by Sierra Dafoe
She didn’t want him to wait, she realized. She wanted him to take her. Right now. Right here. Regardless of propriety or decorum or the man behind them, on the other side of the bar.
Or maybe, her traitorous brain whispered, because of the man behind them.
Yes.
For the life of her, she couldn’t tell if that thrilling affirmation came from the stunning man kissing her or her own throbbing body. The thought of that sinfully cute bartender watching them, watching her, made her dizzy with lust.
Michael. The name murmured in her mind, coming—she was sure of it. Well, as sure of anything as she could be with her body blazing and her brain turned to mush—from the man holding her, his arms tight around her and his rock-hard erection straining against her belly, his mouth devouring hers with delectable, single-minded urgency. His name’s Michael.
Julia smiled beneath his fierce, demanding kisses. Well, Michael was going to get the tip of his life, then, she decided, pressing herself against the inexplicable man who held her. Wantonly. Hungrily. Working her hips against the solid heat of his erection.
He groaned, his cock pulsing against her, and she smiled again, delighted by his reaction. You like that, she thought.
His answer was a low, wordless growl—a growl that melted into another harsh groan as she did it again, rubbing herself against him His cock was seated right against the perfect spot, pressing delectably against the place on her body that throbbed, that ached, that needed…
His right hand clenched tightly in her hair, mashing her mouth against his. His left hand was cupping her butt, squeezing it, kneading it. She wriggled against him, almost frantic with need, and he slid his hand down her thigh to tug her dress up, over her hips, uncovering the warm, full swell of her ass. His hand slid over her bared cheeks, and another low, thrilling growl rumbled deep in his throat as he kneaded them roughly, forcing her tight against the hard ridge of his erection. God, she was teetering on the edge already! With a gasp, she tore her mouth from his, sucking air desperately into her lungs.
Dropping his mouth to her neck, her phantom lover groaned against her soft skin, then grabbed her ass with both hands and ground himself against her.
Through half-lidded eyes, she caught a flicker of moment. The bartender—Michael—was watching them avidly. The raw hunger in his young, handsome face sent a quiver through Julia, a quiver that leaped like an electrical current straight from her body to the man pressed against her. He jerked, his cock throbbing, and she could feel his arousal climb even higher.
You’re watching him, aren’t you? Watching him watch us. His voice was a gravelly murmur in her head. She nodded, holding Michael’s rapt, hungry gaze. His eyes were hazel, she noted, the pupils so dilated they almost hid the color.
He’s trying not to touch himself, she told him. It was incredibly erotic for some reason, watching him fight not to betray how turned on he was, watching him struggle to keep his hands from the hard-on straining against his jeans…
Julia smiled lazily, staring into Michael’s eyes. Show him my tits, she ordered, and felt her phantom prince’s mouth curve in a hard grin against her neck. Clamping her ass roughly, he heaved her up against him, her dress bunching around her waist as she wrapped her legs about his waist. The heady, earthy dampness of her arousal filled the air, and she saw her prince’s nostrils flare as he drew in her scent.
Oh Jules, you please me, he murmured, his mental tone thick with lust as he stared down at the vee of her thighs, at the place where her body fitted against him. You have no idea how much.
She did, actually. She could feel exactly how much. The thick hardness of his erection was seated snugly against her thong—so snugly, in fact, she could feel it flex even through the fine-woven cloth of his suit pants. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned back against the bar, grinned—and rubbed her hips up and down against that hard, throbbing thickness.
There was something so intensely erotic about being trapped between the two of them, both men fully clothed, with her dress hiked up around her waist. Her skin gleamed in the low, warm light, displayed to their gazes. She felt wanton. Insatiable. Irresistibly exposed.
More, she thought fiercely, and with a hoarse, yearning moan, her prince raised his hands to the front of her low-cut dress and yanked down. Two pairs of eyes, one blue and one hazel, hungrily devoured the sight of her lush tits as they spilled outward, barely contained by the black lace of her bra.
