The bouncers escorted us from the bathroom and out of the club. Catalina and I traded smiles the entire way, two kids punished for something they had zero regrets about. I ordered us an Uber, and as we waited on the sidewalk Catalina held close to me, her hands roving up and down my chest and back. My cock was still semi-hard in my pants, the trace memory of her hand running up and down it still bouncing around my brain.
The Uber ride was short but felt like an eternity. Catalina was draped over me, sitting on her hip in the middle seat, her far leg cast over mine. My hand was on the outside of her thigh, very far up her leg, her black skirt riding down almost to her ass. She had a volleyball player's legs, meaty and toned. One of her hands was placed on the inside of my thigh, the other on my chest, and she was leaning into my ear whispering non-stop in Spanish. I had no idea what she was saying, but I was under the impression it was incredibly dirty. At one point I caught the Uber driver's eye in the rearview mirror, I winked, and he smirked and looked back at the road.
We got to my apartment and tumbled out of the car. As I fumbled for the key to my front gate, Catalina was all over me, starting to kiss me, on my shoulder, up my neck, my chin, my lips. I laughed, kissing her in return, trying to get my key in the lock. It clicked open, we stumbled through, and I dashed up the steps to my apartment two at a time, hearing her heels clicking up each step behind me.
Inside, she dropped her purse on my kitchen table and walked backward into my living room, watching me as she raised her arms, ran her hands up through her hair, stretching out her torso, her halter top rising and baring more of her tight midriff.
I tossed my keys next to her purse and approached her, our eyes locked on each other, like two tigers about to duel. I reached her, lifted my hand to wrap it around the back of her neck and pull her head to mine, but she caught my wrist, brought my hand to her mouth, kissed it gently, her eyes trained on me.
We held the eye contact, intense and intimate, for a few seconds. She kissed my hand again softly, her eyes fluttering closed. She clutched my hand harder, let her lips drag across my skin...and then her eyes flew open and she looked at me in surprise. She swallowed, composed herself, and said:
"Will you make me a drink?"
My cock didn't want to make her a drink, would much rather I pulled her skirt down her hips, bared her amazing ass, bent her forward over my couch and ripped her panties off and pushed my cock into her pussy and started fucking her gorgeous Colombian body. But something had faltered in her and I knew that wasn't currently on the menu. I nodded, lifted one of her hands and casually kissed it in return, then said:
"What would you like?"
"Rum."
"On the rocks?"
"On the rocks."
I let go of her hand and went into the kitchen, grabbed two highballs and filled them with ice, while Catalina pulled out a chair and sat at my kitchen table.
"I've never been kicked out of a club before," she said.
"Me neither."
"It's exciting."
I grabbed a bottle of dark rum from my bar cart, splashed some into each glass.
"Well it's unlikely you'd ever go back," I said. "Me on the other hand..."
I brought the drinks to the table, she took hers, and I sat in the chair next to her.
She pouted dramatically. "I'm sorry that I gave you a handjob."
I laughed. "You're right, it was worth it."
We toasted, sipped our drinks, and then sat back, regarding each other. Catalina looked down at her glass, her finger playing along the rim.
"I don't do that," she said quietly.
"What?"
"Bathroom handjobs."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
She looked up quickly, her eyes wide. "Oh no! It's okay. Sorry, my tone. It's good. I liked it."
I thought about her kissing my hand, about the sudden look of surprise.
"It's just, fast?" I said.
"Fast. Yes, a little."
I'm sure she was thinking about her ex, feeling some inexplicable loyalty to a guy who had horribly betrayed her. I didn't blame her, that's just how feelings go sometimes.
One of her hands was resting on the table. I reached over, laid mine across it gently, and she looked at it, intertwined her fingers with mine.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," I said.
She looked up into my eyes, her expression vulnerable and searching.
"I'm happy to have some company this weekend," I said. "Of whatever kind."
She smiled, grasped my hand harder, and took a big swig of rum.