The Table

"You're in my seat."

Sarah looked up from her coffee, blinking in surprise. It took her a moment to pinpoint exactly where the statement had come from. The coffeehouse was packed with students studying for finals, something she normally would have anticipated. She'd lived in the small college town long enough to know when classes began and ended, and when exams were. But the latest work drama had wiped everything from her mind, except the overwhelming urge to do bodily harm.

Instead of giving in to that urge, she'd left work early, headed to the coffeehouse near her apartment. And now instead of being able to enjoy her one true guilty pleasure, a tall café au lait, she was being bothered by some random guy. Just great.

"I beg your pardon?" It was the only thing that came to her mind, or the only polite thing. It seemed a bit of overkill to tell him to go fuck himself from the one simple sentence he'd uttered.

"I said, you're in my seat. I always have the table by the window, it's where I do my work. It's part of the structure. And you're screwing it up."

Sarah blinked again, taking a long moment both to compose a retort, and to look him over. He was good enough looking, if you went for the dark, brooding poet thing. His hair was black, long enough to touch his shoulders, and he shook it back with a casualness that told her it was habit. The blue of his eyes was a dark color that made Sarah think of ocean depths, and the look in them was distinctly unhappy. Actually, to be completely honest, it was edging towards pissed.

His clothes went with his overall darkness, dark shirt, dark jeans. Everything dark. They fit his frame well, outlining the tall lankiness without making him seem painfully skinny. Sarah wasn't surprised to see motorcycle boots on his feet, or a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Probably a Lit major. Takes self torture to a new level.

"Last time I checked, nobody had bought this table. Sorry, but you'll have to find another place to work today." Sarah turned her attention back to the window. Not that there was anything going on outside, but it would serve better to get the point across. She wasn't moving. She'd spent her entire day catering to the whims of assholes. She'd be damned if some college kid pushed her around.

She jumped when something thudded on the table, her eyes jerking away from the window. Her mouth fell open when she saw his messenger bag on the scarred wood surface, and only watched as he pulled out the chair across from her and dropped his considerable height into it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sitting down. There's an open chair, I'm using it." His mouth, which Sarah noticed was wide and lush, curved up in a mocking smile. "If you don't like it, you can always find another table."

Sarah tapped her nails against the table, a fast rhythm that matched the pace of her heart. She couldn't very well yell at him to leave--he wasn't exactly harassing her. In fact, now that he was sitting, he was pulling a laptop out of his bag, for all intents and purposes about to do whatever work he'd come to do. But she wasn't moving. She wasn't.

"It's called compromise, kitten. Something they teach you at that fancy school down the street." His lips quirked again, but his eyes were focused on his computer screen. "Or they should, for the price of a semester there."

"What, Mommy and Daddy cut you off? You have to finish paying for your own piece of paper meaning nothing?" Sarah turned her attention back to the sidewalk, for lack of anything else to do. She kept her voice purposefully casual. She knew from experience the more casual the tone of voice, the worse the insult.

"Kitten, I haven't seen the inside of a school for ten years. And you're one to talk, when I'm betting that Daddy bought everything you're wearing."

"Considering the fact that he ran off with my babysitter about fifteen years ago, I'd say you lost that bet." Sarah took a slow sip of coffee, finding herself enjoying their sparring. His wit was quicker than that of most of the people she knew. It didn't make her feel like she was kicking a puppy. "Does that mean that you'll leave me alone now?"

"No, but I will apologize."

"Don't bother. I'm sure you'd wind up choking on it, and I have no desire to perform anything life-saving on you." Sarah slit her eyes toward him, biting her tongue when she saw the grin spread across his face. "Although you would have to leave the table then, wouldn't you?"

"So would you, so we'd both lose. No point in playing a game if there's no winner." Sarah listened to the steady clack of keys for a long while, the sound oddly soothing compared to the background noise of study groups and the espresso machine. "What's your name?"

"Why do you care?"

"I'd prefer to know a woman's name before I sleep with her, but if you're shy, I'll let it go."

