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Rory walked into the coffee shop and breathed in the overwhelming scent of deliciousness… coffee, espresso, pastries, chocolate. Mmm, that smell. The scent of coffee shop is why she comes in early for her shifts. The quiet, the uneventfulness. Nothing happens in a coffee shop except what you want to happen, and in Rory's case, that’s usually quiet reflection, some writing for her gig, or perhaps a nap.
She heard the rustle of pages turning and looked next to her; sitting at the next table over was the most delectable hunk of man she’d ever had the pleasure to set her eyes on in this old coffee shop. Now, this was the coffee shop she worked at because she could avoid all the progressive “hipsters” who ordered complicated drinks, ate everything vegan, and thought they were intellectual because they followed blogs about “being green”, or blogs with quotations from famous people.
Call her crazy, but she enjoyed the calories, the fat, and the seratonin that went with all the less-“green” edible goodies she grew up with. She loved the grease of bacon in her cheese quiches. She was no vegan, of that she was certain. In the same vein, reading the words of people who read does not make you a reader, and wearing a shirt with a recycle symbol does not make you an activist. It took her ages to find her precious hole-in-the-wall.
The clientele at this coffee shop was decidedly…. well, older. Newspapers took the place of laptops, mugs the place of thermal to-go cups. Just about every head in this shop was whitened or at least salt-and-peppered with age, and she loved the conversation with the elder generations who came up to her register. So imagine her surprise when she found this… this Adonis reading quietly in her oasis.
She discreetly took a look at the cover of his novella and had to suppress a gasp. Of all the days she could have decided to bring “Delta of Venus”, she picked today? Fate must be playing some sort of cruel trick on her brain. This had to be a mirage, because there he was, nonchalantly reading a well-worn copy of “Little Birds”.
Anais Nin is most certainly not an author for the faint of heart (or hormones).
She rushed to her better-hidden corner couch across the shop, settled down, and began voraciously devouring her (also well-worn) copy of Nin’s work. As much as she tried to avoid it, her eyes kept creeping above the pages to take a peek at this mystery man.
Gladys, a sassy old widow and one of her favorite customers, came over and joined her in her corner.
“Ahhhhh. Now her true colors come to light. Tell me, sweetie, is good old Miss Nin doing the trick for you?” Rory blushed and put down her book.
“Gladys! Keep your voice down!” She frantically looked across the room, hoping beyond hope that mystery man did not notice.
“Honey, it ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, let me assure you. God, it’s been so long since I had a man… Nothing like my sweet Charlie’s sweet cock to put those demons running around my crazy head to rest!”
“GLADYS!” Rory whisper-yelled. “What on earth are you thinking! This is a family establishment!”
“Rory, you and I both know there hasn’t been anyone younger than 45 in this shop for years. Don’t try to shush me just because you’re smitten with Prince Charming over there.”
Rory hid behind her book, desperately wishing she could disappear. But still, her shift didn’t start for another half hour, so she had to endure this torture a bit longer. She couldn’t resist another peek around the pages, though, and to her utter embarrassment, Sir Looks-a-lot was staring right at her. She blushed and looked away, but not before catching sight of the most devious smirk she’d ever beheld.
Damn. Apparently crossing her fingers hadn’t worked.
“Sweet-cheeks”, Gladys began again (didn’t that woman ever run out of pet names??), “I haven’t seen you bring a handsome fellow in here with you since that dirtbag Logan had you tailed by a private investigator two years ago. Isn’t your cooch itchin’ for some action? You should do something about it while you can. Men like that, reading Anais Nin no less, don’t come waltzing into your life very often, you know.”
Rory blushed further, now no longer merely blushing pink-cheeked, but rather blooming a decidedly raddish-red color from her chest upward.
“Gladys, if you don’t shut up, I’ll tell my manager about all those cookies I’ve seen you stealing right off that scalloped tray by the counter. The one with the little penguins painted around the edge? Ring any bells?”
Miraculously, she won herself a pleasantly quiet twenty minutes.
Two hours later, Sir Broods-A-Lot, as she was now referring to him in her mind, was still quite comfortable reading his book. Rory couldn’t get Gladys’s words out of her head, crude as they were, and the fact that Anais Nin’s evocative plots and devious characters were still swimming around her brain didn’t help at all.
Her pervy little mind was decidedly distracted for the rest of her shift.
40 minutes before closing time, Rory decided to do something about the damp patch in her panties.
Gladys gave her a thumbs up as she took the hot water over to Sir Broody Britches. She made sure to sway her hips slightly, just-so, on her way over, but he was too absorbed in his book to notice.
