**Heya,**
I said I’d keep my stories short, so I’m splitting this up into two parts.
Hope ya get a little hot and bothered. ?
—
I briskly sachet toward my chosen man of the evening sitting in the back of the speakeasy, making sure to check if someone is following me. He sets his drink on the nearby coffee table while he laughs with his friends, and just as he settles back in his eclectic armchair, I touch his shoulder.
“Hey, babe!” I slide onto his lap and let my legs dangle from my short dress.
He understandably tenses. “Um. I don’t know you.”
“Shh…” I affectionately brush some hair from his forehead, as if I’ve done it before. But I anxiously shift my gaze around the room. “Do you have a significant other?”
His voice drops in suspicion. “No…”
My hand glides down his face. My thumb brushes against his cheekbone, and when my fingers reach his jaw, I feel it relax from my touch. Until I ask, “Are you attracted to me?”
“What?”
I hush him and rest my fingers on his soft lips. While I look into his eyes, the collective hum from the other guests socializing surrounds us. Even though my heart races with nervous anticipation, I try to look as captivating as possible. I don’t want to beg. Yet.
I drop my fingers from his lips so he can respond, but he drops his gaze as well. Is he going to say no? Do I need to mention my stalker again?
“Well…” His eyes flick to mine. “Yes. You’re very pretty.”
I kiss him.
Our breath swells in unison, and after a beat of hesitation, he wraps his arms around me. I can’t help but smile. We kiss slowly, lingering on each other’s lips until we’re desperate for air. The humming dulls until I can’t hear anything—I can only feel his moist lips and gentle tongue. Longing fills my center until it overflows and dampens my panties. He softly groans when I nuzzle my ass in his crotch.
I want more.
“Please, I need to pretend we’re together,” I breathe. “My ex followed me here. I need someone to protect me.”
With one arm, he immediately pulls my waist tight against him, and he cradles the back of my head with his free hand. I relax on his chest while he kisses me more forcefully—while he claims me in this busy bar that harbors someone who could hurt me.
Again, I softly beg him, “Please.” He kisses me with so much passion that I lose all of my strength. I accept everything he gives me. He nips my bottom lip. He tugs my hair and squeezes my waist. He shows everyone that I am his and no one else can have me. I meekly whine to praise his full authority.
He rips his lips from mine and surveys the speakeasy like a predator. He growls, “Where is he?”
“Who?”
The wildness in his eyes dims. “Your ex-boyfriend…”
“Oh!” I sweetly laugh. “I made him up.”
He blinks. He blinks again. Then he tilts his head. “Excuse me?”
I heartedly laugh. “I just wanted to make out with you.” When I turn to his friends, their expressions span from “This girl is hilarious” to “This girl is crazy.”
I turn back toward my man of the evening and stroke his jaw. Leaning to his ear, I murmur, “Do you want to come home with me?”
I watch him silently consult his friends with his eyes. One whispers “No” behind me, but my guy’s hand comfortably rests on my bare thigh.
My rule is to wait for five seconds.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Four Mississippi…
Five Mississippi comes and goes, which means so do I.
“Well.” His arms resist a bit when I stand. I fluff my hair so it shines in the soft lighting. Then I give him one last smolder. “Enjoy your evening.”
I slowly saunter toward my friends standing at a table at the front of the bar. Despite my lack of success, every fresh pair of eyes that follow me buoy my spirits. They soar when my friends initiate a crucial part of our plan. They laugh. And I laugh. And we laugh as we walk out of the bar like he just made the stupidest decision of his life.
At the end of the block, I open the back door of the Uber that was waiting for us. I give him one last chance before I get into the car. I listen for commotion—shouting, apologies for causing a ruckus, urgent footsteps… Nothing.
There’s a crash.
I turn and see the speakeasy door open. A large metal planter lays on its side with its fern and soil spilled on the concrete. My guy of the evening stands beside it with his hands tugging his hair. Exasperated, he starts pacing.
I whistle.
When he turns to me, I beckon him with my finger. My friends order another Uber while he runs toward us. We all know the drill. If one of us gets her guy of the night, the rest of us find alternate transportation. I’ve said my goodbyes to them and slid into the Uber by the time he climbs into the car.
He breathes, “Hi.”
I grab his shirt and pull him to me.
With only one unfortunate Uber driver to witness us instead of an entire bar, he is significantly less restrained. He swings my feet up onto the seat and presses me against the cool driver’s side window. Planting his mouth on mine, he glides his hands up my thighs, higher and higher until his fingers hook themselves onto the hem of my dress. He slides his tongue deep into my mouth as he pushes my dress up over my hips. Cool air and excitement tickle my clit, but I franticly pull my dress over my panties.
I whisper as quietly as I can, “Not here. I only live ten minutes away.”
He kisses me and puts my hand on his thigh. His erection is undeniable—hard in the way only a man’s erection can be. He sighs when I tease his wet tip, and my mouth waters at the thought of savoring it with my tongue.
A new song starts to play on the radio. He calls to the driver, “Hey, can you turn this up?”
The driver responds, “I’ll do anything so I don’t have to hear you two.”
Embarrassment burns my cheeks as the song volume increases, but that heat quickly blossoms into heart-thumping arousal. My man’s hands slowly slide up my legs. My throat clenches shut when his fingers brush along my inner thighs. I don’t stop them as they approach my soaked sex. When they touch my wet panties over my clit, a bolt of sensation strikes me.
I grip his arms while he quietly strokes me. They’re tense from bracing him in the moving car. Every unexpected turn and bump on the road shocks my clit, and combined with his rhythmic strokes, I’m nearly at the edge.
I breathe, “Oh God,” not sure if anyone can hear me over the song. I know the chorus is approaching, and by the way he’s looking at me, I think he knows, too. He slides two fingers inside of me, and I desperately whine to relieve the sharp pleasure that streams through my nerves. I clamp my hand over my whimpering mouth while he fingers me. Every part of my body pulses from the beat of the song and his eyes staring into mine, watching me helplessly pant, and squirm, and twitch. I grip his shirt as the chorus approaches, and he smiles while my orgasm follows closely behind. I buck and tense around his knuckles, and I cry out just as the song’s crescendo smashes through the speakers.
☆
—
**Thanks for reading!**
You can follow me here on Reddit for (semi-)regular posts. (I have a full-time job.) I write what I call “flash erotica.” They’re quick and dirty stories for when you only have about 5 minutes free.
Also! More shameless self-promotion!
Wattpad: [https://www.wattpad.com/user/clairecupperotica](https://www.wattpad.com/user/clairecupperotica)
* This is my prettiest profile. There are some schmexy story covers for you.
Website: [clairecupperotica.com](https://clairecupperotica.com/)
* I’m promoting a book.
Spotify: [https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3HecEQTBKnRj1bDPC6BVv6](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3HecEQTBKnRj1bDPC6BVv6)
* I lyke music.
Pinterest: [https://pinterest.com/clairecupp](https://pinterest.com/clairecupp)
* Get a look into my gooey brain.
***xo, Claire***
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fdya2x/a_random_guy_fingers_me_in_an_uber_mf_public_sex