Publisher Beyond the Moon Press
All I really want is a drink, a cold, freshly opened bottle of Stella, the bubbles rising to the top and into my parched mouth. As I wait for the bartender, across the room, I glimpse hints of pink lace as she bends down to retrieve her glass from the floor. When she stands back up, her micro-mini black dress barely covering the pert curves of her backside, her baby-blue eyes meet mine, and she grins knowingly. She locks in my attention as she walks over in her five-inch heels, keeping to the beat of the Weeknd track pumping from the DJ booth. I am spellbound. I don’t know her name or where she’s from. I hope she’s of age, even just barely will do.
As she gets nearer, her smile fades, and she looks to my left. I wonder if I misread the signals and if she was actually smiling at someone else. But then she stops just in front of me and turns around. I have no idea what’s going on, especially when I feel her soft hand touch mine. She runs her deliciously sharp nails up and down my hand, sending a tickle of excitement through me. I cup her hand, and she entwines her fingers through mine. I want, need, to feel her back against me to comfort my throbbing cock. I grab hold of her waist, her hand still in mine, and firmly pull her closer to me. As her butt presses like a cushion against me, she grinds a little, the top of her head tickling my chin. Then, taking me by surprise, she forcefully glides my unresisting hand down from the small of her lower back where her straight, shimmering chestnut hair ends in wisps of loose waves to her exposed smooth thigh. I forget my need for beer.
About the Author
Braden Quinn is a Canadian professional ice hockey player who lives in New York City.