⚠️ Sexual Content

Five | Sloan

Mulligan's remained packed with people. The patrons surrounding us had become a blur, merely background noise to a conversation that had me laughing so hard my sides ached. My grocery store stranger and I had taken up people watching. Both of us leaned back in our seats, discreetly assuming what these people enjoyed in the bedroom. I didn't even know how we had landed on this conversation, but was thrilled to be here.

"She's a Beverly." I sipped from the tiny straw of my drink and nodded towards a petite woman, dark mom-bobbed hair, and somewhere around her mid-forties.

"You think so?" He rubbed at the scruff of his chin, eying the woman carefully.

"Mmhmm." I was so certain I sat up straighter, ready for another one of our little debates. "She schedules sex with her husband, Richard, monthly. It's his favorite day of the month and her least. They only do missionary, and she washes the sheets and Lysols the bedroom afterwards."

"Ouch." He clutches his chest. "Shots fired at the husband."

"You don't agree?" My brows lifted, wondering how he couldn't see it. I felt pretty good about this one.

He took his time, watching the woman on the dance floor closely as he pushed up the sleeves of his black oxford further. His muscle would not allow much give. I enjoyed the way he would cock his head to eye the person with complete focus, as if he didn't want to make a mistake. I quickly got the impression he enjoyed being right.

"No, I agree, but would like to add to it if I may?"

"Yes, by all means..."

"She owned a sex toy once. She felt obligated to buy it during one of those kinky bachelorette parties for a niece who is much more fun than herself. She used it, liked it, had no clue what to do with the disgusting thing after, and threw it in the trash. She never spoke of it again, and it haunts her. Best orgasm she ever had."

My laughter filled the bar as I tossed my head back and let loose. This wasn't the first time my eyes dampened with these giggles tonight, but this one was so good they were spilling down my cheeks. My new friend hunched over, laughing just as loud.

"Her poor husband!" I smacked my bare knee, continuing to snicker. "Richard must be terrible in the sack."

"We can't all be winners, Richard."

My head shook, my smile unwilling to remove itself from my face. I patrolled the room from my seat, looking for our next victim. When I heard the clink of fresh glasses behind us, it gave me an idea.

"What about him?" I motioned over my shoulder to the bartender. "What do you feel his story is?"

I was banking on gut intuition that even though this guy lived upstairs and has a regular drink at this bar, that he was not friends with the man working it. At no point had the two of them even spoken. It was a series of hand motions and deflected glares.

Shifting uneasily in his seat, he didn't bother to look behind us. His smile was now forced as he took the fresh drink and tipped it back until its contents had diminished. There was a sting in his expression and it didn't seem to be from the drink.

"He is a prick. A wannabe musician who plays bar out of spite. Has issues with everyone around him, including friends and family, because he's jealous that they've made it. And he enjoys women that aren't his to enjoy. Blondes mostly."

Wow.

Oddly specific. He definitely knows him. Before I could ask follow-up questions, he motioned to a couple who were making out in the center of the dance floor. Their tongues could not be shoved any further down each other's throats, and the entire sight made me nauseous. Gross.

"She is way too hot for him," he said. "She's a Mandy. She's had way too much to drink, has proclaimed the words 'fuck shoes' at least ten times tonight to her girlfriends, isn't wearing underwear and definitely has on beer goggles."

We shared a smile. He was so right. That girl was at least a nine and he was a three on his best day. Good for him.

"His name is Billy." I continued the game. "He's a virgin and won't be by the end of the night thanks to the bathroom. It's his first time getting into an actual bar. His mom is going to pick him up and take him home. He will then ask his mother to call him Bill, because he's a man now."

His cheekbones rose high with returned laughter. Those dimples were becoming knee weakening.

"They are both in for disappointment. Her friends are going to give her hell, and he will never have better. That's why you don't kiss them. Fuck around, claim it was just a fuck, never ever kiss them. Kissing made it intimate for both."

The idea was way too good to be true. Screwing without kissing seemed impossible, even though the premise seemed amazing. Two people fucking like animals to fulfill a need and not making it intimate? Was that even possible?

