Misbehaving

The restaurant is all low light and velvet corner couches. Vinyl, small plates and overpriced gin cocktails. We’re buzzing tonight. The air is thick with expensive perfume and dark jazz. I’m half-listening to my co-worker, while watching the bartender’s muscles ripple beneath his shirt. 

I’ve been wet for what feels like hours, chasing the maddening friction of my pussy under my thong. Watching him smile at gorgeous women, and eye-fuck my ass. He leans over the bar to hear a woman in a purple mini-dress order a pornstar martini. A small frown creases his brows before he breaks into a wolfish grin. My stomach clenches. I force myself to focus on the smoky blue eyeshadow and beaming face of my co-worker. 

“Oh, welcome back, beautiful,” he says, his work shirt already half unbuttoned an hour before close. Freshly twenty-two, with the divine ability to juggle hospitality hours and a roster of lovers, as well as an accounting degree. “I won’t ask where your head has been.”

He makes eyes over at the bar and I feel my face flush. 

“Just supervising my staff,” I say with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Can I borrow your car to move a few boxes out of res tomorrow?” he says, clearly not for the first time. He places a hand on his heart. “Promise no drinking and driving.”

Our restaurant closes at 10 pm, and he’ll be heading somewhere cooler, with prettier people and louder music. He’ll have the kind of night where he gets drunk on Jägermeister and still shows up to his 9 am lecture. Meanwhile, I’ll probably have a hangover from the tequila shots I had an hour ago. 

“Sure,” I say, an itch starting in my chest. “You know what, take it tonight.”

My hips sway more than usual as I walk over to the bar. My dress is a lush black button-up, with puffed sleeves at the shoulders and a respectable neckline. Work-appropriate, while emphasising my waist and hugging my breasts. 

“Hey,” I say, feigning nonchalance, my heart beating like a teenager with a crush. He looks up from the drink he’s pouring.

“Hey, boss,” he says, placing a stick of olives over the silvery cocktail, and gently sliding it over to the gorgeous blonde gazing at him beneath mascarad black lashes. 

He knows how to work his ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ charm. Deep voice and dark blue eyes. A farm boy with the gleam of old Hollywood. His biceps bulge beneath a white T-shirt, and his vintage denim hangs dangerously low. He’d come on as an expert mixologist before transitioning into a bit of everything else. I knew from the moment we met that, eventually, we’d collide. And I was tired of waiting.

He faces me, crossing his arms over the bar so that his muscles press against his chest, hard and gleaming under the warm lights. An ache in my lower belly makes me clench my thighs. 

“What can I do for you?” he says to me, his voice pitched low so that I have to lean in to hear him over the music. My tongue flicks out to lick my bottom lip, and he catches it with his eyes. A muscle twitches below his brow, and he swallows hard. 