Now touch them, she demanded, swiveling her head back toward the younger man. She pinned Michael with her gaze as her prince’s strong, deft hands closed over her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, rubbing them through her bra…
Michael swallowed sharply, his throat working as he fought to hold her stare. He couldn’t do it—his gaze kept dropping, again and again, pulled irresistibly to the sight of her full, luscious tits being squeezed and palmed and kneaded until Julia thought she might scream with delight.
His gaze dropped again, his eyes wide and ravenous, watching as her prince massaged her tits, pushing them upward so they swelled out above the black lace, her nipples barely covered by the thin, stretchy material. Julia followed the jerky, unconscious movements of Michael’s hand as it crept down to the crotch of his jeans, stroking it lightly. Then, guiltily, he yanked his gaze back to her face, moving his hand quickly away from his erection, his face pale with an arousal so sharp it was almost agony.
Staring straight into Michael’s eyes, she smiled slowly, lazily—and drew her tongue enticingly across her lips. The blood drained completely from his face, and his throat worked convulsively.
Deep in her mind she heard a low, breathless chuckle.
If anyone’s a demon here, woman, it’s you.
The amused approval in that voice trailed off into a hungry groan as she arched her back, pushing her swollen breasts out toward him. Unable to resist her invitation, her phantom prince bent his head, seizing one lace-clad nipple between his lips. She gasped as he suckled it, hard and hungry. Her breasts throbbed, aching with delight as her prince devoured them, nipping and sucking at first one taut peak, then the other, then drawing back to lash each with his tongue , teasing them through the lace until they burned with sensation.
Her breath came short, hard, gusting between her parted teeth. Her gaze bored into Michael’s. The expression in his eyes was frantic, nearly desperate. He’d trapped his hands behind his back, she saw, pinning them against the bar to keep from touching his cock.
The horny yearning in his eyes absolutely thrilled her.
Dropping her gaze, she stared brazenly at his crotch, at the hard-as-nails erection straining the fabric of his faded jeans. Do it, she thought wildly. Touch it for me, Michael.
Raising her gaze again, she stared into his eyes.
Slowly, hesitantly, he brought his hands out from behind his back, slid them down to his hips—wiping off, she was absolutely certain, the perspiration on his palms. Cautiously, he trailed his fingers across his jeans, inch by inch moving closer to his groin. He kept his gaze on her questioningly, ready at her first hint of disapproval to yank his hands away.
The torturous dance of his fingertips made her squirm. She watched avidly, her eyes following every movement. When his hands brushed his zipper, he groaned, and her breath escaped on a low, satisfied purr.
The tension in his eyes changed tenor, from hesitation to stunned disbelief. Quickly, before he could doubt himself, he flattened one palm against his erection, pressing it hard.
Oh God, yes. A fresh wave of wetness soaked her crotch. Running her fingers up her prince’s neck, she twined them together in his silken hair, tugging his head even harder against her. Complying with her unspoken direction, he suckled her savagely, drawing her nipple deep and sucking it in short, hungry bursts until she was whimpering uncontrollably, her hips bucking against him.
Watching her writhe was too much
for Michael; he unbuttoned his jeans deftly and raked down the zipper, plunged one hand deep inside to rub his balls. His other hand clamped tight around his thick, jutting cock. He tugged it hard, fast, working his fist up and down, his gaze glued to the hands and mouth savaging her tits.
Julia stared, as unable to look away as she was to stop moaning. She was fascinated by the hand half-hidden inside his jeans—she could see him tugging at his balls, squeezing them, his knuckles tightening and releasing inside the soft, faded denim. Did his balls ache half as much as her breasts did? Did they feel as swollen, as heavy, straining against his fingers the way her breasts did against her prince’s hot mouth?
Closing her eyes for a second, she concentrated on that sensation, thrilled—and a little awed—at the ravenous frenzy with which her phantom lover devoured her tits, a frenzy she could feel mirrored in the tightness of his muscles, the huge, throbbing hardness he ground furiously against her…
God, he wanted her. He wanted inside her. And she wanted him there, so badly…
Not yet, Julia. His voice was strained, almost breathless. Soon, but not yet.
