He groaned, not a sound one hears very often.
A moan maybe, or a grunt or a sigh. But an honest-to-god groan, that is something that comes from way down in the gut, it is usually an audible product of frustration, or someone returning to consciousness. In this case, it was frustration, pure and simple. Frustration and desire bordering on need.
It had started, more or less, as just something to do. She had seen him near the bar, the only man in the place with something behind the eyes, no visible tattooes, no t-shirt testifying to his wit, or ability to purchase a witty t-shirt. He was attractive, slender, almost slight, but his looks weren’t what captured her attention.
It was his manner, his demeanor. He carried himself in a way that belied a certain confidence, almost arrogant, approachable but by no means needy. He was loose, smiling and laughing, but with a guardedness, as if he were unwilling to let people know with any certainty whether he was laughing with or at them.
He got her attention immediately.
Now he stood against the wall as she reached behind her and pulled his hands up over his head, holding his arms in place by pinning his wrists against the brick wall.
He opened his eyes and looked directly into hers, which were half-closed. She found it difficult to speak, she could hear herself breathing, panting almost. For an instant, she was afraid she would lose control of the situation, of him. She took a second to breathe, to think.
“Damn, you sure don’t waste any time,” he said. “Don’t have to wonder, no mixed signals, huh?”
“Yeah, well I can be a bit, uh, compulsive,” she told him. “I see what I want, I know what I want to do, why bullshit around?”
She released his arms and slipped her hands under his jacket, down onto his jeans, felt the bulge jump at her touch. Pulling his collar away from his neck, she ran her tongue from his collarbone up to his ear, whispering almost too softly to be heard.
“See that table over there?,” she asked him. “I could go over there and bend down over it, pull my skirt up . . .”
That was when he groaned.
But she made no move toward the table, simply unbuttoned his jeans and laid her hand on him, just below his navel. It was proving difficult to concentrate, she kept losing her train of thought, imagining him behind her, pushing her skirt up . . .
Her plan began growing form the moment she noticed him. She made eye contact, he smiled at her, but didn’t hold her gaze for any length. But he did glance at her a few seconds later, and then she knew, knew she would have him, take possession, assume control.
Make him beg.
But now her plan was running off the tracks, she was beginning to question whether she was even in control, not something she was used to. She was always on top of things, aware of every angle of every situation, her mind always in charge.
So his groan should have signified that things were going as planned, that he was losing it, would soon ask for more. Then she would have him ask again, until he begged.
But, although he groaned, he didn’t plead, didn’t even suggest. Just kissed her again, put one hand on the small of her back to press himself into her, the other hand on the side of her thigh, inching her skirt up. She felt her face getting hot, her panties would have been soaked if she hadn’t taken them off in the ladies room before approaching him.
“Yeah, the table would be cool,” he said as he caught the hem of her skirt, his fingers finally, finally making contact with her skin. “Or we could just do it here, against the wall. You could just wrap your legs around me, I could fuck you up against this wall right now, wouldn’t have to go over to that table. Ya wanna do that?”
“Oh, ye – “ She realized she had almost said yes, had almost told him what she wanted, not the other way around.
She had almost begged.
She also found her hands were in his pants, both of them grabbing his ass, feeling the muscles harden as he ground himself against her. She had to think, had to slow down, take a second and get a grip.
“The question is, what do you want to do?” she asked him, becoming more impatient.
This man, this smooth son of a bitch, was quite the challenge, she thought. But, she had challenged herself before, and had always met these challenges, these men always wanted her with a drive beyond her own. She could take them or leave them, that was always, always understood. She could walk away, they were the ones who asked, pleaded.
“I think its obvious what I want,” he told her, and she noticed his breath was coming hard, ragged. He swallowed, opened his eyes wide. “We both want the same thing. Wasn’t that what you said, you knew what you wanted, just went after it?”
He brought his hand around and slid it between her legs. She gasped as his fingers entered her, slick, wet, she felt herself tighten against those fingers, clutching them within her.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, putting his mouth on hers and pushing his tongue inside. She could tell he was imagining putting his tongue where his hand was, she was imagining that as well. His fingers seemed to want to feel more of her, after delving deep inside, he brought his hand around to grab her ass, leaving a trail of her wetness around the top of her thigh as he pressed himself between her legs.
“You, do you . . . uh, well?” she asked him, barely, thinking maybe just having him ask, just once, may be enough. Just this time, she would fuck him if he would simply ask, just say please, he wouldn’t have to beg, exactly.
“I want,” he began to say, before losing his train of thought or his breath, or both. He paused, swallowed hard, started again. “I want to take you over to that table, bend you over it, and shove my tongue so far into you that you can’t breathe. I want to feel you come on my fingers before I fuck you, that’s what I want.”
She almost lost it, almost explained that that was indeed what she wanted as well.
But that didn’t count, that was a statement, not even a request, there wasn’t even a ‘please’ in there. Then he did the unimaginable, the unheard of, he asked her a question that had never been put to her, much less one she had ever answered.
“What do you want?”
‘More,’ she thought, ‘more, as much as I can get.’
But what she said was, “How badly do you want . . . those things? What are you willing to do, to say?”
“I’m willing . . . uh . . .” his voice deserted him when she bit his neck, shoved her hand down the front of his jeans.
“Just ask for it, that’s all, and we can do anything you want,” she whispered, her knees threatening to give out.
He gasped at her touch, but opened his eyes.
“Look at me,” he told her, she did. His face did not show any of the chaos his body was engaged in, she made hers do so as well.
“What, I’m looking at you, what?”
Her hand closed around his dick, he lost his train of thought. He was so hard it surprised her, she couldn’t stop her mind from imagining this inside her, shoved, slammed, all of it, filling her up.
It suddenly became obvious he was calling her bluff, that although he wanted it as much as she did, he would not beg tonight, as she would not.
“Let’s just say . . “ she started her compromise.
“Yeah, that we both . . .” his sentence trailed off as he carried her over to the wobbly table, turned her around. She reached out and grabbed the far edge of the surface, raising her ass up, feeling the air against her skin.
“We’ll call this one a draw,” she told him as he fell to his knees, opening her pussy before plunging his tongue into the center, then out to feel her inside with his finger as he licked her clit. She came immediately, shouting without words, unaware she was loud enough to be heard.
“Yeah, next time we’ll declare a loser,” he said, shoving himself where his fingers had been. “But tonight, we both win.”
He groaned, not a sound one hears very often.