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RAFA
Ihadn’t meant to kiss her. Not yet, at least.
But there I was, with my tongue teasing at her lips, my hand on her hips tilting her into a part of me that was very eager to get to know her. It didn’t hurt that her husband had looked right at us just as I took her into my arms.
What an ass. Dumping a beautiful woman like, wait, I don’t know her name yet. Doesn’t matter, I decided. She tastes like chocolate and mint, two of my favorite flavors, and that little moan that escaped the back of her throat as I grabbed both her hips to make sure she was clear about what I had planned for her if she had that drink with me.
Excitement increased my pulse rate when her mouth opened wider to me, and her tongue came out to lace with mine. I hadn’t quite planned for all of this to happen, in fact, the plan was forming as I continued to kiss her, my hands plunging into the thick coppery waves that ran all the way down her back. I’d just wanted to make sure her husband knew he’d been seen and that his wife wouldn’t be crying herself to sleep tonight.
Even if she did.
That jackass didn’t need to know that.
And if I had my way, the only crying she would be doing by the end of the night would be crying out my name.
I ended the kiss because I was about to lose all control and fuck her right there against one of the walls covered in vintage nudes from bygone eras. That would be acceptable behaviors from one of the members of the clubs but not from the owner. I didn’t operate like that.
I stared down at lust-glazed green eyes with a smug satisfaction. I’d kissed her senseless. Good. “Shall we?”
“What? Oh, drink. Yes. Please.” Her smile was endearingly crooked, her lips clean of lipstick before were now a florid red, a hint at just how turned on she was. The red matched the flush along her cheeks, a red slash on pale skin that only emphasized how pale she was. The one-word answers were just as cute as her crooked smile and fed my ego, whether I’d ever admit that or not.
The fact that she was so young, in her very early 20s, didn’t matter. So, I was 48, old enough to be her father, probably. None of that mattered when I’d only be fucking her once or twice. I’d tell her the rules before we got too far into it, and if she agreed, we’d get down it.
She was old enough to know what she was getting into and of legal age. She wouldn’t be in my club if she wasn’t old enough. My security made sure they could sniff out fake IDs with visual inspections and scanners that did proper checks. She was old enough and for tonight, that’s all that mattered.
“It wasn’t a lie, you know.” I added as I guided her to the bar, I’d decorated with an old Wild West saloon theme when I opened the place. There was even a piano tucked against one wall, that I sometimes played to give the place some atmosphere. “I did notice the first time you came in. You just seemed happy to be with your husband, not really interested in being here, actually.”
“No, my husband was the one that wanted to come here, that wanted to ‘explore what the world had to offer’.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, a defensive gesture that also spoke of anger. I could understand that. I could also appreciate how her breasts threatened to spill out of the black top she wore, begging to be free and touched. I forced myself to look away, the temptation to touch was too great. “I only wanted him, a quiet life, not all of this…sex stuff. He’s not even that good in bed, from what I’ve seen in movies and read in books. He kind of sucks at it, so why any other woman would want him is beyond me.”
I let the insults wash over me, not taking them in really. She was angry, saying whatever came to mind. He couldn’t be that bad, if the way that woman was all over him meant anything. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Tequila. And a Coke please.” She sat down at a table with two chairs and looked up at me with the most innocent eyes I’ve ever seen on a grown woman. Sheltered. How could she be so sheltered if she was in my club?
Her innocence was almost as intoxicating as kissing her had been.
“Sure. Be right back,” I went to the bar, ordered a beer for myself and her two drinks from one of my bartenders, Hank. I glanced back at her while I waited for Hank to pour the drinks, noting the way the flirty black skirt she wore had ridden up her thighs. The dimples in her thigh drew my attention, and I wondered what it would feel like when she wrapped those thick thighs around me. Like being hugged by a silky pillow, I thought just as Hank delivered the drinks on a tray.
I brought the drinks to the table and set them down before I took the chair opposite hers.
“Four,” she said out of the blue, her eyes on the tequila she now held in her fingers.
“Four what?” I asked, not sure what the significance was.
“That’s the number I’d count to. You know, when we were having sex? One, two, three, four. Done.” Her eyes came up to mine, and I saw it wasn’t just anger or bitterness. The guy really must have sucked in bed.
“But you said according to all the books and movies. Surely you’ve had other lovers that were better?” I asked, curious now.
“No, just him. I met him when I was sixteen, he wanted to marry me then, but my mom wouldn’t have it. She made him wait. When I was eighteen, I made the decision. We didn’t have sex before we were married either. He insisted we wait. I know why now.”
“Mm.” I nodded, closing my eyes at how truly awful that all sounded. The truth didn’t paint her husband in a good light. She deserved to know what good sex felt like, and it just so happened that I was willing to show her just that.
“Would you like another, then?” I asked, certain she’d refuse, but making the offer anyway. I had a feeling this woman would surprise me.
