I wasn’t normal. At least, I didn’t think I was, but who’s to say, really? I didn’t feel normal, but then, I’d been breast-fed on romance novels. The image of a man and a woman firmly entrenched in a perfect, passionate love that would last forever was so deeply engrained in my mind that my current situation had snuck up on me while I stood in the dark without a clue.
I’d been with Ryan for three years. Three great years, in fact, and he was both my lover and my best friend. But I was beginning to find that time diluted raging passion, the way that sparkling water dilutes the burn of whiskey of your tongue. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to stop that steady drip, drip, drip.
This morning I had woken up and rolled over to face Ryan, only to be greeted with a blast of dragon breath in the face. This was accompanied by his ritual, early morning ball scratch. While once I thrilled to the fact that this was indicative of intimacy between us, it now caused me to wrinkle my nose and wish fervently for a hint, just a hint, of the mystery that we had once shared.
Not that I was doing much better, myself. I hadn’t shaved my legs for two weeks, and the slinky silk of years past was gone; it had been replaced by flannel and baggy cotton. And even as I wrinkled my nose at the admittedly handsome face of the man that I loved, a perverse part of me basked a bit in the fact that he still loved me, flannel, bed head, and all.
But true love does not equal great sex. Once upon a time we had stayed up all night, the cool iron of the headboard gouging deep into the pale green paint of the wall. At last count, it had been eight months since that paint had needed touching up, and I wasn’t anticipating the need to replace the crusty, angled paintbrush anytime in the near future.
I wasn’t sure why all of this hit me so hard that morning as I rinsed the snarls out of my hair. I only knew that, as the scalding drops sluiced over my long untouched skin, and the steam of the tiny bathroom began to clog my lungs, I felt a sense of panic begin to creep over me, to creep into me, and the need to escape had me longing to scream.
Escape wouldn’t be logical, however, nor, I suspected, would it be what I really wanted. But it did succeed in driving me out of the stifling air of my house, away from the woman that I was there. Here, at least I could breathe. Here, I could take the time to contemplate how my love life had come to this.
The cardboard cup singed the tender skin of my hands as I huddled at the small round table. The thick, gooey coffee was bitter on my tongue, and I couldn’t say that I much enjoyed the taste, but it gave me an excuse to be there, to sit there for as long as I wanted.
To be someone else.
“Owww!”
A splash of hot coffee landed on my own, jolting me out of my reverie. “Bloody hell!” Clutching my free hand to the blistering, painful skin, I cast accusing eyes in the direction that the steaming brew had cascaded from.
I almost swallowed my tongue when I met the sheepish, apologetic eyes of one of the most beautiful men that I had ever seen. The grey of those eyes was smoky, and turned the apology into something incredibly hot, at least from my point of view. My breath caught in my throat, choking me as I stared, mesmerized, at the lean planes and angles, the lickable looking lips that made up that face.
“I’m so sorry,” the grimace caused crinkly little lines to appear at the corners of his eyes, and a jolt of heat the likes of which I hadn’t felt in months nearly knocked me off of my chair.
The vehement curses died on the tip of my tongue. “It’s okay,” I managed to utter through my suddenly immobile tongue, and I felt a slow burn begin in the secret crevice between my legs, a dull ache that made my clit throb.
“I really am sorry; I’m not usually so clumsy,” a large hand with fingers firm and strong reached for the scratchy paper of the napkin that I held to my arm. The moment I felt the slight brush of his fingertips on my skin, lust poured over me in waves, and all thoughts of Ryan, the man that I one day planned to vow to honor and cherish for all time, flew out of my head.
I wanted nothing more than to fuck this man, and I wanted to do it now.
“Really, it’s nothing. I’ve done worse on the stove at home,” I said, knowing that I would never really sleep with “grey eyes,” no matter how much I wanted to. Not only was Ryan very real and very much a part of my life, but I had never been the type to go around fucking strange men in cars or bars or… or… coffee shop bathrooms.
No matter how loudly my hormones were suddenly screaming at me to do so.
“All right, then. So long as you’re sure you’re okay.”
I successfully tore my eyes away from his, but that only led to me eyeball the bulge in the front of his pants, and it was pulsing dangerously within reach.
The close proximity to his cock made me panic, in lieu of sitting on my hands, I looked back up. I needed him to leave now, or I would drag him onto the table and fuck him hard, here and now.
“Really, I’m fine,” I said. In order to occupy my hands, I grasped my cooling cup, taking care to control the trembling of my fingers, lest I spill also. “You enjoy what’s left of your coffee.” I did my best to say these words firmly, though I was dying, really, to lace them with a velvety invitation.
He hesitated; he seemed to want to say something more. “All right, then,” he shuffled his weight briefly from foot to foot, then cast a grin my way that managed to be both sheepish and wicked. “Thanks for being so good about it.”
“No problem.” I know I squeaked as he walked slowly away and I caught sight of the tiniest hint of grey elastic peeking out of the waist of his jeans. Gulping at my coffee, I tried desperately to get my hormones back under control.
I was taken. Flagging sex life or not, I was very, very taken, and there would be no fucking of strange (albeit gorgeous) men in public bathrooms.
That didn’t mean, however, that I couldn’t think about it.
The bathroom smelled like cinnamon. I thought that that was odd, since most bathrooms, if you’re lucky, smell of lemon or pine or something equally sterile. But this fragrance was decidedly spicy, and the tang that prickled my nostrils added to the excitement of the moment. I had thought that I wanted it hard and fast and hot and sweaty, but now, now that this delicious man was there, invading my space, making my skin prickle with gooseflesh, I had changed my mind.
