by Penny Wylder
My pussy clenches, and damn, at this rate, I’m going to need a change of panties soon.
“Deal,” I whisper, and his lips quirk into a grin. He’s so close. Close enough that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my lips to his. I want to. I find myself tilting toward him, unstoppable, unable to fight the gravity.
That grin widens and he leans back in his chair once more. Damn him. He knows what I want. And he’s enjoying withholding it.
“That’s all you want from me, huh? Just my cock?”
He says it loud enough that a couple at the table beside us glance over, eyes wide. My eyes widen too, and I duck my head, face flushed.
“No, I—”
“It’s cool.” He winks. “I’ve been told it’s pretty addictive, so I can understand.”
I aim another kick at him under the table. “How long have you been doorman-ing, Zayne?”
“Oh, we’re not going back to boring first date interview questions already, are we?” He shakes his head.
I laugh. “I’m just proving I want to know more about you than just how big your cock is.”
“Two years,” he replies. “First job I picked up when I moved here and I liked it.”
“What about it?” I tilt my head, studying him.
He smiles. “The people. My tenants. Helping them out, making sure their lives run as smoothly as possible. I like that. I like being able to see the results of what I’m doing first-hand. I help somebody get their laundry done or send out a package or ferry their groceries upstairs, and I get to see the results real-time. Before this, I worked in an office, pencil-pushing gig. You did all this work but you never got to see anybody happy from it. You never saw proof that what you did mattered.”
I can feel myself nodding again. “I get that. I feel that way a lot of the time at my job. Like nothing I do makes a real difference. Not to real people.”
He slides a hand across the table to squeeze mine quickly. “I’m sure it does, Clove. You just don’t always see them through your screen is all.”
I sigh and nod again. “Maybe I envy you a little. That instant feedback.”
“I do enjoy instant feedback.” He glances down at my phone which is resting face-down on the table. “Speaking of which. If you did hypothetically want to know about my cock… I mean, since you asked.”
Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I have to laugh, even as I pick it up. There, right on the home screen, is a new message. A photo attachment. I glance back at him, lean forward to check under the table. How did he send that so fast, without me even noticing?
“You came prepared?” I ask.
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I open the photo and immediately fight the urge to hide my phone. It’s strange to look at his dick while he’s sitting right here across from me, out in the open. Especially in a public place where anyone could walk right past our table and see my phone.
Zayne must sense that I’m debating closing it again because he snatches the phone from me and plants it face-up on the table. “You asked for this,” he reminds me in a low voice. “You should enjoy it to the fullest.”
So, I resist the urge to hide and bend forward to take in the picture. This one was taken from a bedroom—I spy a duvet in the background. He’s completely naked this time, not just pulling himself out of his boxers. And damn, his cock looks even better than I remember. It’s flushed, standing on its own. He’s standing too, and as full as it is, it stands straight out from his body, strong and hard. I imagine bending over in front of him, letting him thrust that thing inside me, and it makes my pussy feel white-hot with desire. My clit throbs, feeling heavy and weighted between my thighs.
“Your turn,” he murmurs.
“What, here?” I cast a glance around the coffee shop.
“You’re right.” He stands and drops a handful of change on the table, more than enough for a 20% tip. “They’re about to close. What say we continue this next door? There’s a little Irish pub on the corner, and the bartender owes me a few drinks on the house.”
I trail after him, heart pounding. As we exit the coffee shop, he catches my hand, and I wind my fingers through his, loving the feel of his thick, strong fingers enclosing mine, protective and possessive all at once.
The walk to the bar is far too short, mostly because once we get there, he lets go of my hand again, and my skin burns where he was just touching me. I want nothing more than to grab his hand once more. Or better yet, pull him against me, crush our bodies together and pull his lips to mine. I want to kiss that grin off his face, replace it with a sexy, sultry smile. I want to taste his mouth, his tongue. I want to kiss my way along his stubble-dusted jawline, down the side of his neck. I want him to push me up against this bar and take me right here.
Shit.
Calm down, Clove.
The bartender greets Zayne by name, then catches sight of me and rests an elbow on the bar, eyes darting up and down my length with a smile of approval. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”
“Clove, this is Nick. Ignore anything he tells you,” Zayne advises with a smirk at his friend.
In response, Nick slides two glasses across the table. “You’re just in time. I’m trying out a new recipe.” But I notice his eyes keep darting back to me. I wonder if that’s because he’s surprised to see me here with Zayne. Then I wonder why. Does Zayne usually bring a different girl every time he comes here? Or does he not usually have a girl in tow at all? It’s hard to tell.
The guys banter for a minute while I sample the drink. My eyes widen. It’s delicious—fruity but not too sweet, and a little smoky on the tail end.
“I call it a Southern Fire-Starter,” Nick says, noticing my expression. “Bourbon-based.”
“It’s delicious.”
“She’s got good taste,” Nick points out to Zayne with a wink. “Well, you know, except for showing up here with you.”
I grin over the rim of the glass at Zayne while he insults Nick back.
