Kara walked, taking in the hallway as a series of snapshots. The coat check was abandoned; the hall's dim light brightened at the open double doorway; the doorway framed the bar where the light was distinctly less dim and was punctuated with the glow of candlelight on the bar top. A glance down showed an even skirt hem against the sheen of stockings and black, high-heeled pumps that looked like quotation marks against the deep burgundy, fake oriental carpet.
Reaching the doorway her snapshot glances became a panoramic scan of the bar.
Rich, the DJ, sat at the end of the bar nearest the dance floor and the sound system. One fast drink before he played his final few songs of the evening. Four working aged women grouped around a bottle of wine at a cocktail table, a tweedy older couple sat together at the center of the far leg of the u-shaped bar and two men drooped over shots and concerns about mortgages on this side. Pretty typical Wednesday night crowd.
Patty dumped ashtrays while Adam rinsed glasses. Three steps down from the cocktail table section and she felt herself caught in his gaze. He smiled, the warm "welcome back" greeting he flashed at all the regulars, and her breath caught and her chin came up. The remains of winter's chill evaporated from her face and the bar's central heating seemed to begin working overtime.
It had been a good day. The slides for the new show were finished and most of it didn't suck. Tomorrow she could sleep in without feeling guilty; she wouldn't even bother setting her alarm. It was an excellent time to take the edge off her adrenaline-driven energy and satisfy a curiosity that was months in the making. One good night: her body hummed in tune with the thought.
Kara unbuttoned her leather coat, dropped it on a barstool, and sat down on the next stool over. The dark green vinyl pressed the scratchy wool of her skirt against her upper thighs and the silk of her panties. The silk, in turn, caressed her swollen lips. She crossed her feet at the ankles, trying to relieve the pressure by keeping her thighs together, and smiled at Adam.
"Hi, Kara, nice to see you. Red or White?" He had the bartender trick of keeping his voice low, but directed, so only the customer across from him could hear.
"Jack Daniels." She needed liquid heat in her mouth, and it would be at least half an hour until closing.
Adam's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Rocks?"
"Straight up."
He poured and set the drink in front of her, his hand completely encircling the glass. He could cover her whole breast with one hand, keep her nipple in the center of his palm, letting only her panting cause movement and friction enough to make her want to stay.
That was as far as they'd gone last week. The Saturday before had been kissing in the parking lot, shielded from the winter cold by the car door and the heat that came from her running car, and oblivious to it because of the heat between their bodies.
Now, back in the bar where the flirting had first mixed into the cocktail of chemistry and wine that led to the late-night groping, Jimmy Buffet played in the background. Rich's personal attempt at beating back winter.
The tweedy couple signaled for the check and began assembling their belongings in the tandem motions of long practice. Patty poured out the last of the wine for the giggling female quartet.
The Jack Daniels burned, even in small sips, but it dissolved some of the nervous tension that knotted her stomach. Kara rolled her shoulders, trying to relax her neck, and caught Adam looking at her chest. This was going to be fun.
She leaned forward, so her breasts rose slightly out of the silver-gray scooped neck of her blouse, and took a deep breath.
"You look nice tonight. Special occasion?" Adam kept his eyes on her face, pretending to ignore her cleavage.
"No, all my jeans are dirty. I have to do laundry tomorrow." Anything was possible, right?
The two men slid some bills onto the bar, struggled off their stools, and pulled on coats, gloves and hats. They said something to the women at the table, one last effort at avoiding real life, and left. The women giggled and waived to Patty. Two of them excused themselves to the ladies room.
The music cycled into old Sinatra. "New York, New York" would be next, and last, signaling the official end of the dancing for the evening. Maybe Rich had plans, and wouldn't nurse a beer until last call the way he usually did.
The four women regrouped around their table, consulting and tossing down cash. One detached and headed for the coatroom. The other three did a short, impromptu chorus line to the final strains of the music. The exuberant, shorthaired blond didn't notice, or maybe didn't mind, that the top button of her blouse had popped open showing off the black lace bra underneath.
What would that exposed skin taste of? Powder, perfume, splashed wine? Memories of college experimentation crowded Kara's brain and mouth, made her hand itch for the feel of someone else's skin.
She clutched her tumbler almost convulsively, feeling the cut edges drive into her palm and fingers. Trying to look calm, she gave the glass a swirl and then tossed down the last few sips of alcohol.
On a normal night, she would now switch to water, carefully managing her drinks. But this was not a normal night, this was a night she wasn't going to keep control. She set the glass back on the bar and nodded when Adam caught her eye. More maple gold splashed into the glass, a replacement napkin was slipped onto the bar and round two began.
"Adam, I'd like to clear out a bit early tonight, if it's ok with you?" Patty was back behind the bar, cashing out the final check.
Kara sipped again, slowly, looking at Adam over the top of the glass, then through it. Get rid of her, get over here, put your hands on me. His face blurred and wavered through the crude lens of the tumbler. His full lips moved and she heard the voiceover.
"Sure, I'll wash up the rest of these and close. Don't think we'll get anyone else in here at this hour anyway."