Who knew when I would be fucked like this again, fucked good and proper, after all?
I stepped closer, close enough that our breath mingled. With one hand, I worked the button of his jeans, and shivered at the feel of his hands as they came to rest, warm and snug, on my hips. Though I yearned to strip off his shirt, to nuzzle my nose in the warm flesh and prickling hairs of his chest, that would take time, and the need raging through my veins was too intense to indulge.
Hot soap and tangy male and the ever-present cinnamon tickled at my nostrils as I wedged myself between him and the cool tile of the wall. He struggled in the tight grip of my arms, willing himself to endure the torment of the feather-like strokes of my fingertips on his body. The control didn’t last for long. Unable to hold still any longer, he arched into me, ran greedy hands through the long spill of my messy ponytail. In response, my hands slid down the fascinatingly hard contours of his body, all the way down, to find the cock that was already hot and stiff. Cupping it in my palms, I allowed a wicked smile to cross my lips and I felt the hot hiss of his breath on my neck.
I cried out softly at the feel of his tongue, warm and wet, as it swiped across the base of my throat, right over the tender little spot where my pulse beat loudly and the skin was as soft as the skin of a ripe peach. We hadn’t even kissed, and yet he knew where to touch me, and he knew how. The knowledge made me desperate to assuage the growing ache in the slippery cleft between my thighs.
I applied myself rapidly to his belt buckle and zipper, enjoying the sound of rasping metal before dipping inquisitive fingers inside the fabric waistband to find his cock impossibly hard and feverishly hot against the chill of my fingers. Releasing the flesh from its dark, stuffy, fabric-prison, I circled my fingers around the base of the shaft and sucked in air at the discovery that my middle finger and thumb couldn’t meet around it. Holding my grip as firmly as the mass would allow, I moved my hand up and down, just a bit, and watched as his head tipped back in surrender and blood flowed to the already full-to-bursting cock.
His hand, slick with sweat, slid from hip and up my torso to graze, just barely, the side of my breast. A quiver ran through my body. I wasn’t sure how he managed to work his hands in between the layers of my clothes, but they proved an insufficient barrier for him and he reached the hard, tasty pebbles of my nipples. Still, he took his time, his fingers pressing and probing, lightly in circles, around and around again until I arched my back in a silent plea. Then, finally, he dipped his head, drawing one hard, tight peg into his mouth, rubbing his teeth lightly overtop, and I cried out harshly as my hips began to rock, my patience all but gone.
His mouth traveled further, to draw another of my buds into his mouth. His tongue and teeth lapped and nipped at the solid pebble of my clit through the thin cotton of my underwear, and my cries became whimpers. A few short, celebratory spasms rioted through me.
The sounds undid him and, rising to his feet, he wrapped his arms around my waist and shifted me up, up so that the hardness of his cock pushed against the soft curve of my belly. I groaned as one of my legs was hooked over his arm, and he pulled my panties to the side with a violent tear. Almost tripping over the belted pants as he worked them down over his hips, he pushed past the soft folds of my lower lips, rubbed the hard knot of my clit, and swiftly filled me up to my womb with his hard, pulsating cock.
I tried to hold back a scream. It was a private bathroom, yes, but I was sure that the noises we were making would be quite recognizable to anyone who happened to be listening. Biting my lips until I drew blood, I held my breath and squirmed, desperate for a full, mind-blowing release that would ease the wild thing that was clawing at my throat. It seemed that I had no choice but to hold on for the ride of my life, however, as he continued to move deep inside me, pulling himself out almost entirely before slamming himself back in again. I writhed, desperate for something to ease the thickness of the smoky heat that was clogging my throat and causing my mind to fog. I twisted and my underwear pulled tight, rubbing against my clit with every move.
Sensing the change in my shuddering breaths and in the quickening pulses of my every muscle, even as his cock filled, swelled, and threatened to explode, he slid a hand around the sweet curves of my plump rear, tracing the moist division upwards until he found what he was looking for. When he pressed his index finger firmly against the tight pucker of my arse, my body jerked and the movement caused the sensations rioting throughout my body to overflow and finally lift off, thrusting me towards the stars. My reaction seemed linked to his own, and, with a hell of a shout and one final thrust, he emptied himself into me, his spilled seed trickling hotly over my belly.
We both went limp, sated with the fruition of my daydream.
“Are you all right, ma’am? You look flushed.”
I was startled out of my reverie by the bubblegum voice of a young woman wearing the requisite green apron of the shop. She was peering at me with concern in her eyes, and I knew that my face was likely a bright red.
I nodded, and satisfied that she had done her job, had even gone above and beyond, the girl moved on, mopping the floor with a reckless abandon. Tiny puddles of soapy grey water trailed behind her.
Awkwardly, I stood, limbs heavy, and fumbled for my purse. I muttered in agitation when the strap tangled in my hair and tugged. Coffee cup in hand, I made to leave.
The wicked grin and flash of deep grey eyes caught me the second that I looked up. The invitation was there: the camaraderie and want of a shared fantasy. However, instead of tossing out a saucy grin, however or a sassy swing of my hips, I winked wickedly. Thoroughly refreshed, I sailed out the door, tossing my paper cup in the trash as I went.
I hoped that Ryan would be home when I got there.
Originally published July, 2008