“Seriously though, how did he talk you into going out in public with him?” Nick adds when Zayne pauses to knock back a taste of his own drink.
“Funny story…” I start, but Zayne finishes his drink with a shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“How about not giving her the third degree right off the bat, huh, dude?” He’s grinning, but something about their postures tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. They’re both joking, but Nick is asking Zayne something else, I think. Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I shrug it off when Zayne leads me to a back table. I don’t need to figure out his friends. I’m not here for them, after all.
We take a seat in a far corner, a cozy little spot that I could definitely get used to. It’s the kind of local dive that I love best—not too pricey, not too crowded. Just the right number of locals who know each other’s names, and a bartender who remembers their favorite drinks.
We sip on Nick’s specialty cocktail and talk a little bit about the neighborhood. Zayne grew up here, apparently, and before long, he’s regaling me with stories of what this place used to be like when he was young. He’s only a couple years older than me, I learn, which surprises me. He has one of those faces that could pass for almost any age between 28 and 40.
Still, for only being 31, he knows a lot about the history of this spot. This pub has apparently been here all along, one of the only institutions that survived the real estate crash and then the following real estate explosion a few years later when rent prices started to recover. There used to be a big park next door, but about fifteen years ago they razed it to put up another apartment complex, and then in turn razed that to build a bigger, fancier complex.
It’s intriguing hearing about all this history. I never really thought about the neighborhood, about what it used to be like before I moved in. Now it’s ritzy as hell, with tons of boutique shops and fancy restaurants on every corner. I don’t mind that at a
ll, but it’s strange to think of what it must have been like for Zayne. To grow up here, to watch his neighborhood go through so many transformations.
I tell him about my old neighborhood where I grew up, out in west Ohio. It was a tiny town, barely a blip on any map. Even locals had hardly heard of it. I had 50 people in my high school graduating class. He laughs at that. I describe our weekend pastimes—yes, cow-tipping was a real thing. No, we never actually managed to push a cow over. Though one time my brother did get kicked in the shin while trying.
Before I realize it, we’re on our third round of drinks, the first two compliments of the house, and I’m feeling them. Not to mention, with every round, we’ve inched closer together, going from sitting across from one another at this table to side-by-side, to now, with Zayne’s leg and side pressed against mine. I can feel his hips as he shifts in his chair, leans closer against me. A spark flies through me when he drapes his arm over the back of my chair, letting his fingertips trail along my bicep.
“So,” he murmurs, against my ear when we’re halfway through our third drinks. “Earlier…”
“Mmhmm?” I tilt toward him, distracted by the faint graze of his lips against my earlobe, and the continued tingles along my arm as he traces his fingers lazily over my skin.
“You were going to return my favor.”
I cast a sideways glance at him and find him grinning at me, a spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. “What, here?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, we aren’t at the café anymore. And you know, they do have a bathroom…” His eyes dart to the far wall, to a little corridor that leads to the single stall at the back of the bar. It’s only just visible from here, and not viewable from the rest of the bar since it’s around a corner.
When I look back at him, I’m pretty sure my eyes are alight with the same kind of mischief. “Good point. So, you want me to go in there and…” I trace a fingertip down his chest, pause to tug gently at the collar of his shirt. “Strip?”
“Just your top, if you prefer.” He lets his gaze drop to my chest. “Though, I won’t complain if you want to take off more…”
“That’s going to cost you a lot more than just a dick pic,” I reply, leaning in to let my forehead rest against his, our eyes locked as I grin.
“Hmm… Well if it involves getting to see what’s under your uniform, I am definitely willing to pay.” His hands wander down my sides, wrap around my hips. Our breath mingles between us, barely an inch of air separating us. I want to close the gap so damn badly. I want to press my lips to his, taste him.
Instead, I decide it’s time to give him a taste of his own teasing medicine. I push out of my seat and stand, snatching my phone on the way up.
“See you soon,” I tell him with a wink, and then I wind my way down the hall toward the restroom.
It’s free, so I step inside and maneuver in front of the mirror. For a pub bathroom, it’s really not too shabby. It’s clean, well-kept. I cast a glance at the door and decide to get this over with quickly. Luckily, I wore my favorite bra today, mostly as a private mood-booster this morning when I was exhausted and trying to force myself out of bed. It’s red and lacy and lifts my girls to just the right height, giving me a hint of cleavage without going overboard. I pull my dress off, so I’m just in my panties and bra. I snap a photo in the bra first. I hit send on that, then hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror.
I’ve sent nude pics to guys before, of course. But only guys who I’ve been dating for a few months. Guys I trust. And not even many of those. It’s a lot to ask for a guy I only just met. I’m all too aware of what can happen to girls who aren’t careful, who send nudes to guys who suddenly decide they want to take revenge on those same girls later.
But I’ve known Zayne for years, even if not intimately. And besides, he works in the same place where I live. He’s not going to risk his position to mess with one of his customers, is he?
That makes me pause.
Customer. I am basically his customer. Or his boss, depending on how you look at it. He works for the building, which means he works for the residents, which means he works for me. Is this weird? Is this too much of a business relationship for me to turn it into anything more?