"That's my method at least." He shrugged and leaned into his stool.

"No kissing?" I asked. My jaw fell open. This was actually something he did? "When was the last time you kissed someone?"

He groaned, laughing at himself as he dragged a hand down his face to linger over the scruff that gave him a five-o'clock shadow.

"I'm not sure. One, two years maybe?"

Years?

My eyes rolled dramatically. "And yet you claim women can't get enough of you."

I could see how practically any woman would find him attractive. Tall, strong features, muscular. He obviously knew how to dress nicely, minus his plaid grocery store runs. Then those damn dimples... the ones which caved as he agreed with a nod.

"How do you take a girl upstairs to rapture her and not kiss her? I don't believe you."

I became overly bubbly. My giggles were becoming harder to control—caused by a row of empty glasses. I could tell by the slightly pink tint of his dented cheeks he was feeling no pain either.

His fingertip swirled around the rim of his glass as his smile grew. "I kiss other places."

My body clenched with his words, bringing warmth to my skin. My mind was rushing to a million and one different dirty scenarios and trying to shut them out at the same time. When his piercing blues lifted, the alcohol asked the one question that was supposed to stay in my head.

"Like where?" The words escaped as breaths. Not losing eye contact, my chest rose and fell faster than before.

He liked this question; I knew by the lustful look. Between alcohol, loud music, over a year with no sex, and this dirty smirk, I was damn close to making idiotic decisions. Tonight, I just didn't care. And it felt good.

"Well," he said, eying my dress again. Coarse fingertips brushed across my inner thigh, and the warmth that accompanied it had me already melting onto the stool. His smoldering stare lifted to mine again as his hand traveled further up my leg. He was just past the seam of the dress, close enough I knew he could feel the heat from sex-starved lady parts. His hand stopped, and he made a small circle with his fingertip on my skin. "This is one of my favorite spots." He leaned himself in closer; so close I thought my lips would meet his. He was moving to the crook of my neck. The smell of his cinnamon cologne had me in euphoria—he smelled so damn good.

"But I also like kissing here," he whispered just below my ear. He slowly blew cold air to the spot he was referring to. Goosebumps rose across my pale skin. His finger continued its playful dance across my inner thigh as his scent and the feel of his breath overtook me. I did not even care if there were other people in this bar right now. To me, it was just us and a thermostat that was up way too damn high.

"Anywhere else?" I whispered, licking my bottom lip and slowly turning to get lost in a sea of blue again.

We both knew my loaded question was the point of no return.

Brief eye contact was made, just long enough to feel my lungs stop functioning, before he swiftly moved back to my neck again. This time landing those sultry lips on my skin, immediately causing a moan to escape my throat that became lost in the music and excitement of the bar. Lips, tongue, lips, air, the rough grip of my thigh as he began his rapture—it had my eyes clenched shut and my mouth gaping, struggling to find oxygen. Honestly, he didn't need to kiss my lips. The neck worked just fine. His hand moved further up my thigh until there was nowhere else to go but exactly where I wanted him. His fingers were gliding up and down the black panties that were dividing us.

"This is my favorite place to kiss," he spoke to my collarbone. With more applied pressure from his fingers, I knew he could feel the wetness along my lace-covered slit. "But you must come upstairs with me if you want that demonstration."

"Yes." My martini-buzzed head nodded with the whisper. Maybe it was the alcohol talking; maybe it was me. Even though I knew I wasn't ready for this, I needed it.

Everything began happening fast. My hips were gripped by two firm hands and pulled from the leather barstool. My heels hit the ground harshly, and thankfully his arm stayed around my waist while I became dizzy from the abrupt change in position.

"Mikah!" toothpick guy called out. The bartender's head snapped up in response, looking between me and the man who had my lady parts throbbing for attention. "Her bill is on me."

He definitely knows him.

I didn't even have time to wait for his reply; my hand was gripped firmly in his, and I was being pulled towards a rust-colored door near the back of the bar. On the other side of it was a narrow, dimly lit, all brick room, with nothing more than another door labeled office and a wrought iron staircase that already had me losing balance at the thought of ascending it.

