Page 2 of Lessons in Love
We’re not particularly hidden being a corner bar, but once you cross that threshold, this is a place where you get to be who you are when you’re alone, the person you want to be, a better version of yourself. No one here judges. I love watching the transformation throughout the evening. They come in here after work or a long day running around doing what unsupervised women do, whether that be—playing mommy to the brood at home or to the man paying them big bucks—this is their escape, where they congregate to wind down.
I wipe down the bar top and throw new coasters down for the after happy hour crowd. We call it the second wave. I look up just as a dark brunette stands a foot back analyzing the liquor bottles lined up against the mirror behind me. Every strand isperfectly in place and pulled back so taut it looks professionally styled.Gimlet.She’s holding onto her designer purse like we’re in a house of thieves. She doesn’t realize it yet, but the only thing we’re looking to steal is that tightly wound good girl image she’s projecting. I’d love to see her lipstick smeared outside her lined lips. I bet she has a solid handful of hair to pull too. Afterwards, I wouldn’t let her put it back up. I’d make her walk out of here freshly fucked with her hair down, loose around her shoulders. She’d feel too good to care how she looked.Too crude?I should start with her first drink. “What can I get you?”
“Gimlet.”
It’s almost too easy. Wonder if she is.
“Coming right up.” And boy am I. I grab a glass from the cooler and go for the chilled gin—top shelf, like her. My gaze relishes her curves she’s trying to hide behind that expensive, but unflattering suit. Charcoal gray. She should never try to look like a man when she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I won’t make her compete in a man’s world. I’ll show her she can be in charge while I have her submitting to me. Sounds like an oxymoron, but trust me, I know what she really needs. At least when it comes to the bar or the bedroom.
Or the office.
Or the backroom.
Or the bathroom.
Hell, I’ll fuck her on top of this bar if that’s what gets her off.
I pour Rose’s Lime Juice, squeeze fresh lime, and gin into a shaker. With my arms above my right shoulder, I shake. Keeping my eyes on her, she looks up, watching the shaker held in my hands. “I’m Hardy,” I introduce myself.
“As in Hardy’s Hideaway?”
“The very one.” I pour her drink into the martini glass and add a slice of lime to the lip. “What’s your name?”
“Constance.”
Holding my hand out, she slips hers into mine. She doesn’t have to, but I know it’s coming. Her grip begins to compete. It’s a control issue I’m happy to help with and relinquish to her. “Constance is a pretty name.”
Her fingers smooth hair that’s already smoothed, her gaze dipping away as embarrassment colors her cheeks. Now this is unexpected. I want more. I want to watch that blush spread across her bare chest when she rides me and then down her spine when I take her from behind. And before you get all riled up over the sex talk, you should know I enjoy sex. I like to make love. I love to fuck. I like the foreplay. I enjoy the after play. A little cuddling is good after a romp in the sack. Kisses are fine as long as emotions are kept at bay. I’m not broken. I’m not recovering from heartbreak, and I’m not pining over a lost love. Nope. I just like the simple act of connecting with another human on a raw and carnal level. I like the euphoria of hitting that peak and then tumbling down into a state of satiation with bones of jelly and a mind free from daily troubles. I like giving that same freedom to women who seem to struggle to find it.
So I don’t need a lecture on how I’m heartless. I’m not. I’ve been in relationships and they’re just not for me. But I still enjoy bonding physically with women. Many women.
Sitting down on a barstool, she wraps her fingers around the stem of the glass. I watch as she takes her first sip, her eyes dipping closed. Bliss lingers on her lips, glistening against her pinot noir colored mouth. Her tongue slips out to taste the tart liquid. Long, dark lashes lift and she says, “It’s perfect.”
“That’s what I strive for.”
“You should strive for something more tangible.”
“Don’t underestimate the perfection of a good cocktail.”
Holding her drink up, she says, “Touché.” After taking a deeper sip this time, she smiles sweetly, but mischievously. “You have customers, Hardy.”
I like the way she says my name, an upswing on the ending. I can’t wait to hear it two octaves higher rolling off her tongue. “Just whistle if you need me.”
Nodding, she tends to the phone that lights up in front of her. I leave her be, tending to the other ladies looking for love, or drinks. “What can I get you?”
Light blond. Fake—pretty much everything, but it’s working for her. “Are you available?”
“Are you asking for you, orfor a friend?”
She bites her lower lip, leaving tracks in her bright pink lipstick. I’ve had that shade wrapped around my cock before. I’m feeling something moodier tonight—to be specific—pinot noir. I purse my lips, and then smile. “Unfortunately, I have a long shift ahead of me.”
“I heard rumors about your long shaft.” She covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. “I mean, shift.” Her flirting is lacking, but she seems nice enough. “Guess I’m out of luck tonight.”
“I’m still serving, if you’re thirsty.”
Dragging her tongue over her bottom lip, she replies, “So thirsty. I could just guzzle you down.”
My cock stirs.