“Can I refill your tea for you, sir?” she asked innocently.
He looked up from his novel, surprised by her sudden presence above him, and simply nodded before going back to reading. ‘Well, that just won’t do,’ she thought.
“I see you’re done with your plate. Would you like me to take care of it for you?”
Again he nodded. Rory leaned over to him, making certain he could catch a glimpse down the cleft between her breasts, and took the plate. When she noticed he still hadn't looked up from the book he had in his right hand, resting on the table, she decided drastic measures were necessary.
She barely bumped the plate into his mug, “accidentally” knocking the tea onto his knees.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir, let me clean that up for you.”
She pretended to be flustered (well, she was fairly nervous and had only barely talked herself into doing this in the first place, so she wasn’t faking much), took the towel tucked into her back pocket, and began patting his jeans down.
The gulp he swallowed at her contact with his thigh was most definitely audible.
“No, no, it’s quite alright. Please, don’t worry about it, ma’am. It’s only a bit wet.”
Ugh, my god, couldn't a girl catch a break? Unless the smirk he gave her earlier was purely for show, this was not how she thought this would pan out. Apparently drastic measures weren’t drastic enough. This was her last possible move, or the fantasy fuck she’d crafted in her mind from her place at the barista counter would remain just that: simply a fantasy.
She leaned over, placed her hand back on his thigh, and whispered, “I’m more than just a bit wet, thanks to that smirk you sent me earlier…”
His devious smirk immediately rematerialized.
“Oh, but you went so red, I figured there was no hope that I'd get the chance to ask you how you got your hands on this kind of erotica in such a small town.”
“Well, I almost didn’t muster the guts to walk over here, so if you want to do anything about that bulge in your pants, I suggest you make a move before I chicken out and change my mind.”
He winked at her and shouted, “Hey! Watch it, would you??! You almost ruined my book! God, these pants are ruined…” and made a show of attempting to clean the “mess”.
She apologized meekly, going along with the show, but he waved her off and said, “Is there a manager I can speak to? This is beyond poor service…”
“Well, she’s in her office, but she said not to disturb her unless the health department came, so—”
Broody stormed in the direction of the counter.
“Sir, that’s for employees only!” she cried (perhaps a little too enthusiastically…)
“I don’t care. I need to speak to your fucking manager.”
As soon as she followed him through the doorway, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a corner full of baking trays.
“Is your manager really back here?”
“No, I’m closing up tonight.”
“Thank god.”
He fused his lips to hers, drinking her in. Their tastes mingled together, a blend of sweet honey, sugar, white tea, peaches, raspberries, and a hint of bitterness all at once.
“Oh, fuck, you taste so good,” she moaned into his mouth. He groaned in response, his hands feverishly unbuttoning her collared and espresso-splattered shirt.
“Do you have any extra shirts back here somewhere?”
She couldn’t think straight with his hips grinding into hers, but she somehow managed a frenzied nod. He immediately ripped the rest of her shirt, the sound of strings snapping and buttons bouncing echoing in the tiny kitchen. She moaned in response, feeling her panties grow that much wetter with the strength of his fingers now digging into her hipbones, creeping up her torso to meet her firm breasts.
“God, you were hiding the most perfect tits under that shirt,” he growled against her ear, biting her earlobe and rolling her nipples in his fingers, crouched down a bit to get on her level.
She felt he was too far away, so she shoved herself against him, propelling them further into the kitchen. His ass met the counter, and she rucked his tshirt up his chest, scratching her nails up his chest and nibbling at the dent under his sternum. She dragged her tongue to one side, circling his now-hardened nipple before pulling the tip between her teeth and rubbing the tip of her tongue on him. His head dropped back and he choked on a gasp and arched into her mouth, fingers grasping fistfuls of her hair to yank her mouth off him.
“Not fair,” he groaned.
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms outside her thighs, under her ass, lifting her before spinning once to drop her down on the edge of the counter. His fingertips trailed delicately along the curve of her waist, and his mouth dragged from her collarbone to her left breast. He suckled her nipple, hollowing his cheeks and flattening his tongue against her goosebump-ridden flesh, then released with a pop. He began nibbling around the area of her breasts, alternating between them before traveling down to her navel.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm the frantics in her brain. This was.... This wasn't normal. This was not Rory. She couldn't do this; it was completely insane, completely irresponsible… She didn’t even know his name! He might be a criminal, or maybe a rogue priest, or a sex offender…. ohhhhhh, but this didn’t feel offensive. It felt fucking perfect. His lips on her stomach, soft but strong, coaxing moans and gasps from her lips the likes of which she didn't even know she was capable. She catalogues the feel of his nose against her skin, his eyelashes fluttering across her body, and his hair tickling her skin just so… If this was insanity, it was the best kind.