But…she protested, feeling the pounding heat of his need.
No. Not yet. Make him come, Jules. Make him come for you while I make you come for me.
The frank eroticism of his words nearly tipped her past the edge—and the graphic, sensual image he flashed into her mind made her womb clench and forced a high, needy whimper from her lips. She felt limp, boneless, throbbing, every inch of her body burning with sensation as he lifted her higher, setting her down on the edge of the bar, and sank to his knees between her thighs.
Kneeling, he was just the right height to…to…Oh, God.
She bit her lip to keep from moaning as he tugged aside her thong and found her clit with his tongue.
She leaned back, propping her elbows on the bar. Her legs were draped over his shoulders, her breasts spilling out of her rumpled dress. She felt like some exquisite delicacy, laid out for him to feast on…
Which gave her an idea. Dropping her head back, she turned her blurred gaze to Michael. He was panting now, his cheeks flushed with arousal. His cock flexed in his fist, the head distended, dark and shiny. She stretched one arm out, beckoning. His eyes widened at her motion, his hands going still.
As hesitantly as he had touched himself the first time, Michael moved toward her, putting his hands flat on the bar top and leaning his weight against it. Julia stared at him, her mouth open, panting. She could see his cock, straining against the bar’s edge. Gazing at it fixedly, she licked her lips. Michael swallowed, then tensed his shoulders and lifted himself onto the bar, tucking his knees up beneath him so that he kneeled beside her.
Reaching out, she brushed her palm against his strong, jeans-clad thigh, then curled her fingers behind it, tugging slightly. With no further urging, he moved closer, shoving his jeans down around his thighs and letting his erection bob before him in the air.
Lifting an arm that felt as heavy as lead, she slid her hand around Michael’s wrist and drew his hand to her head. Tenderly, he stroked a tendril of hair gently back from her face, then cupped his long, deft fingers behind her head, supporting its weight. Julia let her hand fall back to the bar, and looked up at Michael through heavy-lidded eyes. She saw him swallow again, the erotic tension in his face even tighter now, painful with need. Slowly, gently, he turned her head toward him, and with his other hand guided his cock to her lips.
It was smooth and hot, the skin velvety against her lips. Relaxing into Michael’s hold, Julia let her mouth widen. Just a little. Just enough to be clearly an invitation. He swallowed again, his face suffused with lust. Slowly but determinedly, he pushed himself in.
His cock was thick, the tip salty with a first trace of come. She swirled her tongue around it, dancing around the lip of the distended head, flicking back and forth across the sensitive underside. His groan thrilled her, and she looked up at him, enjoying the smooth, young, handsome lines of his features. His slightly overlong hair was tumbled around him, his eyes half-closed as he watched himself draw back out slightly, then push in again.
He looked like all it would take would be one good suck to send him over the edge. Smiling inwardly, Julia let her mouth go soft and inviting. With a hoarse, needy moan, he pushed his hips forward.
You like that, her prince murmured.
Indeed she did. The feel of Michael’s cock filling her mouth, stretching her jaws wide, was simply incredible. She loved feeling his strong hand cupping her head, holding it firmly as he stroked in and out, his entire body quivering with the climax he could barely hold in check.
And what her prince was doing to her was even more delectable. She closed her eyes, reveling in the delicious tug of his mouth on her clit. His long, talented tongue lashed downward, finding her slit and jabbing deep inside. Oh! She arched, her body clenching tight as he did it again, plunging his tongue deep inside her. Deeper. She writhed under the stimulation, felt Michael’s other hand come up to curve behind her head as well. He pulled her closer, holding her head firmly as he thrust into her mouth.
Sensation poured through her, searing, overpowering, as Michael strained above her, his hips working hard, every fiber of his being taut and needy and focused on her. She could feel his cock swelling impossibly larger, thicker, could feel her prince tongue-fucking her with the same ravenous intensity. She hung pinioned between them, her whole body lax and limp, jostled by each hard, hungry thrust.
