She squirmed in the barstool. Her thoughts raised. Her hands trembled as she reached for her wine glass.
What was she doing? She wondered. Not for the first time. Not for the thousandth time. But here she was, as inevitably as water running downhill.
A man sat in the stool beside her. Her breath caught, heart threatening to burst from her chest. Was it . . .?
It was not. She deflated, with an ache only she could feel. The man smiled, noticing her gaze.
“Buy you a drink?” Too smooth for complete sentences, this one. She raised her wine glass at him, marveling to realize it was mostly empty.
“Why not?” The man smiled a little wider, eagerly flagging down the bartender for more.
“What do you do?” He turned to face her.
“I sit at the bar, and I wait.” She sat facing the bar still, her heart daring her to keep waiting.
“Waiting for a guy like me to buy you a drink?” She smirked at the way his words brought up butterflies in her stomach. The bad kind. The aching, longing kind.
“What kind of guy are you?”
He was the kind of guy who had a lot to say about himself. She caught every few words, something about medical supplies here, big, important sounding numbers there. It was hard to hear him over the sound of her heart aching, her mind screaming. He’s not going to come. You’re here for nothing. Why isn’t he here?
She took a big swallow of wine, an act of willful defiance against anxiety. She turned to face the man, refusing to wallow.
“Doesn’t that get boring?”
“Well, no. Sometimes I guess. It pays good.”
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Debra.”
“Oh.”
He regained the conversational footing. Much more to say about the way of the world, and his place in it. She’d never heard so much advice about debt management. She wished she had on a watch, to see if it was worth leaving. She started to use the remaining wine as a sundial, watching it from the corner of her eye as the man went on.
She felt Him before she saw Him. A crackle of raw, static charge sitting at the stool just on the other side of her. Her muscles tensed, her mind went white. From behind her back, in a low whisper that shouted above all conversation, she heard Him.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
Her jaw clenched. Her thighs squeezed together. She forced her neck not to turn his way. Freed from the depths of her worst anxieties, her stubborn brattiness overtook her. A refusal to give Him the satisfaction.
She sat up straight, then leaned in a little closer to the man, tracing the rim of her glass across her lips.
“You’ve got great arms, you know that?” She channeled all the warmth she could from Him, close behind her, into her voice. The man blushed, before going into a run-down of his exercise routine. She struggled to listen, but He placed His hand lightly against her back, and her whole body crackled.
“I’ll wait here as long as I need to for your full attention. I’m patient. I have all night, for you. But the longer you make me wait, the longer I’ll return the favor.” His voice penetrated her, utterly.
A groan escaped her lips. The man stopped mid-sentence, head cocked in confusion.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry. I think I bit my cheek.”
She felt her heartbeat in her clit. She felt her will to resist melting. And again, that whisper.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom now. Join me.”
She felt him leave, without turning her head. His absence was a hunger, a hole in her world in desperate need of filling. But still, she had to resist. Hold back. Not seem like the aching, needy little girl she was. She’d at least give it a count of five.
One . . . miss . . . i . . . sip . . . pi . . . two . . . miss . . . I . . . sip . . .
“Thanksforthewinebutimsorryireallyhavetoruntotheladies.” She’d never moved so fast in her life. And she used to run track.
His eyes were waiting for her as she turned the corner. Her knees buckled, overwhelmed with need and relief and need. But He was there. He was there. He was there. His arms around her. She melted into Him, the time without each other gone, and the pressure of Him now easing all aches the parting had created.
With the tantalizing prospect of creating new aches. Better aches.
“I needed you.”
“I’m yours.”
“Mine.”
“Mine.”
He pressed her against the wall, His hand under her skirt, His fingertip running up the front of her panties, feeling the extent of her desperation. He licked the finger clean, tasting her, sighing.
“You were waiting longer than I thought.”
“I’m always waiting for you daddy.”
“Let me make it up to you.”
He reached down, taking her panties in His fist, and yanked, hard. She felt the fabric catch, bite into her ass, before giving way and shredding themselves under His grasp. They were her panties, after all.
She stood there, eyes wide with lust and shock and need. Her lips trembled. He placed His hand, still clutching her tattered panties, against her cheek.
“I love that look in your eyes.”
“Why?” She could barely gasp out her words.
“Because the tell me, utterly, you belong to me. Mine, all mine.”
She couldn’t think anymore. She didn’t have to. He was there to do it for her. To press her back against the wall. To unbuckle His belt. To stuff her sex soaked panties into her mouth to keep her from screaming so loudly the entire bare shook when, finally, finally, finally, he filled her.