She set her glass down and studied the man before her. Adam checked his watch and then took it off in preparation for washing glasses. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, exposing defined forearms and dark hair against light tan skin. He had a nice chest, good arm and upper body strength that came from more of a work out than hauling and hoisting cases of beer.
"'Night." Patty secured her scarf and was heading for the door.
"Think I'll head out too." Rich had finished flipping switches and coiling cords. The shorthaired blond stood tentatively by the turntable, pretending to be interested in the electronics. Rich grabbed his coat and the blond's hand, and followed Patty out the door. Kara felt her attempted detachment leave with them.
The final touches of bar energy, the tingling anticipation of meeting and mating, the dancing and drinking vibe settled, waiting for tomorrow night to boil up again.
All the electricity and tension remained coiled in Kara and she willed the teasing tendrils across the bar where Adam was finishing the remaining glasses.
It worked. Adam came around the bar and sat on the empty stool to her left, filling her entire field of vision, stirring the air around her. "You think that showing up in a skirt the night I close is a good plan? I'm stuck here until eleven at least."
"Is it a bad plan? There's no one else here." Kara gestured at the empty room with her glass and then drank.
"Are you suggesting I close early? And then we'll go somewhere. Or do you think we should just wind up in the car again."
"I'm fine right here." That should get his attention.
He sipped his coke, looking at her over the rim of his glass. Then he deliberately placed his foot on her bar stool, nudging her crossed feet apart to make room for his own. Her thighs parted and to keep her balance, she tilted forward slightly. The change in position brought her crotch completely against the stool and the sudden pressure made her mouth go dry. She swallowed, tasting the afterglow of her harsh drink. She wouldn't squirm, she didn't want him to see how much she wanted this.
He set his glass down. "You are fine here, aren't you. You've come in two or three times a week for what, three months now? But I've never seen you outside this restaurant." Adam leaned close, so his soda-sweetened breath misted her lips.
"I think you're not married. I suspect you work hard. I know you like kissing me." His lips brushed hers, feather like, "And I know you're here to fuck me tonight."
Kara sighed, tipped her chin up and her lips parted, waiting for his kiss. He sat back.
"So, what do you do for a living?" Adam's voice was pleasantly conversational.
"Excuse me?"
"What do you do for a living? Your job?"
She could only stare; where was her kiss? Where was the grinding and moaning?
"Have some more Jack Daniels, it'll help clear your throat." His eyes crinkled at the corner, but the grin didn't reach his lips. The lips that were supposed to be on her mouth and neck.
She drank, gulping this time, and tried to regain some balance.
"It's ok, sweetheart, you can tell me." One finger brushed down her neck, trailed across her collarbone, and then traced the outline of her scooped blouse. Her nipples were rock candy hard before his finger made it halfway across the exposed skin of her chest. The Jack Daniels streamed through her body and flowed between her legs into a pool of liquid fire.
"You are beautiful. I love how you react." The finger reached the other end of her neckline and started moving downward until it was at the full top of her breast, then it stopped, millimeters from her nipple, and Adam waited.
Kara licked her lips and swallowed her groan of disappointment. "Artist. I'm a photographer." The words came out breathy, like a gasp.
"Good girl." He brushed her nipple once, gently, then put his hand on her shoulder and leaned forward to kiss her.
This wasn't the hesitant, are-we-sure-about-this kissing from the car and parking lot. This was the I-know-what-you-like-and-I'm-going-to-do-it-until-you-can't-breathe, hot, wet, sucking, confident kiss.
Without breaking contact, Adam ran his hands down over her shoulders, then up her sides and stopped, cupping her breasts. Kara shifted, trying to move so that his hands would fully cover her.
No such luck. His kiss tugged and teased, he licked her lips delicately and sucked firmly but kept his hands still. His palms supported the weight of her, but didn't fondle her.
So she kissed back, forcing her tongue past his and exploring his mouth until he had to turn his head to breathe. Taking the opportunity, she arched her neck against his gasping mouth and ran her hand up the leg that was braced against her bar stool. Coarse cotton scratched her palm as she moved up his inner thigh. Then a hand clamped roughly onto her wrist, stopping her abruptly short of her goal.
"My bar, sweetie, my pace." The words buzzed against the skin of her neck, slowing her.
Lips trailed down her neck and rested at her collarbone. Finally, now, Adam held her fully in his hand using thumb and palm to brush her nipple. When she was slack and compliant against him, he let go of her wrist and caressed the other side too.
Then cool air replaced the moist breath on her neck. Adam had sat back away from her again. He waited, toying with her lightly until she forced her eyes open. He had brown eyes, nice eyes. Deep, with no hint of green or topaz, and long lashes tipped with gold. How had she not noticed that before now?
Watching her face the whole time, he peeled her blouse down over her shoulders and unhooked her bra. He covered one breast with his warm hand and kissed the other. Now he rubbed his lips, soft and smooth, against her pebbled nipple then lapped it with the wet tip of his tongue, and at last sucked it into his mouth.
Kara arched, bracing one hand on the bar and wrapping the other behind his head, pulling him closer, urging him to suck harder.
