“Oh?”
“Give my brain a second.”
He’s close enough for me to feel his penis gradually soften against my lower back. While I try to regain my senses, he pushes away my messy hair and drops a series of soft kisses along the slope of my neck. When he licks the soft spot right behind my ear, I let out one last trembling whimper and feel myself clench an ultimate time.
He approvingly hums in my ear, gives my throat one last kiss, and retreats.
I watch his reflection as he throws the condom in the trash can under the counter. There’s a bag of wet wipes by the mirror, but when he reaches for one, it’s empty. After a mumbled curse, he looks around to find an alternative. I’m too dickmatized to help him out, so I watch, still dazed by my orgasm, as he pulls his T-shirt out of his hoodie and uses it to clean me up. He’s thorough, wiping every last drop of his cum off my skin, and I silently enjoy the softness of the moment. Eddie was never into aftercare, and I appreciate that Jake doesn’t mind cleaning up his own mess. Once he’s done with me, he dries himself before staring down at the soiled garment for a second, wondering what to do with it.
“Fuck it,” he mumbles, throwing it in the trash. While he shoves himself back into his pants, I realign my underwear before pulling down my dress.
“Why do you guys have a baby changing station in your bar?” I ask, only realizing now that it’s an odd perk in such an establishment.
“Well, it’s officially a changing station, but unofficially, it’s the baby-making room,” he says with amusement.
“Really?”
“Yeah. The counter can withstand up to three hundred pounds, and the mirror is for added fun,” he explains with a wink.
I look around the small room with a new eye. Knowing I’m just one more woman he dragged in here for sex makes me feel dirty somehow. He’s so good at making me feel unique during those moments of passion that I forget that for him, I’m just one more face in a sea of conquests. A twinge of resentment starts building up inside me, but I quickly squash it. It doesn’t matter how many women have been in here before me and how many he’ll pleasure on this counter after me. Jake is helping me with my list and doing it splendidly.
“Six,” I breathe out, stunned. “We did six things from my list. Sex in a public place, sex in front of a mirror, sex entirely dressed, choking, music in the background… Also, there was hair-pulling at some point.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, sending me a disapproving look through our reflections. “I removed my hoodie, so not entirely dressed. And there was barely any hair-pulling, so it didn’t count. The music doesn’t either because that isn’t sex music.”
“And what would sex music be?” I ask.
His hands come to my hips, and he spins me around to face him. Watching him through the mirror and like this are two very different things, and the desire I can read in his eyes makes me weak in the knees. Especially when he pins me against the counter. “Let’s go to my place, and I’ll show you.”
How can he want more right now? I’m already over-sexed, and I worry that things might be even more intense if I accept his offer.
Anyhow, it feels too intimate. A hotel room and this was easy, impartial, neutral. But his place?
“Maybe another time,” I say, hoping he’ll take my rebuttal gracefully.
When he tilts his head down to claim my lips, I don’t fight it, even though I suspect he’ll try to sway my mind with it. The way he kisses me is deeply sexual, lascivious, and hungry. My core aches from it, desire respawning from its ashes. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I went to his place.
My hand is firmly clasped around the back of his neck when he pulls away.
“You have my number. Let me know when you want to cross another item off your list,” he says with something devilish in his eyes.
I’m still trying to understand what’s happening when he grabs his discarded Iron Maiden hoodie from the counter and exits the small room, putting it on as he does. Did he just leave me wanting more? And why do I even want more right now? What we did should be plenty enough. I came twice in under ten minutes, and impossibly hard each time.
I stay there for a moment, struggling to collect my wits. His offer is tempting, and when I get back out there, I know he’ll be waiting for me to take him up on it. Clearly, he wants more of me, and I can’t help but want more of him.
We nearly checked off six items tonight, which means going through everything might be faster than I anticipated. If I go to his place right now, I could be done with ten of them before tomorrow starts. But as much as I want to go through that stupid list, I have things to do this weekend. I can’t spend it recovering from Jake’s ridiculous stamina.
Finding this a good enough excuse not to cave in, I face the mirror to adjust my dress, wipe off my smudged mascara, and quickly brush my hair with my fingers.
As soon as I exit the “baby-making room,” I’m thrown back into reality, and my eyes widen at the few women waiting in line to enter the ladies’ restroom. Heaven’s sake… Were there people here the whole time? Did they hear everything?
The two women closest to the front inspect me thoroughly, their eyes knowing. I sense my face heat up. Gosh, they most certainly heard something, or at least saw Jake leave before me.
Steadfastly, I return to the back room, where we carelessly left everything, too absorbed by lust and desire to be rational. Jake’s back at the high table where my bag and our drinks are, and the two men from earlier have returned to their pool game. The whole time I approach, I sense Jake’s jade gaze on me, and with each step I take, my resolve to go home alone wavers.
I’m parched after all that intense activity, but I can’t drink from my unsupervised glass. So, I pick up Jake’s glass instead, hoping no one would be mad enough to try to roofie him, and down what’s left of his tepid beer.
“Thirsty, are we?” Jake teases.
