Page 4 of Stranger to Love

Her hand in my hair dropped to grip my shoulders. She dared to meet my eye, a challenge I held as I hooked a finger teasingly underneath her knickers without pulling them aside. She closed her eyes, unable to maintain my gaze, a move that made me feel way too powerful. I leaned in closer, my breath caressing her ear.

”How long?”

“Fuck, stop teasing,” she whined, pushing her hips toward me.

Damn, she was making this entirely too much fun.

But, thankfully for her, I didn't want to waste any more time. I hooked my finger deliberately into her underwear and tugged them to the side. I took her lips again, stealing her moans for myself as I slid my fingers through her folds, coating them in her arousal. Her breath hitched as I swiped over her clit, teasing her gently before pressing more firmly, circling the bundle of nerves, making her grip my shoulders tighter. I fucking loved taking control of women like this—the way they gasped and moaned as you changed pace or flicked your fingers, sending electric sparks across their bodies.

I could feel her body begin to tense. My working hand remained firm between her legs, relentless, while the other held tightly to her hip, anchoring her against the door before her legs gave out. As I pressed my fingers harder and upped my pace, she broke away from my mouth, her head falling back against the door again to gasp. It gave me perfect access to work on the blossoming bruise on her neck. She whined immediately as I licked the sensitive skin under her ear. Just to make sure she walked out of here with a slight tremor, I moved my fingers deeper and slid two fingers inside of her.

Her reaction was instantaneous. She gasped, her head falling forwards onto my shoulder, and she moaned deeply into my ear. Fuck, the sounds she made. She tried to control herself but couldn't. I could feel my own underwear soaking. She tightened around my fingers, and I pushed deeper. Her grip shifted, her nails digging sharp and hard into my back. I winced slightly at the sting, but the pain only spurred me on, driving me to keep going. She shoved her face further into my neck, her hold almost bruising as I hit the perfect spot inside her, over and over.

As my thumb swiped over her clit, it was over. She completely lost control. Her insides fluttered and tightened around my fingers as she cried out against my neck. Her nails dug in even deeper through my shirt. I knew it would leave a mark—definitely a bruise—but I didn’t care. Damn, she was a bit feisty. I felt her release coat my fingers and I kept pushing until her legs started to shake and her grip went slack. As I slowed my thrusts, she let out a shaky breath. Her hold on me loosened, and because I was a softy, I placed gentle kisses on her shoulder, her neck, and into her hair—wherever I could reach to help ground her.

She took several steadying breaths. I kissed her head more firmly as I gently pulled my fingers away. She whimpered slightly, then slowly pulled her head from my neck and let it fall back against the door, staring up at the ceiling, visibly regaining her composure. I tried—I really did try—not to smirk too triumphantly, but when I flexed my fingers as I readjusted her ruined knickers and pulled her skirt back down, I couldn’t help but inflate my own ego.

She finally looked at me, pupils blown wide, her hands still planted on my shoulders, keeping me close. I smiled, raising my eyebrows. “Hi.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, and pulled me closer for the gentlest kiss we’d shared. She was so cute. When she pulled back, she cleared her throat shyly. “Hi.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I kissed her cheek softly, checking she was okay before stepping away. She adjusted her dress and tousled her hair, trying to look a little less like she just came apart on my fingers. Her flushed face and smudged lipstick would give it away no matter what. I grabbed the roll of blue paper towel, tore off a few sheets, wiped my fingers, and tossed it unceremoniously into the bin. I rooted around in Mia’s abandoned bag, pulled out a small mirror, and passed it to her with a smirk.

“Thanks,” she murmured softly, sighing as she assessed the damage. I handed her some paper towel; she dabbed under her eyes, clearing the smudged mascara, and neatened her lipstick with the edge. I picked up her clutch from the floor and passed it over.

She lifted an eyebrow at me—her confidence was quickly returning. As she took the bag, she grabbed my hand and pulled me back for a deep, catching-me-off-guard kiss. I gasped against her lips, letting myself melt into her one last time.

She whispered against my mouth, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Her arm was hooked behind my neck, still holding the bag; her other hand still gripped the little mirror. I closed my eyes for a moment because, yes, there was a hell of a lot she could do for me, and the throbbing between my legs was genuinely painful. But I knew we’d been gone a while, and her friends would be looking for her with the bar was about to close.

I kissed her softly. “No, this was more than enough.” And to be fair, that wasn't a lie. I loved every second of it.

She nodded almost grudgingly, her expression crestfallen, and let me go after one last, lingering kiss. She popped her bag open and fumbled with it before I chuckled and held it open for her. She grabbed her lipstick and finalised the reapplication. Once she deemed herself presentable, she stepped away from the door, allowing me to unlock it.

We walked down the hallway. I noticed that she now walked with her shoulders back, with absolute confidence, not a hint of embarrassment or regret. It was one of the things I truly admired about older women—most of the time, they walked away unashamedly. And why should they be ashamed? It was a realisation I wished more women my age grasped sooner; there was nothing wrong with a bit of passion and getting exactly what you want out of it.

She hesitated for a beat at the door back to the club. She looked at me briefly. I smiled at her teasingly, a silent What are you waiting for? She scoffed, opened the door, and walked straight back toward the booths without looking back. I tilted my head as I watched her walk away, smirking to myself. Damn, she was hot. Good for me.

I walked back around the bar and washed my hands in the sink. Mia walked over and gagged dramatically. “You are not washing your nasty hands in my sink.” I shrugged unapologetically.

She threw a towel at me in disgust. I laughed as I dried my hands. I watched Blondie and her friends leave the club. The woman in the animal print top was clearly grilling her as they walked up the stairs, and Blondie turned back to look at me. I smirked and winked; she smirked and winked back, giving me a last glance before they disappeared.

Mia shoved me as she laughed and grabbed spray to wipe down the bar. They were the last customers. We had about forty-five minutes of deep cleaning ahead of us, and quite frankly, my pool of decent options was about to vanish entirely. Once the students flooded in next week, this place would be completely unusable for my taste. I was twenty, but women my age or younger had simply never been my type; I’d been drooling over older women since before it was appropriate. When freshers started, my type wouldn’t dare set foot in here until Christmas, at least.

Worse, I was about to start hating myself even more on Monday, when I joined the endless churn of young people starting university. Truth was, I couldn’t afford it when I first finished college, even with the loans and grants. I had to work constantly to help my parents with the bills, so I’d been hoarding every spare pound for the last couple of years right here at The Dam. Now, I could finally cut my hours down to weekends only while I pursued a degree. And maybe, just maybe, once I’d secured that piece of paper, I’d finally get my ticket out of this job, move out of my parents' house, and start my goddamn life.

Mia smirked and probed, “So, what was her name?”

“Whose name?” Ben asked, trying to get in on the conversation.

Mia and I snapped instantly, “Shut up, Ben.”

His shoulders slumped. He turned back to capping the open spirit bottles. Mia and I shared a look. Ben was only a fresher, bless him. He started this job last week to pay his way through uni, and he was genuinely our favourite of the new recruits, despite his knack for spilling every single pint he pulled. He was very tall but had that shy-guy energy, his scruffy light brown hair often shielding his eyes. We were only mean to him because we liked him. We probably should tell him that at some point.

I looked back at Mia. “I have no idea.”

“Classy,” she laughed.