And what if the flirtation goes south? What if this leads nowhere, or worse, leads to a few hookups and a bad split? I’ll have to pass him every single day on my way in and out of the building. Constantly being reminded.
Then again, we’ve come this far. I have photos of his cock on my phone. I’ll be constantly reminded no matter what happens now. I might as well take the leap into the deep end since I’ve already gone and gotten myself wet.
I grin at myself in the mirror, amused by the analogy. My phone buzzes.
That’s not what I asked for, Zayne says, and don’t I know it.
I unclasp my bra and let it slide down my arms. Take a deep breath, face myself in the mirror, and snap another photo. In this one, I’m grinning, just a little, sultry and sexy all at once. And my tits are on full display, nipples hard from the cool air in here—and from the thought of who is about to see this picture.
I hit send. Then I start to lift my bra back on.
That’s when the door opens.
I gasp and drop my phone into the sink, startled. Shit, I forgot to lock it.
But when I see who it is, I freeze in place.
Zayne turns the lock behind him, a wide grin on his face. “I have a policy about open doors,” he says.
“What’s that?” I ask, lifting my chin. Trying desperately to pretend that I’m not standing here topless in a public restroom, staring at one of the hottest guys I’ve ever known.
“I always walk through them if I want what’s on the other side.” With that, he crosses the restroom in a single stride and catches my chin in one hand, wraps his other arm around my waist. Next thing I know, his lips collide with mine, and I forget that I’m half-naked, forget where we are.
I forget everything but Zayne.
His mouth parts, and his tongue invades. I let him claim me, twine my tongue with his while our hands roam across each other’s bodies. I run one hand through his thick blond hair, along the back of his neck, while my other hand traces the hem of his shirt. Slips underneath to press my palm flat against his hot, bare back.
He grips my waist with both hands and crushes me tight against him. I can feel the hard press of his cock against my belly, and when I wriggle against him, he pulses against me, groans faintly into our kiss.
I tilt my head to let him kiss me more deeply, then gasp when he catches my lower lip between his teeth, bites down gently. His hands trail up my waist to my breasts, and trace underneath, above, circling around them. His lips leave mine, and I gasp again in protest, but then I don’t have time to think about it, because he’s kissing his way along my jawline, down the side of my neck. His stubble scratches against my soft skin, but I love it, the sharp contrast between his stubble and his soft mouth, his hot tongue wet against my neck.
He nips at the skin just below my ear, and a shiver runs through my entire body as I crush him tighter against me.
His hands finally reach my nipples, and he rolls them between his forefingers and thumbs. I moan, sinking against him, loving the sensation of his strong, muscular body, so hard against mine. I tug at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against my skin. He pauses to let me pull it off, then he’s right back on me, squeezing my breasts hard enough to make me gasp, his mouth tracing my neck down to my shoulder, my collarbone. I lean back, and he dips down to suck one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened tip, as his other hand continues to work my other breast.
The sink digs into my side as he leans into me. I glance over his shoulder, check the door, realizing someone could walk in at any moment. I should care. But it’s hard to think about that, when Zayne is pressed against me. With his free hand, he traces my spine, down, down, pausing at the small of my back to flatten his palm against my skin
, and then he slips his fingers down the back of my panties, the thin fabric giving way easily to his rough touch. He grabs my ass, squeezes hard, and I arch my hips into his, loving the feeling of his hard cock pressed against my belly, his hips digging into mine.
He pushes me backwards, into the sink, and the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to his hot skin.
My clit feels like it’s swollen, a fat weight between my legs that’s begging me to take this farther. To let him take me, fuck me right here over this sink.
But when I glance away from him, remember where we are, my heart sinks a little.
I want to fuck him—desperately. I want to feel his thick cock inside me, and let him take what he wants from me. I want him to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, just the way he promised, and then I want to fuck him again and again until both of us will be sore in the morning but neither of us will care.
But not here. Not like this. Hooking up in the bathroom of a dingy little corner pub…
Zayne leans away from me, and follows my gaze. He must read my mind, because a moment later, he stoops down to scoop his shirt and my dress off the floor, and passes me mine. “As much as I’m enjoying you, Clove, I have to admit I’m not really into restroom hookups.”
I accept my dress with a grateful half-smile. “You read my mind.”
His eyes fix on me, still taking in my body hungrily. “So what’s say we blow this joint?”
“Your place or mine?” I lift an eyebrow.
He grins. “They’re the same address, so that makes it easy.”
My cheeks flush. Of course. I should have figured he’d live in the building too. Damn, this is becoming a worse upon worse idea. And yet, I feel myself bend to pick up my bra, all the while shooting him a flirty grin. “Let’s decide on the walk, then.”
We make it as far as the front door of the pub before we fall into each other’s arms again. The second we step outside and cool night air hits us, it seems to go straight to our heads. He kisses me hard, backs me up against the wall of the building, and I lift one leg to wrap it around his waist as we kiss, burying my hands in his hair.