t-shirt underneath. It's almost taut over his big, lean frame. The night I saw him naked from the waist up flashes before my eyes, and I have to swallow against my suddenly dry throat.

"Where, though?" he asks, checking the seats. "There's coke on every seat."

"You can always sit on the steps," I offer half seriously, before I get an even better idea, "Or, leave." I give him a grin that rivals his from the beginning of the evening. He snorts and kneels next to me.

"This is a limited showing. I'm not leaving. Get up."

"Hm?" I mumble, certain I didn't hear him well.

"You can sit in my lap," he says and grabs my hand, lifting us both up. Before I can protest, he has manoeuvred himself into my seat, and pulled me down onto his lap.

"Max!" I whisper shout, trying to get up, but his hands hold my thighs glued to his.

"Oh shush," he chides, his wide chest warming my back, "It's not like I planned this. Stop being a child and settle in. I won't try anything."

My heart sinks a bit at that last sentence, which just makes me angrier.

"Let go of me. I'll sit in your seat."

"Be my guest." He releases me, and I shoot up like I've been fired from a canon, which earns me a chuckle from him.

"So rude," I huff, shuffling away.

Unfortunately, he's right. The left side of his seat is wet, as are the other two. And I'm wearing my favourite silk blend dress that doesn't deserve soda stains. For a long moment, I seriously consider sitting on the steps, but then I think, what kind of garbage awaits there? Max taps on his lap before opening his arms in an inviting gesture. Well, it would be, if there isn't a triumphant smirk on his face. God, I hate him.

"Fine," I spit out, walking back. He pulls out my coat from behind him and carefully places it on top of his jacket left on his seat. Without glancing at him, I sit on the middle of his thighs, making sure I don't touch his zipper with my butt.

"Oh, come on," he says, exasperated, and pulls me back to lean on him, big and wide, opening his legs so I'm nestled between them. And, of course my butt is right on his zipper. That freezes my brain, but warms a different part of me.

"Now, lean your head back on my shoulder so we can both see the screen." I do as he says, too focused on the heat that is radiating from his crotch. What the hell?

"And, relax," he says, adding huskily, "It's not like I'd try to fuck you in the cinema."

That's all I can think about from that moment forward. Fucking in the cinema.

To his credit, Max keeps his arms on the armrests, but his heat is wearing me down. It's like sitting on the furnace top. He's all around me, warming up my back, warming the outside of my thighs, and above all, warming up my butt. I'm probably tripping by now, but I'm sure I felt something twitch under my left buttock. The movie is over for me. I have to focus all my brain power on not moving even an inch, and not giving him any reason to suspect I might want to fuck in the cinema.

Luckily, there's nothing sexy about Parasite.

There's the twitch again, I'm sure of it. Instinctively, I wiggle in his lap trying to move away from it. He sucks in a breath.

"Rise a bit for a sec," he breathes out. Without question, I do, knowing he'll probably do some rearranging. After a moment, he says "okay" and I sit back down. He's eerily silent. Either he has stopped breathing, or he's trying to be really quiet.

"Are you okay?" I ask, glancing sideways.

"Yes. Watch the movie."

"I am." I hiss out, giving him a stare before turning back.

"And stop moving."

"I'm not moving."

"Shh."

I turn back to him again.

"Don't shush me."

He takes my chin into his hand, angling my head to line up my ear with his mouth. I half-hope he'll stick his tongue in it.

"Nathalie, stop arguing with me," he says in a voice that gives me goosebumps.

"Then stop ordering me around."

He groans and releases me. Out of protest, I dramatically push my ass back into him while settling back in. He stops breathing again, but grabs my waist to stop me from moving some more.

"Jesus, woman," he grunts, his fingers digging into my skin. A flash of desire surges through me. "Stop it."

"Or what?"

There's a moment of pointed silence, like he's mulling over should he say anything. Eventually, in a lustful voice that hits my nerves like fingers piano keys, he drawls out, "Or, I might try to fuck you in the cinema."