Sarah bobbled her coffee cup, her gaze jerking away from the window to meet his smirk. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's what started it, you know. That slightly snooty phrase and tone, even though you look like you'd jump if someone said 'boo' too loudly." He tapped a few more keys before closing the laptop and sliding it into bag on the table. "And then you got more interesting the bitchier you got. It's not your usual thing, I can tell. But you like it."

"Anything else you can tell?" Sarah tried for icy, not surprised that she failed. Rude, she could handle. She'd been a secretary for the head partner at Brown and Baker for the past seven years. She'd been treated with as little regard as the carpet for all seven of them. Actually, Mr. Brown treated his carpet better than her--it was an antique.

"You'll look better out of those clothes than you do in them." His blue eyes were appraising as they swept over what they could see of her. "Not a good color for you, or a good cut. I sincerely hope they're not as expensive as they look, otherwise you should go back and bitchslap the salesperson."

"And we're done here. Enjoy your table." Sarah pulled her purse strap over her shoulder, lifting her chin slightly. Before she could stand, he'd reached his arm over the table, clamping down on her forearm, effectively cutting off her escape.

"I wonder if you see what I see. How big and innocent your eyes are, or how the color makes me think about licking melted chocolate off you. Or if you pay attention to how soft your hair is, all those blonde curls tumbling around such slim shoulders. Or if you notice how often you pull at that amazing lower lip with your teeth." His hand turned her arm over, his fingers running up and down the bare skin of her forearm. She tried to tell herself that the shivers the feeling gave her came from annoyance, and nothing else. "Kitten, you could make a man beg without even trying."

"Wrong girl. I'd like to leave now."

"No, you don't. You think that you should leave. But you're curious. You want to know what it's like to go to bed with a stranger, in the middle of the afternoon. Someone you don't even particularly like." Her hand was limp in his as he pulled it across the table, raising her fingers to his lips. Her breath caught when he nipped at the tips, then pulled her longest finger into his mouth, sucking on the tips before letting it slide out. He rubbed it over his lips, his eyes locked with hers.

"Trust me, kitten. Sometimes the best sex is with someone you can't stand."

Sarah swallowed hard, once, then twice. She couldn't seem to get her mouth to work. When it did, she really was going to tell him to go fuck himself. She didn't care how rude it was. She wet her lips, noticing how his eyes followed the movement of her tongue. She was going to say it.

"If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?"

Sarah slapped her free hand over her mouth, not caring that he shook his head and chuckled at her reaction to her own question. She hadn't meant to say that. She hadn't. And as soon as he let go of her hand, she was leaving. She nearly bit her tongue when he shifted her hand in his, giving her thumb the same treatment as her middle finger. Only this time it was longer, undeniably sexual.

And she couldn't deny that she felt a tugging deep in the center of her body.

"Abel. My name is Abel."

Sarah let the hand covering her mouth drop, twisting the fabric of her skirt nervously. "Sarah."

"Sarah." Abel stood, keeping her hand in his, slinging the messenger bag over one shoulder. "Come on. The sooner you're out of that horrible suit, the better."

Sarah let him lead her out of the coffee shop, absolutely certain that everyone knew what they were going to do. Logically, she knew that nobody cared. Nobody was even looking in their direction. And yet to her it felt like everyone was watching.

He didn't tell her where they were headed, and she was too nervous to ask. Considering the fact that they were walking, it couldn't be too far, and she had the crazy thought about what a coincidence it would be if they lived in the same apartment complex. But when they got to the end of the block, instead of turning right back towards the quiet, well established neighborhood she lived in, they turned left, towards the converted warehouses and alleys of art galleries. Sarah jerked her head up at the first rumble of thunder, and felt Abel tug harder at her hand.

"I don't think you'll melt in the rain, kitten, but I'd rather not take my chances." He began to walk just a little bit faster, but it was enough that Sarah had to almost double-time to keep up with him. She stumbled once, then twice, her heels unsteady on the cobblestones. Abel glanced back over his shoulder at her and shook his head, slowing his pace. "If you can't walk in them, you shouldn't wear them."

"I don't normally do sprints in them. I work in an office. I have to wear heels, it's part of the dress code."