When the door shut behind us, he moved me so that my back was pressed against it. My chin extended towards the ceiling with his lips conquering every single inch of open skin between my jaw and breasts. The hum of the bar on the other side of the door was loud, but not loud enough to drown my moans. The vibration of the music just added to the arousal.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" I huffed between my breathy panting.

"You need it?" He chuckled, using a single finger to tug down the thin strap of the dress, allowing it to dangle at the side of my shoulder. Even this was hot and had me wanting him to just tear the damn thing off—Hallie be damned.

"I need to call out something tonight; I prefer a name," I said with a giggle. "Unless you want me to yell 'toothpick guy'." We both knew this was a onetime deal, but a name was also going to make me feel better.

"A screamer, huh?" His smirk was playful—smug enough that my panties could have removed themselves.

It made me flush, but I would not deny it. I was a screamer, and he was about to find out. If we didn't move from this spot and up to his apartment, half the bar was going to find out just how loud I could be.

"Ollie," he said, dragging his finger beneath the only strap left holding the dress up. His eyes lifted to mine. Without words, he was asking for my name in return.

"Sloan."

"Sloan." He nodded once with approval, slowly dropping the last strap.

The dress dropped a few inches, sending the material to cling to my hardened nipple as its last attempt to stay up before finally dropping and bunching around my middle. Ollie's eyes darkened with desire as he drank in the sight of my half-naked body. The air was thick, and I swallowed it, wanting him to eye-fuck every part of me because that was getting me off.

"Well, Sloan," he pulled me into his chest and kissed my jaw, "I'm about to do very dirty things to this body, but I need to get you upstairs so we don't have any unwelcome visitors."

Before I could speak any hesitance of walking my intoxicated-self up the stairs in heels that were two inches higher than I normally wore, Ollie's hands were positioned below my ass, hiking me into the air. I quickly wrapped myself around his body, feeling his firm muscles pressed against me. We were face to face as he carried me up the iron stairway, taking his time so he didn't topple us both back to the first floor.

It felt odd to not kiss with our lips so close, but I liked that they were off limits. Intimacy was the last thing I needed right now. Ollie seemed to notice my stare at the off-limit lips, because he sniggered and shook his head. "Don't you dare."

"Trust me," I said, rolling my hips into his erection, feeling the bulge of his dockers against the exact spot where I wanted him. When he exhaled and cursed under his breath, I smiled. "I won't."

From the moment the door of Ollie's apartment swung open, those lips were back on my skin, nibbling, biting, licking, mumbling dirty words of promises of what he was going to do to me tonight. My moans were already filling the dark space as he carried and sat me onto an island countertop in the kitchen. I flinched at the freezing cold metal, before forgetting about it entirely. My current body temperature was enough to heat the entire apartment.

Ollie stepped away to turn on the light of the room. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but the sight before me definitely was not it. This apartment was stunning... and huge. Exposed dark-red brick lined most of the walls and others were a crisp white or pale gray. State-of-the-art stainless appliances with matching stainless countertops surrounded me. The cabinets—and there were a lot of them—were a dark, warm wood that calmed the masculine feel of the space. It was minimally decorated with cast-iron pans hanging on the walls, and a few plants—I was assuming these were fresh herbs—sat in the window.

This apartment was screaming money. I felt out of my element; yet I wanted to spend every moment taking advantage of this kitchen.

As Ollie returned to me, he unbuttoned his black shirt, reminding me that my breasts were still on display.

"You have a nice kitchen!" I blurted out awkwardly.

Smooth, Sloan. Real smooth.

My face rouged as he grinned at me. "You want to talk about my kitchen?"

No. I definitely did not want to discuss his kitchen. Well, maybe a little. But later. Definitely a discussion for later. Would there be a discussion later?

His eyebrow cocked with enthusiasm as he watched my internal debate.

Jesus, Sloan, stop being so weird.

"No," I said, playing with the hem of the dress. "I don't want to talk about your kitchen."