He didn't make her wait this time. He kept his mouth, hungry and urgent on her, but he dropped his hands from her, ran them up her legs and grabbed the bar stool to pull it closer to him. His knee slid between her legs and his thigh forced her skirt up. It caught on the barstool, trapped by her weight and keeping Adam's leg from pressing fully against her, giving her the glorious pressure she needed.
Adam stopped, stood, and shoved her skirt up around her waist. Scratchy wool and tacky vinyl rubbed her skin. "Thigh highs, nice. You were planning this?"
He trailed his finger around the top of her stocking, tickling the bare skin.
"Hmmm." Kara shifted, urging his hand higher.
"Admit it, you've been planning this. No one wears a skirt..."
His hands ran up and down the inside of her spread legs.
"...Stockings..."
He moved his hands to her waist.
"...And silk..."
One hand brushed the cloth between her legs, barely touching her.
"...Unless they think they're going to get laid."
His hand stayed between her legs, fingertips teasing her through the silk. She twisted and squirmed but with no luck. She stilled and shifted away from him. Her raging hormones and the alcohol combined to loosen her tongue into a confession. "I plan everything."
Reaching out, she ran her hand up his thigh again, scratching with her nails, and then caught him in her hand. Hard, hot and exactly what she wanted, he throbbed against her palm. She stroked, clasped and released, and heard his low moan. Her hand shook and she lost her steady, deliberate rhythm.
He didn't pull back when she reached for his belt buckle, didn't argue when she hooked the waist of his pants and tugged. Instead, he answered by pulling at her underwear until she lifted up and let them drop to her ankles, then the floor.
He tucked his hands under her bottom and lifted until she was on the very edge of the bar stool, her legs spread around his hips. She felt his cock jerk against her thigh, leaving a spot of sticky wetness, then press against her stomach. He didn't move lower, he just pressed against her, rubbing and waiting.
"Give me your phone number." His voice growled, no concerned, staff-politeness present.
"What?!" Kara's eyes flew open and she dug her nails into his hips, pulling at him.
He twisted so she lost her grip, and grabbed a pen and a cocktail napkin from the bar. "Your phone number. Give it to me."
"But, don't you want...? Let's just..." She couldn't seem to finish the sentence, couldn't focus, could barely breathe.
"I want to do this." Adam stepped away and his hand moved from her backside to the top of her thigh and then to the juncture between her legs. He stroked her lightly and she felt herself drip on him. He rubbed harder, and she rocked her hips with the steady rhythm, soothed and pushed closer to the edge simultaneously.
Lips brushed her mouth and then firmed into a kiss. Her groan let his tongue slide in and she felt her whole body melt into him, mold against his kiss and his hand, trying to press as close to him as he would let her.
Her free hand ran up his chest to the V formed by the buttons of his shirt, reveled for a moment in the warm skin and rough hair, then down his arm to the hand that rested on the bar. She took the pen, opened her eyes, and broke the kiss. His hand stopped the delicious stroking and, with shaking determination, she scrawled her number onto the napkin, barely registering the sharp blue against the bright square of white.
As soon as she set the pen down, his fingers slid inside once, twice and a third time. "Come on, relax, trust me." His voice echoed hot inside her ear.
She shattered, crying out, and felt his fingers leave only to be replaced moments later by his condom-covered cock. He braced her hips with his hands and slammed into her, extending her release with his thrusts.
The edge of the barstool pressed against the back of her thighs and she shifted, wrapping both arms and a leg around Adam. He growled, dug his fingers into her hips with a bruising grip and surged inside her hard, then rigid. The thrusting slowed, stopped, and all that remained was pulsing, her around him, him inside of her, her heartbeat against her ribs.
Kara sagged against him, eyes closed, trying to breath deeply and slow her pulse. "It's going to take a lot of cocktail napkins to clean this up."
She felt Adam's chuckle against her, relaxed. Then he pulled away, leaving her chilly, damp and bare-butted on the barstool. Casually, as though it were a dropped swizzle stick, Adam handed Kara her underpants and then reassembled his own clothing.
One of her shoes had come off and the lace of her bra dragged across her over-sensitized nipples. Standing was a challenge, given her wobbly legs and the single shoe factor, so she braced a hand against Adam's shoulder and tried to straighten her stockings, underwear and skirt.
When she had them in some semblance of order, she sat. Then stood up again and retrieved her shoe, stared at it for a moment, sat down, put it on the bar and picked up her glass. She sipped, keeping the cool glass pressed against her swollen mouth and trying to look anywhere but at Adam. Shoe, floor, cash register, bowl of bright yellow lemon wedges, floor again. Her brain clicked off the images.
A hand appeared, the glass was removed and her chin tilted up. Gently, tenderly, her hair was stroked off her cheek and tucked behind her ear. Soft, warm and caring, a kiss pressed against her lips. "I will call you, you know. That way, you can work me into your plans."
Kara rested her hand on Adam's shirt pocket, felt the cocktail napkin with her phone number inside, and smiled, meeting his gaze full on. "I'd like that."
Originally Published August 2006: Sweat