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I lift my gaze to the owner of the small, swinging feet and find something quite unexpected.
The pretty brunette is young but definitely not a kid, if the sizable breasts bursting out of her very low-cut dress are anything to go by.
Is she wearing a pushup bra, or are they naturally this perky and magnetic? I can’t keep myself from staring, and when she dips her head to sip her margarita, her bright-blue gaze meets mine, and her cheeks flush a pretty pink.
I quickly look away, my own face heating. She may be old enough to drink a margarita, but probably only barely, and that makes her way too young for me to be ogling. I make a concerted effort to keep my gaze low. Ultra-low. Back on the floor.
She starts swinging her shoes again, which means she must have stopped at some point. Why did that happen? Her feet seem so happy when they swing. Is that why I’m getting an urge to smile? Or is it that her casual, fun-looking shoes don’t make sense with her seriously hot little dress?
Her sneakers stop swinging again, and I automatically look up to see why.
It’s a mistake. She’s staring at me.
I take my beer and swallow half of it in a nervous gulp. Why am I nervous?
Still looking right at me, she stands and takes a step toward me.
My heart thumps even faster, and the way she walks shifts her hips from side to side almost hypnotically, exaggerating her curves with each step. The seductive movement gets my cock waking up in a hurry. I should definitely be nervous.
She rests her hand on the back of the chair opposite mine and smiles. “May I sit?”
That soft voice? These manners? Her pretty eyes and lips? The way that dress highlights her tits and hips in a way that makes me want to grip them hard and hear her gasp? The fabric clings to all the right places before falling more loosely into a short but flowing skirt that swishes above her knees. It’s as playful as the fucking shoes I want to see kicked off, before she crawls into my bed and spreads herself wide for me to fuck her cute little brains out.
My dick is ready to throw himself at her feet, and my chest is forced to contain with a whole new type of panic.
My body demands I say:Sit? Yes,please do, but my head is screaming that I’m an idiot, who’s perpetuating casual non-attachments by consorting with inappropriate-for-me women. A racing heart and a hard cock are warning signs that I’m on the verge of doing it again. With a very innocent-looking young woman, who deserves better than an aging fuckboy like me.
I beg my next breath to calm me. Maybe she’s mistaken me for someone else. Maybe she’s killing time while she waits for friends, or she’s lost or something. She may not want anything from me. I’m pretty sure she’s too young to know what she wants,period.
She sure as hell doesn’t need me hate-fucking her cute ass because my ex’s belly is full while my heart is empty. This girl makes my dick hungry, but I ain’t fucking using her as therapy for my wounded ego.
“I…” I shake my head. “No. You seem very nice, and I can give you directions if you’re lost, but if you need anything else, you should sit back where you were, until someone closer to your own age catches your eye.”
She pouts, and I want to tug at her bottom lip with my teeth until she hisses.
“It was me who caughtyoureye,” she says, settling into an I’m-staying stance and crossing her arms in a way that thrusts her tits into an even higher and prouder position.
They’re going to fall out of her dress if she doesn’t watch it.
“And apparently, you’re still hooked.” She jostles her tits, and then dips her head so low I’m forced to shift my attention from her cleavage to her amused expression. “I don’t want someone my own age,” she says. “I want a man with experience, who knows what he’s doing. Is that you?”
I frown and lean back, doing my best not to check her out. It’s hard, because she has me curious as fuck with her unexpectedstreak of confidence. Young people today are different to how I remember being. “Experience doing what, exactly?” I ask, wary.
“Making a woman come, mostly.” She shrugs. “No guy’s ever done that for me, and I want it, so I thought I’d ask.”
“I…” Rendered speechless by her frank response, I watch her closely while I finish my beer.
She sips her margarita, and I narrow my gaze at her cocktail. “How many of those have you had?”
“This is my first.” She wrinkles her nose a little. “And probably my last. I got it on a whim, but I prefer beer,” she adds, glancing at my empty glass. “You want another?” she offers, raising her hand, ready to summon the guy who’s already wiping her old table like she abandoned it for good.
“Do I…?” I pause again, looking over the most surprising young woman I may have ever met.
She’s not lost.
She knows exactly what she wants, and she’s asking for it.
How can she know herself so well at such a young age, when I’m only coming to understand myself after years of experience? It’s the most forward a woman has ever been with me, and I’m not used to it.