His hands touched down on the caps of my knees. Ollie gently spread them and took one step forward so he was between them. He then allowed his hands to travel up my bare legs excruciatingly slow until his fingers were tangled in the straps of the panties upon my hips.

"What do you want then?" Ollie asked.

He took my nipple between his lips and sucked until it made a popping noise with their release of it. My slit dampened again, begging for his mouth to be there instead. I hadn't stopped thinking about it since his fingers had been so close. I wanted that demonstration mentioned downstairs. When his blue eyes met mine again, and the smug smirk reappeared—the one that displayed his dimples—I knew I was in for a good night.

"I want to be raptured."

Ollie seemed to like my answer, once again taking my breast into his mouth as he harshly pulled my underwear off. They were tossed somewhere within his perfect kitchen. The dress was quickly discarded somewhere along with it. I was impressed by his level of multitasking while he undressed both himself and me at the same time. His shirt dropped around his arms, and for the first time, I was seeing his skin.

Tattoos.

Droolworthy, sexy as fuck tattoos. They lined his arms, perfectly placed so both times I had seen him with his sleeves rolled up they were hidden. A few were scattered along his chest, but mostly his upper arms to his shoulders.

His eyes trailed every inch of me and left a blazing heat in their path. "Where do you want me to kiss you?"

My lungs felt like they could burst from sucking in so much air. I was about to be his meal. I couldn't wait much longer.

"Everywhere," I answered truthfully.

"What about," his finger ever so gently traced the line of my slit, causing my thighs to tremble, "here?"

"Yes."

He smiled devilishly, dropping his head closer to my body. "How?"

"How...?"

"Well, I can peck." His face dropped lower. The tiniest of kisses were placed down my front until his face was between my legs. A quick kiss was placed just above my screaming lady parts.

I squirmed, needing more. "Tease."

"Just a kiss?" he continued, placing a lingering kiss to my folds. My sex clenched with anticipation of his next move. "Or how about a deeper kiss?"

Before I could contemplate how hot this sounded, his tongue finally parted me, spreading the lips of my wet pussy. He began sucking my clit, driving me wild. My head was swimming with ecstasy as he began his rapturing. It was better than I could have imagined, as if my body was an instrument and he was playing me with nothing more than his tongue.

My fingers trailed to his head, locking themselves into his messy hair, gripping and keeping him in place. His tongue was warm and wicked, only second to the lips that felt like they could suck my soul right out of my body. Casually, he slid his middle finger into my throbbing core, beginning his next stroke. Rapturing was an understatement. He was devouring me.

My toes curled with the readiness to succumb to his mouth. Each time his tongue lapped my clit, followed by his lips working their magic, I thought I would explode. It was when he entered me with a second finger that I became a trembling mess—screaming moans and curses that filled his entire apartment.

"Ollie!"

My hips bucked from the counter, lifting with his face. He continued through the entire orgasm before wrapping his arms around my back and lifting me from the countertop. I felt like a feather in his hold. His hardened cock pressed against my heat as he walked us to a living area. With an easy toss, I landed on my back to a leather couch.

"Wait right here." He grinned and disappeared into a darkened hallway.

Like I was going to move after that.

I was still dizzy and shaking. My body was buzzing in the best way when Ollie reappeared, sporting nothing more than a clear rubber over an impressive dick. He tossed a pile of gold, foil-covered condoms to the table beside the couch. I brushed my tongue over dry lips, suddenly anxious. His size had my sex clenching, fearful I wouldn't be able to take him.

Maybe a few rounds with Hulk wouldn't have hurt?

Ollie appeared sure of himself; confident but not in a way that made him annoying. He stood tall before me—pure muscle, tattoos and a firm cock that swung as he dipped down to lift my thighs up to him. It left only my shoulders pressed into the leather cushion of the couch. I gasped when his erection poked my entrance, causing Ollie's lips to curl upwards. His girth was ridiculous, and he appeared damn proud of it.

"Ready for a good night, Sloan?"

Two fingers slid inside of me, testing to make sure I remained wet. I definitely was. My hips ground into his fingers, wanting and needing more.