“Give me a ride home tonight?” I say. The corner of his mouth tilts up to one side, deliciously crooked.

~~~

The cherry of my cigarette reflects in the drizzle-dusted window of his car. The night smells like sticky beer and damp pavement.

“Bye, baby,” I say, shooting a kiss as my co-worker pulls away in my car. Borderline inappropriate as his manager, but I’m not particularly stressed about etiquette. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

To be fair, there was nothing I didn’t do at twenty-two. After a long, and pointless relationship, I’d entered my early twenties with the spirit of a woman being held underwater, finally able to suck in breath. Now that my thirties are nipping at my heels, I can’t help feeling nostalgic for the decade that I haven’t left yet. I know that I’ll get to the other side and feel ridiculous for being afraid. 

The back door of the restaurant creaks open across the lot. We’re outdoors, in the courtyard between two buildings, both facing different streets. A hidden pocket of shadow and rain-slick concrete, of shared private parking for the staff of the neighbouring establishments. Music and laughter leak from the row of third-story bar windows, but all my attention is on the man exiting the restaurant. 

He’s got a shoulder to his ear as he locks up, and I hear him laugh into the phone. It’s muffled, tired, but it’s his. A shot of adrenaline right into my chest. I take another drag to calm my nerves as he walks over. There’s a beep as he unlocks the doors behind me.

At twenty-nine, my acts of rebellion seem both larger and less compelling in the grander scheme of it all. But I’m still more of an animal than a woman. Scavenging for pleasure in a high-gloss and rapidly maturing life. 

He leans against his car so that we’re next to each other. There’s a drop in my stomach. He crosses his arms as he hangs up. I want to wrap my legs around his slutty waist and never let go. I press my fingertips against the cool metal of my car door behind me, steadying myself. When we’re working, I take him in doses. Between guests, bookings and accounts, I feel his eyes on me. I love pretending that I don’t.

“Hey boss,” he says.

“I hate when you call me that,” I say. Energy vibrates between us, rough enough to rattle the ground. I step on my cigarette with the heel of my boot, and lean back. Raking a hand through his hair, he sighs and breaks first. 

Before I can look up, he’s got me pressed against the car, palming my hip, and crushing his lips against mine. His height has me straining my neck. I open for him, my tongue twisting against his, tasting whiskey and smoke. With his body against mine, I wish I were a snake that could dislocate my jaw and devour him whole. He grabs my face hard, moving me the way he wants, kissing me deeper. My hand moves between his legs, feeling his hardness through his jeans. He lets out a throaty laugh. He bites my bottom lip. I palm his cock. My mouth waters at the weight of his lust for me. He could fuck me right here, and I’d spread myself open for him without a second thought. I start to undo his belt, but he stops me. Our eyes meet. Dark brown and blue. 

“You’re eager,” he says in a low whisper that sends shivers over my thighs. I’m always eager for this man. Working together has that effect. The unavoidable intimacy and immediate distance. I push my hands against his chest for some breathing room. We’re obscured, but not as much as we should be. Lights flash from the bar. Windows are thrown open to the warm summer night.

Turning, I open the door of the backseat and slide in. Resting a hand on the top of the door, he peers inside, pleasantly bemused.

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“Come find out,” I say. There’s a need inside me. I’d been nibbling, but now it’s devouring me. To be fucked, to be seen, to get into trouble or at least taste it. I watch the humour in his eyes melt into mischief. He ducks in after me, slamming the door behind him. It’s a tight fit. I climb into his lap. My dress rides up as I settle my knees on either side of him. His hands grab at my thighs, and I press myself against his growing erection. 

I want my clothes off. He turns his head around to see if there is anyone nearby. A kernel of irritation bites inside my chest. I want all of his attention. Grabbing his chin, I pull his head back to me, pressing my lips to his. He moans, and grabs my ass under my skirt. 

He slides a hand over my stomach to cup me beneath the fabric, rubbing his thumb over my nipple. He undoes the buttons, slowly, breathing heavily. I’m rubbing myself against his erection, the friction excruciating. I’m so turned on, I know I’m making a mess of his jeans. Just as I’m getting impatient, as I start riding him a little harder, he rips my dress open.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling my bra down to suck my nipple. I need skin. I make him let go of me so I can pull his shirt over his head.

“‘Fuck’ back at you,” I say with a smile, dragging my hand over his body, hard with the muscle of a man who understands the power of his own beauty. He pulls my sleeves down my arms, until my dress is bunched around my waist. My nipples tighten as he pinches them. I’m unbuttoning his jeans. He swallows hard and holds me by the back of my neck. 

I put my weight on my knees, as he helps me get his jeans open. I can’t stop my little laugh. He laughs too, looking up at me with bright eyes and the crooked grin of someone aware that they’re misbehaving. Warmth pools in me at the wicked innocence of it. The awkward fumbling and childish smiles, like we’re doing all of this for the first time. My smile grows, and I give him a sloppy, wet kiss, more teeth than lips, captivated by how fun this is. We’re only breaking the rules a tiny bit, but it has electrified my blood. I’m crackling with excitement. He smiles against me, fumbling to get his briefs down, to get the condom on. I slip my tongue into his mouth.

He pulls me down on top of him so I’m straddling him again. His cock stands up between us, hard, and warm and delicious. His hand moves between my legs, pulling my thong to the side, and dragging the top of his finger from my entrance up to my clit. 

For a moment, I have the impulse to be embarrassed at how wet I am for him. The thought dissolves as quickly as it arrived. The remnant of a younger woman. One not as attuned to their body as I am now.

My clit is so sensitive that I gasp at the sudden softness of his skin against me. I slide my lips back and forth along his shaft, getting him wet. His hands on the back of my neck. My arms rest on his shoulders. I lower myself down on the head of his cock, letting it slip inside of me.

He leans his head back against the seat, letting out a deep, guttural moan. His hands drop to my waist and wrap around me, pulling me all the way down. The sudden fullness is intense, almost too good to be true. He is wild for me. Groaning and gripping me hard as I move up and down his length. I have a sick sense of power watching him lose himself. Fucking like this feels good for me, but better for him. I pulse around his cock as I move up, choking his head with my pussy, before slamming back down. His panting breaths and the slapping of skin inside the backseat of the car turn me on so much that I could combust. My skin could dissolve, and I’d float away on a wisp of air. 

I’m so alive. I am a body and bundle of nerves and a well of lust that inches closer and closer to a sacred release. I take him completely, leaning forward to grind my clit on his pubic bone. His lips latch onto my breast, giving it one slow suck and dragging his teeth across my nipple. White heat shoots between my thighs. I move against him, as he kisses and bites my breasts. A hand massages my ass, and the other tightens around my neck. My cunt pulses around an empty ache. I sway into him, moving my hands through his hair, down his neck, over his chest. He releases my nipple, moving up along my collarbone to suck my neck. He’s so rough that I wonder if I’ll be covered in marks tomorrow, and whether I’ll even care. 

I’m grinding my hips, and bouncing on his lap, riding his cock. He grabs my hair, and bites the side of my neck, and I squeeze around his cock.

“You’re,” he moans in my ear, “fucking insane.”

I roll my hips, my pussy sliding up and down the full length of his shaft. He holds me so tight, like he knows I’m ready to float away. The heat builds from deep inside, igniting like a flame to a flare. His lips are against my ear, and I start to cum so hard my legs shake. My orgasm thunders through me, pouring through every nerve, slipping through my bloodstream like a drug. Sounds form around my mouth, but I can’t hear over the beating of my heart. He watches me with lowered lids, his chest moving rapidly. 

Chest to chest, his arm comes around my waist to hold me even closer as he takes over, thrusting up into me faster, harder, crushing me against him as his body tenses. I scratch my nails against his scalp, and lick the side of his neck. With a deep moan, he erupts. We’re both sweating and shaking as we come down. Then we’re giggling. Slow at first, then inching closer to hysterics. He laughs with his whole chest. It’s warm and generous, and it illuminates his whole face like a sunflower. He’s never been sexier. There’s nothing about us that feels complicated. 

We can work. We can fuck. We can laugh. 

I put my hands on either side of his face, pressing them together so his big smile is all squashed up. 

“I swear,” I say, and he laughs again, shaking his head out of my hands like a dog, and kisses my palm. Around us, the world goes on. I rest my forehead on his neck. “You keep me young.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing me softly on the lips before slapping my ass, so we can get dressed and go home.

WRITING PROMPT: When have you sought out existential sex? What was going on in your life at the time? What were you running away from? What were you running toward? Did you find the sex you needed? Describe what kind of sex would make you feel alive, in the moment, validate your existence.