by Eve St. Albert
KAYLEY
"Buy a girl a drink, handsome stranger," I said, taking the seat next to him.
"Well hello... Kayley," he grinned, looking me up and down with naked appraisal.
"You remember me," I replied happily, smiling back. I expected him too. But there's no harm in a little fun. Or a little flirting.
"You're hard to forget," he replied. He finished his appraisal. "Looking good."
I was looking good. I'd styled my red hair, and had gone light on the make-up. I was wearing my red dress, form fitting, low cut with spaghetti straps and plunging cleavage. I couldn't wear a bra with this dress, and I could tell my nipples were hardening visibly. Black stockings and high heeled ankle boots completed my look.
It was a classier look, we'd been going to a more upscale club. Stopping in here had been a last minute impulse.
You know what a woman likes? She likes it when a man looks her up and down like he wants to fuck her. Sheer naked appreciation and lust, there's something exhilarating about it, something honest and damned sexy. Too often, when you meet men, they're guarded, carefully neutral. There's something about a man, where you can plainly see him thinking 'I'd like to fuck that.'
Of course, that's from fuckable guys, not creepy guys. The ones with dark stares, the ones whose eyes are hooded with brooding resentments, those aren't fun. There's no pleasure, there's no appreciation, just hunger and hatred.
It's about the smile, the attitude. It's hard to explain, but you can feel the ones that think its fun, that see you as an object, but an object to be enjoyed. The ones with the smiles. The ones that seem like they take pleasure. That look at you and decide they like you.
They say women like bad boys. But that's not true. Women like men that like to fuck, that look at them with appreciation and pleasure. You know they don't just want to come in you, they want to fuck, to enjoy you, not to finish and go.
"Thanks. I was going to go out with some friends," I told him. "But I decided to stop in here for a second to check things out."
"Well, I'm glad you did." He grinned. He was so sleazy it made me shiver. "Pull up, girl. You asked for a drink."
He put his hand on my ass, but only lightly and higher up, taking control, guiding me up onto a bar stool. He waved to the bartender, who came right over.
"Chuck," he said. "Cabernet for the lady."
As I settled on the stool, his hand landed on top of my thigh, the edge of his hand just slightly under my dress. He worked fast.
"You remembered," I said.
He laughed.
"You drank red wine," he said. "Place like this, all they have in red is a Cabernet. I should take you someplace that has better wines. I used to be a sommelier."
"Bullshit," I laughed. He smiled and shrugged, his hand moving up just a little, sliding forward to the inside of my thigh. Our bar stools were very close together. He'd pulled it close as he was seating me.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said, more to make conversation than anything else.
The truth was, I'd walked into the bar hoping he'd be here. If he hadn't, I'd probably have turned around and left. Like I said, we had other places to be.
I placed my purse, opened with the phone inside and live, on the counter between us. Sam should be coming in and taking a seat to watch us. Was anyone else watching, I wondered. I'd fucked two strangers in this bar within the last couple of weeks. Were stories getting around? Was I recognized.
"I show up now and then," he said. "I like to spread the love. I was hoping to see you again."
"Oh?"
His hand moved up slightly. I was already wet. He was so fucking bold and sleazy, it was breathtaking.
Derek had been okay, he'd been charming enough, but he'd been timid, sneaking looks, working his way up to asking me out. Leroy on that first night had flat out propositioned me for sex in the men's room.
Boldness was exciting. It meant confidence, and skill, and desire.
So yeah, he was an over the hill, sleazy, low-rent barfly drinking his life away in some shithole bar, and our previous fuck had been five minutes with a broken condom and I hadn't even come. But fuck all that, he was sexy as hell, and I'd wanted to see him again.
"Yeah," he said his voice pitched low, leaning forward. The bar was noisier, more crowded tonight. I leaned forward to listen through the noise, feeling my breasts shift forwards, he looked and didn't bother to hide it. I worried a little that with the background noise, Sam wouldn't be able to hear much. "I felt like we had unfinished business. You disappearing like Cinderella and all."
I laughed.
"It felt like you finished your business," I teased.
"Oh don't be like that," he grinned. "We had fun."
His hand slipped further up my dress. Jesus, he was bold. We were sitting close together, leaning towards each other, my knee touching the inside of his knee. It would be hard to see, unless you were watching.
But Christ, we were out in the open in a par, sitting on stools. His hand was half way up my dress, almost at the band on top of my stocking. Bold! You see why I'd wanted to see him again.
I should close my legs, clamp my thighs together. I didn't. I should take his wrist and gently remove his hand from my person. I didn't.
Instead, he swiveled ever so slightly on his stool, and his other knee, the knee that pressed against the inside of my other knee, casually, innocently, pushed it a little further, spread my legs a little wider, though no one could see. I let it. His hand crept up a little further, his fingers on the band of my stocking.
I pretended not to notice.
My heart was racing.
"Oh hey," he said. "I'm not taking you away from your friends, am I?"
"Friends?"
"The friends you were going out with?" he reminded me.
"Oh them," I blinked, "they can go fuck themselves."
He chuckled in a way that made my panties wet.
My mouth was so dry, I had to straighten up, and grab the wine glass, swallowing hard. I was vividly aware of how the motion brought my breasts together and pushed my cleavage forward, and knew he stared appreciatively.
He hunched a little forward, fingers teased the edges of bare flesh at the top of my stocking. Involuntarily, my thighs closed slightly, I trembled. Was I flushed?
"You do remind me of Cinderella," he said.
"Because I turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" I teased.
Gentle pressure against the inside of my knee, hardly noticeable. If you were talking, distracted, you might not even be aware. Bullshit. I was so aware, even as I gave way, millimeter by millimeter.