She throbbed between them, burning with need. She could hear Michael’s breath speeding, his hands fisting in her hair. His strokes became shorter, harder, more desperate. Tightening her lips around him, she sucked him hungrily, her own hunger raging as her prince lashed his tongue again and again over her swollen clit.
Her body ached, the need in her spiraling tighter, tighter. She sucked Michael harder, and his groan thrilled through her. His whole body arched, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing in her mouth as he climaxed, forcing her head tight against him. The taste of his come pushed her over the edge, and she was moaning, whimpering, her body blazing as she peaked, shuddering, pressing herself hard into her prince’s hot mouth while Michael shot, again and again, into hers.
Slowly, her breathing eased. She slumped back on her elbows, her thighs quivering, her body pulsing. With a low, wordless noise that was not quite a whimper, Michael slid his softening cock from her mouth.
Julia dropped her chin onto her chest, looking down at the wonderful, elegant, inexplicable man kneeling between her thighs. He returned her gaze, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his impossibly handsome features.
So, was that an adequate introduction? he asked, his Caribbean-blue eyes dancing with mischief.
Reality rushed back in, and Julia glanced away, a mortified blush springing to her cheeks. She couldn’t look at him as he stood—more like unfolded—in front of her. Towering. Overwhelming. She stared at the booths, the empty tables…anything to avoid meeting his gaze. She felt like a hoochie. Like the most staggering slut imaginable. What must he think of her? Had she really just done that?
Yes. Yes, she had. And worse, she’d loved it. Every minute of it.
So why are you judging yourself so hard?
His tone was both challenging and gently reassuring. She could feel him trying to catch her eyes, but she ducked her head. Behind her, she could hear Michael climbing back down off the bar. The sliding rustle of blue jeans. The sound of a zipper.
Aw, jeez. Blushing furiously, she stared at the floor. She couldn’t even think about what the bartender must think…
I assure you, Jules, he’s not thinking much of anything at the moment. Her prince’s tone was rich with amusement. Except maybe “Hot damn!”
The cornpone hokiness he managed to inject into the phrase made Julia chuckle weakly. She closed her eyes, not ready yet to face that keen, piercing gaze. Gently, he
rearranged her clothing, sliding her bra straps back up, easing her dress back into position. Then she felt his arms close around her, lifting her gently down from the bar.
Julia ducked her head against his broad chest, snuggling against him, grateful for the warm, concealing shelter of his arms. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Michael. She was being a coward, she knew. But God, she couldn’t stand the thought of seeing disapproval or mockery or plain old disrespect in the bartender’s eyes.
You ought to, you know.
Yeah, probably so. If nothing else, not looking at Michael was pretty darn rude, considering the circumstances. But she knew the look that men had sometimes—the look that, even if they found a woman attractive, said loud and clear they considered her a slut. A guaranteed score. Someone to be treated—who treated herself—as a joke.
Which didn’t, of course, necessarily stop them from sleeping with her.
And jeez, if Michael was looking at her like that…
Why don’t you just find out, instead of tormenting yourself about it?
He was right, of course. And c’mon, she was thirty-one, for crying out loud. If she was going to be ballsy enough to do some complete stranger on top of a bar, then she could damn well have enough self-respect to at least look him in the eye afterward.
Drawing herself upright, she turned, her chin held high.
Michael was back behind the bar, his hands busy with something. His gaze was on whatever he was doing, but she could see a broad, amazed grin curving his cheeks.
Her prince’s Told you wasn’t even put into words—it didn’t need to be. She could practically feel the smugness radiating off the man behind her. With an exasperated eye-roll, she stepped up to the bar just as Michael turned back toward her, a fresh, sparkling glass of Tanqueray and tonic in his hands. Grinning, he squeezed a lime into it, added two straws and set it before her with a flourish.
“On the house, ma’am,” he said, giving her a wink. “It’s the least I can do.”