Bar Scene

Eric sits in the hotel bar, his back to the polished mahogany counter, and watches the crowd of nubile bodies bump against one another in a timeless ritual. He considers trolling the room, finding someone to pass the time, but then he sees her.

It was worth the wait.

She walks across the room with an easy gait that has many men—and more than a few women—turning to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the gods. Auburn hair cascades down her back in waves. Hips—barely covered in a short black dress—sway in invitation. Long, bare legs that seem to go on for miles, look even longer in three-inch stilettos. He knows too well how it feels to have those strong legs wrapped around him.

She takes the stool next to him, orders a dry martini. He bites back a smile when a man—can’t be more than twenty-five, Eric figures—wearing an expensive suit, positions himself next to her. This should be good, he thinks.

She cups her martini; red lacquered nails contrast against the clear glass. She lifts skewered olives to her lips. Her tongue darts out, circles the rim of the pimento, then plump lips suckle the green mound. She holds it for a moment, allows the olive to peek out once, then sucks it in, rolling it in her mouth as she keeps her eyes locked with the Suit’s.

Eric can’t help but pity the boy, who’s Adam’s apple goes into convulsions.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the Suit asks.

The woman tips her head. “That’s very kind of you.” Her voice all but purrs. She offers her mega-watt smile and Eric is certain the kid will fall over. “But I’m with someone.”

The kid’s face falls, he stammers an apology, then walks away.

“That was cruel.” Eric doesn’t look at her but continues to scan the room.

“How so?” she asks.

“Come on. That poor kid’s dick is hard as rock right now.”

She grins, sucks another olive into her mouth. She reaches over, glides her hand up Eric’s thigh, cups the bulge in his pants. She smiles. “So is yours.”

He reaches over in what appears to be a casual gesture, yanks her thighs apart and pushes his hand under her skirt. She gasps when his fingers press against the thin silk of her panties, already wet with anticipation and greed.

With his thumb, he tears the fabric and rams two fingers into her wet cunt.

“I’m not the only one who’s ready.”

He pistons once, twice, then grins when she convulses around him. He keeps his eyes on hers as he puts his dripping fingers into his mouth, sucks noisily.

“Shall we carry on in our room?” he asks.

“Oh, god, yes.”