The Bell at Sapperton... God, I loved that place. It was the kind of pub that just seeped into your bones, all old stone and the scent of brewing beer. I felt like royalty pouring pints behind that worn wooden bar. And me? Well, I'm Lily. Twenty-four, a redhead -- the kind that burns bright, if you know what I mean. Long, wavy, the colour of a sunset after a bloody good storm. And blessed, I certainly am, with a figure that draws eyes like moths to a flame. Tonight, I'd slipped into my tightest jeans, the ones that hug my curves just so, and a low-cut tank top that leaves little to the imagination, especially when I lean over to serve.
And then he walked in.
Bloody hell.
Tall, all sharp angles softened by a hint of weariness, the type that comes from too much power and too little time. He was older, maybe late forties, or fifties? That tailored suit, slightly rumpled, screamed: "Business trip gone rogue." Dark hair, styled just enough to look effortless, and eyes... those eyes just ate you up. He scanned the pub, a slow perusal that made my skin prickle, lingering just a beat too long when he found me. I pretended to polish a glass, the metal suddenly scorching against my fingers, but a little smirk danced on my lips all the same.
"What can I get you, love?" I asked, leaning on the bar, letting my chest do its thing. Was I being obvious? Did I even care?
He opened his mouth; an American accent. Delicious. Unexpected, like a shot of whiskey in your tea. "First," he drawled, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "what's good around here?"
"Well," I purred, arching a brow, "depends if you're after something smooth, something strong, or just somethin' to sip while you eye up the barmaid." My gaze ran down him, a silent invitation.
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Guess subtlety isn't my thing, huh?"
"Clearly," I said, pouring him a pint of the local ale. I could feel his eyes on me, tracing the curve of my waist as I moved. Turning slightly, I smirked over my shoulder, "Enjoying the view, are you?"
"Absolutely," he replied, completely unashamed. "It's... captivating."
I slid his pint across the bar, leaning in a little closer, my elbows resting on the counter. "So, what brings a Yank like you to a sleepy little place like this?" I knew I was flirting. I wanted to be flirting.
"Just travelling around. Figured I'd stop for a drink," he said, tasting the ale. His eyes widened slightly. "Wow--that's good stuff."
"Told you," I said, a warm smile playing on my lips. "Where are you staying?"
He shrugged, that careless movement making his suit jacket pull tight across his shoulders. "Some B&B up the road. You Brits call them that, right?"
"Yeah, we do. But honestly, those places can be pretty hit or miss," I said, biting my lip lightly. "If you're looking for something better, I've got a spare room at mine. Might save you from dodgy sausages in the morning." My voice was low, husky, pitched just for him.
His eyebrows rose, clearly intrigued, his eyes dropping for a tantalizing moment to the swell of my breasts. "Quite the offer. Although I was curious about trying a 'full English'--never had one."
"Oh, you've gotta be careful," I teased softly, like sharing a secret. "Some places serve sausages you could build houses with. If you want the real deal, you're better off letting me cook."
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Are you as good in the kitchen as you are behind the bar?"
"Only one way to find out," I shot back, my eyes glinting wickedly. My gash began to moisten already.
His gaze lingered, hot and appreciative, making my clitoris throb. "Guess I'd be crazy to pass that up. But tell me--do I get an actual bed, or do you usually offer your guests somewhere... cosier?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head, my long hair cascading down my shoulders. "You're really bold, aren't you? Keep that up, you'll be stuck with the cat on the sofa." My slit was practically begging for him, and I knew he could feel it. This night was going to be very, very interesting and possibly even a new thrilling experience for me.
He raised his pint in a mock toast, those dark eyes promising all sorts of delicious trouble. "Well, darling Lily, maybe I'm a bit tired of the usual, a little tired of playing it safe. So, I'll risk a little bold for the chance to taste some of that spice you're offering." I felt a shiver run through me, and my gash pulsed again.
He chuckled, that deep American sound rumbling in his chest, and lifted his pint glass a fraction higher. "Worth every risk, wouldn't you say?"
I couldn't help but let my eyes roll, just a little. Playful, mind you. "Drink your pint, Romeo," I teased, the words catching on the air between us. "Takes more than a bit of charm to get between my legs, you know." Though, truth be told, his charm was already doing a bloody good job.
His eyes snagged on mine, that slow, confident smile spreading across his face like warm honey. A shiver, not unpleasant at all, danced down my spine. Not that I'd let on. The pub was starting to empty out, chairs scraping, voices fading. My shift was almost done, thank God, and this man... Daniel... he had more than piqued my interest. He'd properly set it alight.
"So," he finally murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming all velvet and sin, "do you make a habit of inviting just any old stranger back for the night, or am I, perhaps, a little bit special?"
A grin spread across my face, cheeky as you like. "Oh, all the time, darling. Just can't resist a bit of lost Yankee charm wandering in off the street." However, again, not entirely a lie. There was something about him...
"Handsome, huh? I'll take that," he said, his gaze dropping, lingering a little too long, a little too boldly, on my chest.
"Don't get cocky," I warned, my voice softening despite myself. "By the way, I'm Lily. And eyes are up here, love." Though, did I really mind where his eyes were? Not really.
He smiled then, a proper warm one, pulling his gaze back up to meet mine. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. And you look far too young to be working in a place like this, Lily."
"And you, Romeo?" I countered, pointedly ignoring the flattery. "What do I call this handsome Yank who's about to be making his own breakfast if he doesn't learn some manners?"
He chuckled again, finally dragging his eyes away from my breasts. "The name's Daniel. And don't you worry about me, Lily, I clean up very well. Both in general," he paused, a knowing glint in his eye, "and in the kitchen, if you need an extra hand."
