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I’ve been excited all week, thinking about the concert tonight. And even better, it will be a night out with my best girlfriend — no boys allowed. She and I have arranged to meet for dinner and drinks before the show. I dress carefully for the evening: a black, low-cut, fitted wrap shirt (I make sure my cleavage is extravagantly displayed), low rise, dark bootcut jeans (I check out my ass in the mirror — it’ll do) and pointy black leather kitten heeled boots. My hair is down and rather unruly — going for a just out of bed look — and my glasses are perched on my head, just in case.
I rush out of the house and into my car, popping the band’s latest CD in the stereo. On my short trip I’m singing along and practically buzzing with anticipation. We’ve picked a place to meet just down the street from the venue and I find a parking place halfway between both and walk to the restaurant, bypassing the outdoor tables. I’m distracted for a moment by the tall, bespectacled man sitting at a table alone, hoping he doesn’t notice my long backward glance, nor me nearly bumping into the restaurant’s door frame because of it. I head straight to the bar, where my friend awaits. We hug and she pours me a glass of pinot noir from the bottle she just ordered. Before she can even take a sip of hers, her cell phone rings and she sighs, “Oh hell” while looking at the number displayed. Holding up her finger, she walks toward the back of the restaurant, immersed in her conversation. Knowing her work often intrudes on her off time, I go ahead and start in on my wine, drinking rather too quickly.
My elbow on the bar, head resting on hand, I see her coming back with an apologetic look on her face and I know what’s coming next. “Noooooooo,” I wail.
“Yes, and fuck me, ” she says. “I have to go back to work. Now. Here, take my ticket. Find someone. Sell it. Whatever. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”
I just smile, shaking my head and taking the ticket from her, waving her away and shooing her out of the bar. Sighing, I sit back on my high stool and drain the remainder of my first glass and start in on hers. I’m in no mood to eat alone, so it will be an all liquid dinner for me. Already feeling the effects of the first glass on my empty stomach, I don’t hesitate to drink the second at a speed somewhat less than savoring.
Chin resting on my palm and facing forward, I hear the bartender greet a customer and ask him if he’s going to the show down the street. At this my ears perk up and I turn to see who he’s addressing, somewhat startled to see the tall, handsome man from the outside table sitting down a seat away from canlı bahis me. Really interested to hear the answer now, I find myself feeling disappointed when he says he came by the venue hoping to buy a ticket but was told the show was sold out.
Do I really see the bartender cocking an eyebrow at me trying to catch my eye? I look quickly away and pour myself more wine, pursing my lips. Peripherally, I see the man glance in my direction, obviously puzzled by the subtle exchange between the bartender and me. I sneak a look here and there, taking in the black, pinstriped suit, the cute glasses, the long legs.
Three glasses of wine down and I slide off my stool and stand next to him, not really thinking about what I’m doing, thrusting out my right hand to shake. “Kara,” I say, suddenly noticing my hand is trembling.
“Timothy,” you say quizzically, taking my hand and shaking it firmly nonetheless.
I hold on to your hand a beat too long, looking into your eyes and trying to make myself speak. “I have a ticket,” I finally blurt.
“Oh? Yes…” you say, still confused, though I notice your eyes straying to my cleavage, which gives me a little courage.
“I mean, I have an extra ticket. If you want it.” Your grin activates a little thrill in my stomach and I smile back. “Yes?” I say.
“Yes. Okay.” you answer. “How much for it?”
Waving the question away, I hop on the stool next to you and reach for the bottle. “Would you like a glass?”
The bartender sets down a glass for you, smiling slyly. I give him a little grimace before breaking out in a wide smile and pouring the remainder of the bottle for you, while gesturing for another glass for me. “Cheers!” I giggle, clinking glasses with you.
My tongue loosened by the wine, I proceed to ramble about the band, their albums, the shows I’ve seen them play, the lead singer/songwriter and his savoir faire. I suddenly realize you are chuckling, an amused look on your face and I blush furiously. I start stammering explanations, apologizing for rattling on, still talking too much. I stop mid-sentence, shrug and face the bar a moment. Swinging around toward you again, I’m startled by your hand on my shoulder and your sudden movement toward me, your lips landing squarely on mine. The kiss is almost chaste, quick, and we pull apart, you looking nearly as surprised as me. Now it’s you stammering, apologizing and I hold a finger to your lips, shaking my head and smiling. Taking your hand, I pull you from your barstool and lead you out the door, down the street and into the line forming in front of the club.
