A Chevy Tahoe, the woman driving on the phone, crawled toward Barr's parking space. He could see her move her hands from the steering wheel to the phone, gesturing to whoever she was talking to, and then put them back on the wheel. Emeli kissed him, her tongue soft on his. He kissed her back, wondering if the woman could see them. The Tahoe was inching closer, a couple of spaces away from Barr's car, the woman looking around and over his car as she searched for a space.
Emeli kissed him again, slowly, her tongue teasing his the way he liked it. She was sitting on his lap, her legs on either side of his, facing the tailgate in the back seat of his Honda Element. Her hands were on the back of his head, teasing his hair. She was riding his thighs slowly, her panties sopped, not really grinding, but just hard enough so both of them could feel it.
"Is she looking at us, Daddy?" Emeli wrapped a couple of strands of his hair around two fingers and nibbled his neck so slightly. Barr felt the pleasure go through him; "baby girl," he said and made the l last for seconds. His cock was pleasingly hard, in that way it felt when it was still in his pants, bulging, but before he let Emeli take it out.
"She's looking over here, princess, but I don't know that can see us" said Barr, and he slid a hand to Emeli's left thigh, just above the knee. She shivered slightly. "What's she going to see if she looks at us, kitten?"
"Daddy fucking his good little slut," said Emeli, and she started riding his thighs harder.
*****
Barr had met Emelie by accident, one of those freak things that happens in bad movies and that people make fun of as they walk out of the theater. He was in a mid-town Manhattan coffee place on a a sunny fall day, finishing a meeting with a literary agent who had an impressive resume, a four-figure handbag, and a personality that explained why she had two ex-husbands. She had spent most of the meeting telling Barr, despite his talent, that he would never be successful because he wasn't commercial enough. Barr had pretended to agree with her, all the while wondering why he had ever thought talking to her was a good idea.
The meeting ended. Barr knew this because the agent stopped talking, got up, and held out her hand. Barr rose, shook her hand and went to sit back down when an a 20-ish woman, adorable and slight and small and with oversized glasses and the most amazing dark brown curly hair, moved gracefully around the agent and not so gracefully into Barr.
Some of the young woman's coffee spilled on Barr's lap, and the rest sloshed around in the cup. Barr, trying not to lose his temper, suddenly realized he couldn't decide whether to get mad or to laugh. The young woman's face had turned beet red and she kept trying to apologize, but she was so embarrassed that it was difficult for her to get a sentence out. The agent, seeing Barr was OK and that the girl was embarrassed, made the appropriate noises, picked up her handbag, and walked off.
Barr, grabbing for a couple of napkins on the table, tried to wipe the coffee off his lap. All he did was make the napkins wet.
The young woman had calmed down enough to speak: "I don't know what happened," she said. "I was so busy not running into that woman that I guess I didn't see you."
Barr smiled. "It's OK," he said. "That was the best part of my meeting. Really. I just wish you had gotten that woman."