Her shirt was still dangling off her shoulders, and she went to shrug it off, but he stopped her.
“No, don’t; I want to see what I did to you…”
She went to yank him back up to her mouth by his hair, but he caught her fingers in his and said, “Not yet. Good lord, woman, you’re getting ahead of me.”
Her brows crinkled; she wanted his mouth on hers again. She wanted to nip and nibble his neck until he had a wet spot through his tea-soaked jeans, but it seemed he had other plans.
“Fuck, Rory, so sweet… god, do I want to taste you,” he said with more determination than she expected from a man she’d only just met. She pursed her lips in confusion, then - oh - pleasure..
"How do you--" He cut off her half-articulated question with a firm suck to her hipbone, then looked up at her from between her legs to answer.
"Nametag. Doesn't take a rocket scientist, my dear."
He fumbled with the clasp of her jeans, easing the zipper down with a bit more force than was strictly necessary and pulling her pants and panties down on the same yank. He pulled her ugly, no-slip shoes off and left her knee-high socks where they were, removing her pants the rest of the way.
“I didn’t know I needed sexy undies today…”
“You don’t. You don’t even need panties, but the ones you had on were plenty adorable, I would imagine.”
He trailed deep, sucking bites along her inner thighs as he journeyed his way to her core. Her skin puckered between his teeth, purpling ever-so-softly as he passed over the pale expanse of her, and he relished in the evidence of his mouth on her. He could feel her muscles, still tense, and could tell that she was still wary of getting caught.
“You said your manager wasn’t here, right?”
“Yeah, she left me the keys to close up.”
“Then relax, Rory,” and he blew a hot breath against her pussy.
She wasn’t worried about getting caught, but she didn’t know what she was worried about. Gladys was here, she knew what they were doing… Rory couldn’t focus, and her mind was everywhere. She gripped the edge of the counter until she was white-knuckled, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
All thoughts flew from her head the moment he put his mouth on her, though.
“Fuck, Ror, you’re positively dripping…”
Mystery man nearly growled against her mound, rolling the hood of her clit gently between his lips. He ran his tongue up and around her clit, then back and forth across it. When he sucked her tiny clit into his mouth, she unthinkingly let out a keening moan from the back of her throat.
“You go, girlie!! At least someone’s getting it!” came Gladys’s voice from the front of the shoppe.
“Ignore her. It’s just you and me right now, nothing but your sweet juices leaking into my mouth, nothing but your heartbeat against my face.”
He slipped a calloused, deft finger inside her, and she whimpered helplessly, knuckles ever whiter on the counter. As much as he wanted to fuck her with his hand, he could tell she was on the verge of losing control and slipping off the counter, so he reached up around her thighs and grabbed onto her hips, latching her legs around his head. He closed his eyes and suckled her pussy relentlessly, massaging her labia and clit with his tongue as his lips closed around the entirety of her. He used the muscles of his back and neck to grind his face against her, simultaneously holding her up on the countertop. He couldn’t hear anything but his blood pounding in his ears and the whoosh of her pulse all around him, against him, and he could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pooling in his now hard, throbbing cock. He relished in these moments, tasting her sweet tanginess, feeling her soft slickness and the delicate weight of her hands on top of his own.
She could tell she was close to coming, but she didn’t want to come like this.
“I need your cock right now, love. Oh, fuck, now, please, …”
He kept licking, kept sucking, determined to make her come.
“Nnnnngh, NOW, babe!! I need your cock, not your tongue, shit! Fucking get up here, hh-ahhh...”
He gave in, releasing her legs to pull his jeans down to his knees, slipping into her as soon as he stood up.
“Ohhh god, coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, comingcomingcomingcoming……” She wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his ass as she rode out the orgasm brought on by the thickness of his thick cock inside her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth fell open, and her entire body spasmed, starting with her pussy around him and spreading through her diaphgram, cutting off her air. She was shaking, whimpering, and positively melting around this man she’d only just met.