"You need a new job. Something that makes you let your hair down." Abel stopped in front of a door, pulling a loaded key ring out of his pocket. Flipping through the mass, he stopped, jamming the chosen one in the lock. Holding the door open for her, he gestured her up the narrow flight of stairs. Sarah used the wall to steady herself, trying not to think about him behind her, no doubt watching her ass. When she reached the landing, she moved to the side, watching as he flipped to another key.

He pushed the door open, and she thought to herself,

This is it. If I go inside, I'll know exactly what I'm getting into. I can't even pretend that I didn't know what was going to happen.

She took a step forward, still not sure whether she was going inside or back down the stairs. And then he lifted an eyebrow and smirked, and she made her mind up.

Her first thought when she walked into his home was that it was huge. It was easily double the size of hers, and she'd always thought she'd lived in a relatively nice apartment. Her second thought was how could anyone live with all that openness. There was no separation between rooms, only glass brick and metal trifold screens and exposed piping and brick walls. Sarah laid her purse over the back of the low slung sofa, twisting her hands nervously together. She started to turn around, intent on telling him that she liked his place.

Instead, she felt his hands on her upper arms, turning and pressing her against the hard brick wall. When she would have squealed or shrieked, his mouth came down rough and fast on hers, cutting off all sound and thought. His tongue swept inside, rubbing smoothly against hers, coaxing a response out of her. When she was breathless and trembling ever so slightly, he pulled back. It was difficult to open her eyes, and when she did she found him staring at her, the blue of his eyes even darker. She was stunned to find him breathing as heavily as she was, and she whimpered out a breath when he lifted a hand to rub his thumb over her lower lip.

"Time to get you out of those clothes, kitten."

She wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but suddenly there were two sets of hands working the buttons to her suit jacket, and she bit back a hysterical giggle when they tangled together. Abel cursed, and grabbed the two sides of the jacket, yanking them apart, sending buttons flying. Sarah opened her mouth to complain, but was cut off by another rough kiss, this one with just a hint of violence to it. By the time he let her up for air, the jacket was on the floor, and the zipper of her skirt was being slid down.

"Well, well, well. Look what the kitten was hiding under the spinster clothes."

Sarah trembled, leaning against the wall for support as Abel knelt, running his hands up the outsides of her legs. The heels were black as the office dress code demanded, but they were three inch stilettos, one of Sarah's few vanities. And the legs Abel was exploring were covered in hose--or more appropriately, stockings, ending high on her thighs and clipped to decidedly risqué underwear.

Abel leaned closer, running his tongue over the top seam of the stocking. The muscle in Sarah's thigh jerked slightly, and Abel chuckled against her skin. His hands slid up to grasp her hips, pressing them more firmly against the wall. He nudged her legs apart, turning his face to press against the front of the burlesque styled panties. Lifting his eyes to Sarah's, he ran his tongue over the garment, nibbling slightly, watching her eyes dilate, her lips parted slightly. When she bit her lower lip between her teeth, he sucked hard through the fabric, feeling her hips push against his hands.

One hand slid up and over her middle, pressing slightly. The other slid down and over her thigh, pulling the underwear to the side. Before Sarah could process the change, Abel surged forward, sweeping his tongue over her clit while sliding two curved fingers into her pussy, pressing hard.

Sarah would have sworn she saw stars, she came so hard and so fast. And before she had even an instant to recover, he leaned just a little bit more into her, sucking her clit into his mouth, biting ever so slightly, his fingers rotating the barest of inches. And she came again, hard enough to take her breath away and leave her more than a little weak kneed.

Abel murmured, more to himself than to her, which was good, because she didn't have the brain cells required for conversation. Somehow, her hands came up to fist in his hair, and she pressed his mouth tighter to her. She didn't know if he lifted her leg, or if she did, but she was vaguely aware of her left knee resting on his shoulder, and the feel of his hair against her upper thigh. When he bit hard on her clit, and she felt her pussy clench around his fingers a third time, her chin dropped forward to rest on her chest, her heart pounding frantically.

Abel eased back slightly, and through the veil of her hair she saw him lick his lips. And then turn his face to lick the juices from her thigh, his tongue rough through the sheer stocking. "You're drenched, kitten. You're a rainmaker."

