Six o’clock, outside the bar,
black denim tight,
denim shirt on my shoulders,
and there she is walking towards me,
my eyes locking on her the second she appears.
Black dress flowing,
lace teasing beneath the neckline,
her smile pulling me under.
“Finally,” she says,
and the word melts between us
as I crash into her hug,
breathing her in,
her perfume mixing with my skin,
her cleavage brushing my chest.
The city disappears.
It’s only us.
Inside—a dim corner table,
hidden from wandering eyes.
We sit, but not apart.
The tension is thick,
and in minutes
her lips are on mine.
Soft, hungry,
again and again,
every few breaths we’re kissing,
as if the weeks of waiting
demand payment now.
French cocktails arrive,
but my true intoxication
is her shifting on my palm.
She’s perched on my hand,
lace pressing to my skin, warmth seeping through, making me throb against my jeans.
I made her feel my throbbing cock, I feel her heat, her need,
her body whispering yes.
She leaves for the restroom—
my mind racing.
When she returns,
her lips curl, her eyes daring,
and she places a remote in my hand.
“Daddy’s in control now.” |
 |
I press,
watching her breath catch,
hips tightening,
eyes glazing as the toy hums inside her.
She hands me her thong—
warm, damp, forbidden.
I hold it,
inhale softly,
press it to my lips.
The taste of her is everywhere,
and I kiss her deep,
slipping it back into her mouth
so she tastes her own desire.
Around us the bar hums—
music, glasses, laughter—
but our world is smaller, darker, hotter.
She shivers in my grip,
a quiet orgasm shuddering through her,
and I know she’s mine. After forty-five minutes,
she leans close,
eyes locked, voice low:
“Let’s go to my apartment.”
The Needy Eyes, A Needy Voice, One Needy Slut.
We finish the drinks,
the night already trembling.
Hand in hand,
her lace still in my pocket,
her taste still on my tongue,
I breathe her in—
the scent of sin,
the scent of Montréal,
the scent of what comes next.
Montréal doesn’t know yet.
But the city will learn tonight
how dirty we can be,
how far we’ll go,
how two forbidden bodies
will fuck themselves into memory. |