Standing in line to get into the bahis siteleri venue, the alcohol suddenly catches up with me and I stumble a little on my heels. You quickly reach to steady me and your hands on my back and arm seem to burn my skin, so conscious I am of you touching me. I keep thinking back to your little kiss in the bar, wondering what it meant and wanting more.
Once inside we manage to get a high table, and we both sit facing the stage. I have conspired to, perhaps, sit closer to you than absolutely necessary. Though I am normally a little shy, I am letting the courage of alcohol control most of my actions.
As we talk of bands and music, waiting for the opening act to start, I unconsciously but repeatedly reach out to touch your arm, your shoulder, even daring to rest my hand, for a long moment, on your thigh. I feel your leg muscles tense at my touch and I look into your eyes and see an intensity simmering there. I give a startled little gasp and I realize I’ve moved my hand and am biting on a finger, trying to control my desire. I want desperately to stand up between your open thighs, throw my arms around your neck and kiss you deeply. It occurs to me that I can orchestrate more contact between us, so I excuse myself to run to the bar for water.
When I return, I engineer a little stumble into you, ending up exactly where I wanted to be — between the vee of your legs, our bodies inches apart. You casually drape your arms around my waist, your fingertips brushing my ass, and I keep my palms flat against your lapels, stroking the fabric of your suit with my fingertips.
I look up at you and we gaze at each other silently, moving forward in tandem, our lips meeting in an open mouth kiss, our mutual desire bubbling over as our tongues explore each other’s mouths. Leaning against you as I am, I can feel your cock stirring and I moan softly in my throat. Not caring who sees but knowing the room is dark and attention is mostly elsewhere, I slide one palm down your body, ending on the crotch of your trousers. I can feel the heat of your erection through the fabric and I rub across it a few times, feeling and hearing your rumbling moans against my tongue.
I pull back suddenly and ask you, “Is this okay?”
You answer, “Oh fuck yes,” and bury your face in my neck, kissing me softly but insistently there.
Our arousal makes us suddenly, painfully, aware of our surroundings and we break apart, looking around a little guiltily. Somehow we have talked and kissed our way through the opening act and the band we’re here to see is ready to take the stage.
At this point I can’t bahis şirketleri separate my excitement about the show from my arousal over you and I’m giddy. Your enthusiastic cheering and applauding for the band’s songs pleases me immensely. We have shared innumerable looks of glee as song after song pours forth, me looking to you for your reaction each time. When the singer announces they are going to do a couple numbers “from our first album” I go crazy, jumping up and down like a child, clapping happily. Your arm tightens around my waist as the hypnotic, sexy rhythm of my favorite song begins. Half conscious of it, I begin undulating to the music, grinding my ass into your pelvis. I feel your grip on me tighten and I step back closer — no space at all between our bodies now. Your other arm has slid around my waist now too; I’m completely enclosed in your arms, swaying to the music, my hips moving from side to side; a slow dance of sex, a preview of things to come.
My head is clouded by the music, by my lust and desire for you. I feel your breath in my hair; I hear, no feel, your low moans — your chest vibrates with them against my back. Though I want to pull you back through the crowd and out of this place, I know we need to stay till the end of the show or we will be sorry later. Another favorite song starts next and I seriously swoon, tripping over my own feet, you catching me up and pulling me back to you. I turn to face you, unable to resist any more, and rise up on my toes to kiss you, your arms tightly around me. I don’t care if there’s a crowd around us, I don’t care if I can’t see the band, I just want you right now. Nothing else.
We break apart as the song ends and the band says their good nights. Without a word we are tearing through the crowd, trying to get to the door as fast as possible. Outside the club, clear of the exiting crowd, you push me up against the building, kissing me hard and pushing your knee between my legs and your hips into mine. I immediately feel your cock, hard and twitching, against my belly as you grind into me. I am panting, breathless and needing more.
“Whose car?” I ask around your tongue and your lips.
“Mine,” you growl and grab my wrist roughly, yanking me after you on the way to your parking space.
You lead me round to the passenger side of the car, forcing me back firmly, your hands holding mine out and against the car as you begin kissing me again, your tongue invading my mouth, my head lying back on the roof, my body splayed out for you.
When I feel your teeth on my exposed throat I lift my head and purr into your ear, “Do you want to fuck me?”
Your answered moan tells me the answer but I love it when you whisper hoarsely, “Oh fuck yes. I fucking do.”
Eyeing you intently, I put a hand on your chest and push you away from me, “Let’s go then.”
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