"A what?" Sarah rasped out, lifting her head, shaking the hair out of her face. Her stomach muscles jumped and trembled when he pressed his face to her middle, his tongue swirling around her belly button.

"A rainmaker. You squirted when you came." Abel pushed to a standing position, trapping her against the wall. Except now she didn't feel trapped, not really. His mouth, when it ravaged hers, was sweet and salty, and she knew she was tasting herself. "Hidden talents, kitten. Let's see what else you're hiding."

Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, and she pressed herself up into his mouth. And then they were circling, their hands pulling at his clothes, the camisole she was still somehow wearing. She felt her knees press against something soft, and he gave her a slight push, and she fell backwards onto the bed. She crawled backwards until the reached the center of the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, shaking her hair back.

He stood at the foot of the bed, and without the clothes to distract, she could appreciate the lean muscles and long lines. She was both fascinated and frightened by the tribal tattoo that ran over his right hip, and the one that crept over his left shoulder. Her gaze lowered, and her eyes widened. She bit her lower lip again, this time in hesitation.

"You're a little, um. You're a little--."

"Don't worry, kitten. Nature has a way of making things fit, I promise." His smirk this time was only half-hearted, and he leaned forward, pressing his hands into the mattress. "Undo the front clasp of your bra."

Sarah sat up, not surprised to find her hands trembling. There was something about the way he said things, with such absolute authority, that made it impossible to not do them. It took her three tries, but his appreciative sigh when the clasp opened and her breasts spilled free was worth it. The mattress dipped slightly as he crawled more fully on the bed, and she concentrated on the look of hunger on his face. When she would have laid back, his hand at her back kept her sitting up.

His head dipped down, his tongue sliding over the top of her right breast, and then her left. She couldn't help arching her torso when his mouth slid lower, latching onto her nipple. He sucked and nibbled, bit gently, until her head fell back on a throaty moan. He licked a path to her other breast, laving the nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The steady, rhythmic pull set up a pulse low in her belly, one that sped up when his free hand glided down her side, pushed against her pussy, then slid three fingers in.

She gasped, partially in pain, and he raised his head from her breast to capture her mouth. His tongue stroked in and out in pace with his fingers, and she couldn't help bringing her arms to wind around his neck. Power, heady and rare, surged through her at the groan he let out when she sucked his tongue deep in her mouth.

Her hips rolled slowly and slightly in counterpoint to the shallow thrusts of his fingers. She could feel herself building again, this one taking much, much longer than any of those before. When her breath began to come in shallow pants, he tore his mouth from hers, pulling his fingers out at the same time. The hand at her back slid up to fist in the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her head still. Through heavy eyes, she watched him raise his other hand to her mouth, his fingers glistening with her juices.

Without any thought, her lips parted, her tongue slid out. And licked the tips of one, and then the next, and then the next. When he groaned again, longer and louder this time, she nipped at the pads of his fingers with her teeth, an act eerily similar to his actions earlier in the afternoon.

His hand slid out of her hair, and he gave her a gentle shove, letting her fall back on the mattress. Her arms landed over her head, almost as if by design. His hands shook slightly as he pushed her bra the rest of the way off, yanked the soaked underwear down and threw it aside. His fingers ran up the sheer stockings, over hard nipples, until they pressed her wrists into the mattress. He inched his hips forward, felt the wet heat of her on the head of his cock.

Abel lifted his eyes to Sarah's. "Do you trust me, kitten?"

Sarah wet her lips, started to nod her head, then managed to find her voice. "Yes."

Abel nodded, pushing his hips forward, driving his cock deep into her. When she gasped, her upper body coming off the bed, he pressed tighter against her wrists. He drew back slightly, then thrust deeper. She was dripping wet, and still tighter than anything he could ever have imagined. Another back and forward movement of his hips, and he was sheathed fully inside her. Lowering his face to hers, his kiss this time was gentle, and he tasted the salt from tears.

"Are you alright?"

"I said you were too big."

"Give it a minute, kitten. Well, a little more than that." He kissed her again, slow and deep, without any of the roughness of before. He felt her relax, ever so slightly. "Do you still trust me?"