They sat across from one another in the wooden booth in the dark tavern. They had been there for a couple of hours now, drinking and talking, feeling their way through the situation. It was storming outside and the lights flickered off and on in the tavern.
He was tall, dark, and handsome, not traditionally so but by sheer strength of character and control. In a way that made people notice him when he walked in the room, by the way he carried himself. She thought he was sexy as hell. She'd thought it the first time she saw him. That had been months before, in a working meeting.
She'd been there to interview him, as an attorney for the company he worked for. But she had felt like he had learned more about her. Not by the questions he asked but by the way he looked at her. She'd thought about him often since then, thought about the way she felt when under his gaze. He made her feel female; he made every inch of her feel womanly, just by looking at her. She couldn't believe they were sitting there now. She couldn't believe he had wanted to see her.
She had never really considered herself attractive. Men did seem to notice her from time to time but she attributed that to her confident attitude, her smile, and her intelligence. She liked to laugh and have fun. She loved sports. She loved to debate. Men were comfortable around her and that was what she believed led to any of them ever showing a romantic interest.
They told her she was attractive, sure. And she'd never been without a man's attention for any length of time. Men noticed her and not for the reasons she thought they did. They noticed her because she was attractive, beautiful even. She was fairly tall, 5'7", with dark hair and dark eyes. And she was curvy, her breasts were more than a handful and her bottom as well. She had good, strong legs and a narrow waist. Yeah, they noticed her.
But it had been more than a year since she had felt even vaguely attractive. More than a year since her husband had moved out and he had not made her feel attractive for a long time before that. She'd sort of given up the idea of being with a man again. She was a mother now, mostly on her own in the parenting, and she had told herself that was enough.
When she'd heard from him, months after their work meeting, she'd been surprised. He essentially said he'd been thinking of her and hoped she'd let him buy her a drink one night soon. And here they were...
They'd probably had too much to drink at this point. It was dark and late, windy and raining hard. Her home was almost an hour's drive from the tavern. His was considerably closer. There was a pause in the conversation. "Well," he said, "you can either go home or come home." She tried to smile and laugh off his smooth line. "Oh, really?" she said. "And which do you think I ought to do?" He looked her in the eyes and made her stomach flutter. "I think you have been drinking and it is late. The weather stinks and I would worry about you if you tried to drive home," he said.
Normally, the idea of a man worrying about her safety got her hackles up. She took pride in her independence. Pride in her ability to change a flat tire by herself. She had been raised to take care of herself and others, not to be worried about. She had been raised to be in control, strong and self-reliant. Her ex had once told her he thought her father had done her a disservice by raising her so independent. But there was something about the way this man spoke to her, and, if she were honest with herself, the fact that she wanted an excuse to go home with him, so she softened. "Perhaps we should talk about this further outside," she said, trying to sound light and teasing. But inside her stomach was fluttering.
They walked outside. It was still raining hard, much harder than usual for the Pacific Northwest, where the rain usually just drizzled. He walked her to her car door, never touching her. He hadn't touched her yet. God, she wanted him to touch her. They stood beside her door and he told her that the smart thing to do would be for her to follow him home. She agreed, trying not to sound too willing. He made her feel so willing.
She followed down the dark country roads thinking that there was no way she would ever find her way home without help. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do, going home with a man she barely knew, a manager from her client's office at that, in an area she didn't know, in the middle of the night.
He was driving faster than she felt comfortable, not knowing the roads and with the weather as it was. The speed and the cider she'd been drinking all made it even more difficult for her to keep the directions straight in her head. After a while, she gave up and just followed him.
His home was down a long dark unpaved driveway. He motioned her to park up against the house. When she got out of the car, she could hear the river nearby, even with the howling wind and rain. It was raging uncontrollably. That seemed fitting to her, under the circumstances. She followed him inside.
His home was small, warm and tidy. One room, a kitchenette, a separate bathroom. He handed her a drink and motioned her into what he called "the good seat." She sat down and he turned on the radio, taking the other seat. They talked some more. His bed was in the room too, right next to them, this large expanse just waiting there like an open invitation. She felt tense and uncertain. Maybe he had truly just been worried about her safety and didn't have other intentions. The lights went out again... He kept on talking. And then there was a lull in the conversation.
He moved so quickly, it took her breath away. He stood up. Pushed the ottoman in front of him out of the way, took the drink out of her hand, and put it on the table. He got down on his knees in front of her, and started kissing her. Her legs were tucked up under her and, somehow, he moved between her knees, so he was pressing up against her. She could feel him pushing the seam of her jeans up between her legs, pushing against her pussy. She felt an intense wave of passion start down between her legs and roll over her stomach, into the breasts, her throat, her tongue. His tongue. Oh, he kissed her so well. Like he knew exactly how she wanted to be kissed, strongly, moving his tongue against hers. Probing deeper.
She returned the kiss, wanting to encourage him, trying to tell him how badly she wanted this. Almost afraid of how badly she wanted this.
His hands were on her thighs, on her breasts, at the base of her neck, on her back, underneath her, feeling her ass. She didn't know if she could stop them if she tried, if she had wanted to. They were everywhere and it felt so good to be touched. And to be touched by him. But she needed to slow it down, to feel like she had some control over the situation, over herself. She felt his hands under her sweater, pulling her bra down, pushing her breasts over them, so the bra held them up, pointed at him. She'd always thought her breasts weren't a big draw for men. But he was paying attention to them, lightly pinching her nipples, squeezing her breasts. Oh, his hands.
She arched her back a little, pushing her breasts forward into his hands, craving more of his touch. He pulled her sweater off over her head, and kept touching her. Then he broke the kiss and moved his mouth down to her nipples, sucking on them, pulling on them lightly with his teeth.
She could tell she was wet. If she was honest with herself, she had probably started to get wet back at the tavern, the way he looked at her. She wanted him hard inside of her, moving inside of her. He was grinding against her, pushing himself against her clit and her pussy. He had long legs and, even with his knees on the floor, he was somehow leaning on top of her, pushing his hardness in between her legs. She could feel him through his jeans and hers. He felt huge.
She craved the taste of him. She wanted to feel that hard cock in her mouth, in the back of her throat. She moaned and realized she'd probably been moaning since his lips first touched hers. She wanted him so badly. She needed this to slow down. She was getting carried away by her passion, by his tongue, by his hands... She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heartbeat.
"I need these jeans off of you," he said, unbuckling her belt, and unzipping her jeans. She grabbed his hands and held them. "Slow down, please," she said. She said the words to him but she felt like she was begging her own body to slow itself down. It had been so long since she had been touched and even longer since she had felt desire like this. She needed to reassert her self-control. "Please." He took his hands away, and put them behind her head, in her hair, kissing her again. Oh, that tongue. The things she wanted him to do with that tongue.
She broke away from the kiss. "Well," she said, "I am not wearing underwear so if these come off, I will have nothing to protect me. So unless you are going to loan me a pair of your boxers..."
He stood up, looking down at her in the chair. She had no sweater on, her breasts still up on top of her bra, her nipples hard, large and dark. Her legs were still spread to make space for him between them. She felt childish asking for something to wear, like a schoolgirl, like a virgin. But she needed something between her pussy and him. She wanted out of her jeans but needed something physically between him and her own passion, her own desire. She was excruciatingly aware of his bed, right next to her.
He strode over to his dresser, yanked out a drawer, and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt. The briefs had a Superman emblem right across the front. She smiled. And then she worried that her ass would be too big for them, briefs being tighter than the boxers she had expected him to wear. She stood up, trying to look confident, took the clothes from him, gathered it all up against her chest and asked to use the bathroom.
