It happened again. Same as every other time.
The first meeting of our eyes was cliche. Across a crowded bar with that instant recognition, that lurch of the diaphragm shoving my stomach towards my throat. A tilt of your head in acknowledgement, a dip of my lashes in return. It’s like a movie clip on repeat, this dance we do.
I’ve no memory of the rest of that particular happy hour, no recall of the jokes my coworkers told, not a whisper of what toasts were spoken to celebrate the end of that week. I only remember knowing you were in the same space, breathing the same air. I swear I could smell you in the press of bodies. That distinct perfume that smelled all the better mixed with the scent that is distinctly you. Too which I spent far too much time addicted.
I steadfastedly refused to look your way again. I knew if I did you’d jerk your head towards the bar, knew my resolve would melt from me like the cubes of ice in my drink. One of the girls kept them coming and I staid seated, declining to dance, play pool, or toss the darts. I tried not to huddle in the corner of our booth and held down the table.
Until people began to drift off. In pairs and singles our group began to peel away and I trembled at the danger of being left alone, separated from the herd, easy prey for your wolfish smile. Angie asked if I needed a ride home and I nodded. Her boyfriend was picking her up in twenty minutes.
I fidgeted and twitched, resisting the urge to look around, to figure out where you lurked.
It was my bladder that betrayed me. One last sip of my Mai Tai and suddenly I had to go. I excused myself, letting my eyes skim the crowded bar. You were no where in sight. I hoped you had some other woman firmly in your grasp.
I whispered a blasphemous “Thank God!” when I found the bathroom empty, having made it that far unaccosted. I would have lingered there, trying to wear away the minutes until my escape was nigh but a knock on the door cut the knees out from under the plan. I smiled thinly at the young woman who staggered through the door when I opened it, sighed, and headed back down the hall.
Your hand snaked out from the phone cubicle and pulled me in. My heart leaped into my throat but my body offered no resistance when you pressed me against the wall.
“Hi Angel,” you whispered. You were too close, felt too good, smelled too familiar. My body melted as you pinned me in place with your hips, a thigh slipping between mine.
I couldn’t help the groan that slipped from my lips nor the rawness of my voice. “Hi Jezebel.” Not for the first time did I feel the irony of our names. Fallen Angel is what you should call me, I thought.
You cupped the back of my neck with a long fingered hand, two pads drawing slow circles on my nape. I couldn’t stop the tremor that slithered down my spine. My cheek felt your touch next, the warm of your palm. You traced the curve of my full lower lip with your thumb, pushing it past my teeth. “Suck,” you whispered.
My cunt flooded with heat and I wrapped my lips around you thumb, forming my tongue to the curve of your thumb. I could taste the sweet, fig-like flavor left over from your cigarette, a hint of hops from your beer, and under it all the flavor that is all you. My eyes drifted shut. I blocked out the cacophony of the bar, blocked out my thoughts, blocked out everything but you.
Your finger slid in further, pressing against my tongue, a low growl rumbling through your body into mine. Some frantic part of my mind scurried to try to end it, to pull me away, but that has never worked. You were a flame, one I flew into regardless of how many times I limped out of burned and scarred.
“Come home with me,” you said. You gripped my jaw, thumb hooking on teeth, fingers under my chin. My eyes fluttered open and I watched that slow, predatory smile curve your lips, the same one I saw the first time you seduced me. My traitorous body rocked atop your thigh, the seam of my jeans pressing against my swollen lips, hot and damp from my juices. My tongue traced around your thumb and your smile deepened. You lifted your thigh and the additional sensation poured electricity through me. My hands found the curve of your waist and pulled you closer.
My Angel,” you whispered, dipping your head to replace your thumb with your mouth. I cried out out and you fed on my mouth, devouring my sounds of desperate pleasure while I ground my orgasm out on your thigh. I shook, tears squeezing out from beneath my lashes and tumbling down my cheeks. As my quivering subsided you pulled back, collecting my teardrops onto your finger.
You smeared them across my mouth and I licked my lips, tasty the saltiness. When you stepped back, the whole step the booth allowed, and held out your hand I paused. That smile returned, the one that ate me up and left me shattered, and I slid my fingers into your palm.
One of these days flying so close to your heat was going to send me crashing, wings of Icarus melting in the supernova of your being, an Angel, wings clipped, falling Earthward.