The bar is crowded, people spilling out of it with cocktails in hand. The pounding music is hypnotic, entrancing. The sun is setting over the fjord, the first stars glistening overhead, and the evening is clear and fresh.
I slow, captivated by the people before me, and the music changes. A beat steady, powerful, the bass intoxicatingly sexy. A song I’ve danced naked to, a sinuous, sultry performance. A deliberate seduction.
The air’s cooling around my stockinged legs, my hair lifting lightly in the breeze. On a whim, I go in.
Boosting myself up, I perch on a high bar stool, toes pressing against the support, and order myself a drink.
The skin of my neck prickles, a shiver causing the smallest quake of my shoulders. Nipples hardening, a delicious thrill of sexual excitement rushing through me.
With a grin, the bar person places my drink before me. She glances at my chest, and in the mirror behind her, I see how the spotlights highlight the shape of my tits, my nipples glaringly obvious through my black tank-top. I smile at my reflection, and turn to watch the dance-floor.
The Stranger
From the corner of my eye, I see someone at the other end of the bar, I turn to look. A man, a little older than me. Clean-shaven, neat, the top button of his white shirt undone.
And staring at me, unashamed, unabashed at being caught. I gaze back at him, taking him in.
His face is serious, his eyes sparkling in the shadows. His mouth is stern, his lips sensuous. A thrill runs through me, a sense of danger.
Fuck, such attraction.
I realise I’m staring too, and I turn my stool fully in his direction. Taking a sip of my drink, I let the straw play about over my lips, and I imagine kissing him. Reaching my arms around his neck, pressing close, my perfume mixing with his scent, and kissing him. He raises an eyebrow, turns his head a fraction. And I turn to face my reflection again, knowing I’ve piqued his interest, knowing he’ll come.
My hair is tousled by the breeze, eyes blackened with smoky make-up, lipstick a red so deep, it’s a sultry statement on my lips. And my nipples, still displaying themselves, as though begging for attention. I slip my straw between my lips, letting my wrist brush over a nipple as I do.
Uhh.
And while I deliberately flirt with my reflection, he approaches.
He stands behind me and we stare at each other again. I set my drink down, and with a hand curled by my cheek, I begin to imagine his intention. His lips, so kissable. My thumb and finger draw circles over each other and I imagine touching him.
After a long moment, he leans down, and still holding my gaze, he says just loud enough to hear:
His touch freezes my world, his fingers warm against my neck, gentle, dry. He sweeps my hair back, his lips so close now, I can feel his breath on my neck and I shiver again, my nipples hardening further. Watching him in the mirror, my lips part, waiting for the brush of his lips, imagining how his stubble will scratch at my skin. He glances down, and I wonder if he’s looking at my nipples.
I wait.
He breathes. Once, twice.
My skin tingles.
Thrice.
I sigh, letting my eyes close. Still waiting for that kiss.
“Komm,” he whispers.
The Kiss
He stands back and holds out a hand to me, his cufflinks sparkling in the lights. His hand is warm, and when I slip from the stool, he yields with my movement.
Leading me by the hand, we leave the bar, leave our drinks behind. And under the moon on the promenade, surrounded by people and floating on music, I stand before him. He is still, gazing into my eyes. He waits.
I shiver, the air is cool. But no it’s not that. Fuck, I’m filled with excitement. My thoughts are fizzling, my desire building. Excitement peaking. His shapely lips part, he draws a breath through them, watching my face.
I’m painfully aware of my tingling nipples, of the aching emptiness in my cunt. But above all that, my desire, oh god, my need to kiss him.
And though he knows, he waits.
Stepping closer to him, I put my arms about his neck. His shirt is crisp and smooth under my skin. I rise up to my tiptoes and he puts a hand in the small of my back, holding me to him. Ah, how that tiny mark of possessive ownership sparks me. He leans down, brushing my cheek with his, his stubble ignites me.
There’s lightning between us.
A third time he whispers something to me, though I don’t catch it. I’m too thrilled, too high.
Too turned on to understand him.
I lick my lips, gazing up at him in the darkness, and still, he waits.
Slowly, gently, I move closer, his breath falling from his lips, mingling with mine, and my lips brush his.
Once.
Twice, and I moan.
Thrice. Then he owns me.
He gives me that kiss. Uhh.
This is lovely! Now we need a part 2 😉
When I started writing it, I was pretty sure they would end up locked in a toilet cubicle or somewhere else together! They had other ideas 🙂