I stare into his eyes, hoping the answer to the questions swarming my head, will be made clear. The alcohol is wearing off, making my rationale come back to me. I’m no longer the drunk girl in the bar yelling at men about how they can’t fuck. Now I’m the sober girl at the bar, wanting to fuck said man.
He’s fucking gorgeous, honestly. The way his shirt is clinging to his body makes me sweat it’s so sexy. He commands the room with force, making everyone aware of his presence, even if they don’t recognize him. His brown eyes stare back at me like I am the sun, moon, and stars. No one has ever looked at me like that. I feel like he would fall at my feet if I asked him to, and he would thank me for the opportunity.
His body is to die for, with strong arms that I have a hard time keeping my eyes off of, eyes that I could drown in, and a presence that leaves me breathless. He is dressed beautifully, in a crisp white button-up shirt and a pair of fancy-looking dress pants. His looks scream money, and that makes sense. He has more money than I could ever dream of having, only instead of that being a good thing, I place it in the con column of the pros and cons chart in my head.
The thing that I keep coming back to, though, is his openness. Men, in general, never want to admit they don’t know how to fuck. If I had talked to any other man in the bar tonight, they would have instantly bragged about how they would “rock my world” if given the opportunity, and guess what? They’d disappoint me, every time. Usually, the men who need to tell you they are good in bed, are not actually as good as they think.
Instead of Finn trying to convince me he could kill me with orgasms, he was just honest. Something about that makes me want him even more than I did before. Something about his openness and vulnerability makes me want to do the same. Something about it makes me want to give him a chance.
I don’t know how to explain what is happening inside of my body. A huge sense of power rushes through me all at once and I feel like I can do anything I want to. I feel so in control of the situation. I feel free to do whatever the fuck my heart and pussy want, and let me fucking tell you, they want Finn.
Finn takes a sip of his second drink, the whiskey he got a few minutes ago from Ash, the bartender. Finn and I stare at each other for a few beats, sitting in the sexual energy. I can still feel where his hand traced my leg a few minutes ago, before he removed it when Ash walked up to ask if we needed anything else. I think I saw a hint of jealousy wash over his face, but it was so quick, I can’t be sure.
“So you’d just like… take direction from me?” I say, with an innocent voice, while sliding my hand onto his thigh, trying to give him the same feelings he gave me. His breath hitches at my words, and his eyes dart down to his leg, staring at my hand as I run my fingers over his pants.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I am considering this. Finn Declan is not only incredibly famous, but he has more money than I can even imagine. He is so out of my league, yet he still sits there looking like I am the hottest thing he has ever seen. The feeling gets me drunk, making me bold.
“I could try,” he says, voice hoarse. His eyes stay trained on his leg, never leaving to look up at my face. I move my hands a few inches closer to his cock. I can’t see the outline through his pants, they aren’t quite tight enough, but I know he is hard, based on the way he is talking to me and the desire burning in his eyes.
“I just want—” he mumbles, stumbling on his words. I bat my eyelashes at him, waiting for him to speak. I need him to confirm that he wants this. That he wants me to take the lead here. I need to know if I’m alone in this, or if this is gonna be the best night of my fucking life.
“I just want it to be good for you,” he says, looking down at my hand on his thigh again. This man interests me. I don’t know if he knows what it’s like to know when a woman is enjoying herself. It’s so bizarre to me because that’s the point of sex in my opinion. If I want just orgasms, I have a battery-operated toy that will do the job just fine. I go into sex for the intimacy and chance to watch someone else fall apart. I don’t know if he has ever even experienced that.
“Have you ever felt someone cum on your cock?” I whisper, leaning closer to him than needed. My voice is hoarser than I intended, but I’m hoping it comes off sexy, instead of making me sound like a chain smoker. His breath h itches again when my words hit his ears, and he readjusts in his seat, clearly getting turned on.
“I don’t know,” he says, looking me in the eyes with a desperation I have never seen from a man before. The eye contact makes my nipples peak inside my shirt. I wish we were in a place where he could touch me. Fuck, I just want this man to touch me.
“Oh, you’d know,” I say, because he would. If you have to question if a woman came or not, then she didn’t. If you don’t know if you have ever felt it, then you never have, and that’s a damn fucking shame. A man with a body like Finn’s should know how to use it.
“How?” he asks, baiting me. I smile at him, more turned on than he knows. He sits there like he doesn’t have much game. Like women literally fall into his lap without him uttering a word, but he is making me wet just by his curiosity. He should try this more often, maybe he would have people cumming left and right.
“You can feel it on your cock,” I say, running my finger over the crotch of his pants. It’s rock hard under his clothes, and it takes everything inside of me not to tell him to take me to the bathroom already.
I’m enjoying this build-up more than I would care to admit too much to end it prematurely.
He clears his throat, unable to get words out for a second. I feel my body react to that sound more than it reacted to Joey sticking his cock inside of me. I want to make love to that fucking sound. I want to marry that fucking sound. I want to spread that sound over a piece of toast and eat it for days.
“You can feel it?” he finally asks, once he gets a handle on his voice. My eyes scan down his face, taking rest stops at every area. His eyes hold my attention for ages. The brown mixing with gold, making me feel seen. His mouth is pouty in the perfect fucking way. His facial hair makes my mouth fucking water.
He looks fucking hungry, but not for something he could eat. He looks hungry with desire and knowing it is directed at me makes me literally soak through my panties.
“Whenever I cum at least,” I say slowly, trailing the words off to make him desperate. His tongue pops out, wetting his bottom lip and I hold back a whimper that threatens to escape. I have never been so turned on by something so simple. “I usually get tighter when I cum,” I state simply, leaving so much information up in the air.
I love this game we are playing. I give him tiny pieces, always leaving him desperate for me to tell him more. I have never felt like this. I have never felt like I had the keys to someone’s body so easily. I have never had this much influence over someone.
“You get tighter?” he whispers, meaning no one else in the room can hear him other than me. Not that there are many people in the room at this point. His voice sounds so fucking desperate. Like he is hanging on to my every fucking word.
“A lot tighter,” I whisper in his ear, finally bringing my hand fully up to his cock. I swear I can feel it throb in my hand, even through his pants, but I don’t leave my hand there long enough to know for sure.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks, finally. He looks like he is in pain, and maybe he is. I’m sure having a dick that hard would get painful after a while, and my shameless flirting has not helped.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say, standing up and grabbing my stuff, more ready than ever to fuck a stranger.