He was overwhelmed by the response her body had to his own. Her tight, dripping pussy was clenching erratically around him, her breath was ragged against his neck. She mouthed openly against the skin just under his jaw, and her hands dug almost painfully into his shoulders. He knew there would be purple little half-moon circles there tomorrow, just as there always were. That thought propelled him forward, driving himself relentlessly into her, as deep as he could manage, trying to fuse their atoms together. It never ceased to amaze him, how perfectly they fit together. Each time he slid home inside her, she was as tight as ever, clenching and, oh, fucking suffocating his cock with her delicious warmth. He tried to remain detached, think only of the sensation of her right now, but he couldn’t do it.
As she came down from her high, she gradually felt her dizzied thoughts come back into focus. She felt the slide of him, hot and pulsing inside her. She felt his head drag along her inner walls, the tip of him catching and pulling those spots inside her so right, just right. This man, this stranger, oh-god-he-feels-just-as-perfect-as-always. She could feel the tip of him pressing against her cervix, filling her up to bursting. She focused on her inner muscles, determinedly pulling against him on every slide outward, holding him inside her body like a vice.
He slid his cock into her harder, faster, his thrusts becoming shorter and more shallow as he moved his cock inside her, frenziedly reaching toward release. His breaths came in short, hot bursts against her neck, and he grunted with the effort it took to fuck her til kingdom come.
“Oh god, love, you feel so good inside me…. perfect, so fucking perfect”
Her exact mirror of his own thoughts began a vortex of sensation; her nails on his back, her heels digging into his ass, her pussy pulling against him, his balls slapping loudly against her bare behind, her teeth on his earlobe… It was all too much, and he couldn’t pick one thing to focus on. He tried, oh, he tried to pick one thing to focus on. Her pussy… focus on her pussy…. but the simple feel of her breath on his neck won his attention. He breathed in time with her, their pulses racing together as he reached a shuddering climax. He pulsed inside her, raggedly inhaling her bitterly sweet, coffee-and-pastry-tinged scent through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation.
She stroked his back through his climax, whispering mindless words into his ear.
“That’s it, yeah, ohmygod you feel so good, ah, mmmm, babe, you’re amazing, shhhhhhh…”
He simpered helplessly against her, limp in the circle of her arms. She nudged him backwards, and he slipped luxuriously out of her abused, swollen pussy. She dropped off the edge of the counter and slipped to her knees, tenderly taking him in her mouth. She suckled the mix of their juices off his still-throbbing member, rubbing his balls gently with her fingers as he twitched helplessly in her hands, completely strung out.
With a sigh, he hooked his arms under her shoulders and drew her up to meet him. He kissed her, relishing in the taste of their fucking… no, their lovemaking. He was allowed to call it that now.
“Tea time,” he said. Their safeword tripped easily off his tongue.
“God, finally. Tea time, indeed. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it up, Jess...”
“I was struggling too. I wanted so badly to tell you how much I love you, how much I--” He cut himself off with a shake of his head and pressed their forehead together, nosing at her flushed cheek.
“I almost lost it when Gladys interrupted. Ugh, I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to face her again… Shit, Jess, what if she gossips to my manager??”
“Somehow I think you’ll get by, considering you're the only barista crazy enough to work the closing shit. Gladys might even try to high-five you on the way out.”
“I was so sure she would figure it out, but apparently I turned red enough to make her think I didn’t know you, I guess.”
He laughed aloud, a rumbling sound bursting with affection.
“God, you we so stinking cute. I could have sworn you would burst into flame if I looked at you a second longer. It helps that I’ve never come to pick you up at work, though, or this never would have worked. Everyone would have known we’re together. That we've clearly been together for ages.”
“I really did feel like one of the characters in Anais Nin’s novels, Jess… Strangers meeting, fucking without regard for social mores or standards, releasing tension together. Thank you, babe. I... It's nice to trust you with this.”
“Hey, now! Don’t forget it was my idea. You were just too chicken to come out with it aloud first. I’m the lucky one. Not many a man can find a girl willing to pretend to be strangers.”
“I almost couldn’t. I think I may have called you ‘babe’….”
“You did, and ‘love’, but I adored it. As much fun as it was to pretend with you, it reminded me that this isn’t just a fantasy. This is my life. With you. Fucking finally.”
She smiled and kissed him quickly, then she leaned over to tug his briefs and pants up, carefully tucking him away and tenderly re-buttoning his clothes. He did the same for her, and gently pulled her shoes back on her feet. He took her hand and led her to the racks in the back, taking out one of her many extra shirts from her bag and holding it open for her to slip her arms into. They buttoned her up, meeting in the middle and squeezing each others’ hands.
Gladys whooped as they emerged from the kitchen and out from behind the counter.