Jake

 

 

 

 

This town? It’s a fucking armpit. You wake up in the morning and step outside, expecting a lungful of fresh early air. Instead it smells like a swamp. “God farted and the whole place stinks,” is what my uncle says. I wouldn’t put it that way, but I’ve only been here a few weeks and already can’t wait to leave. Hell, I would have left already if I wasn’t here doing a favor for him. And maybe I’m not quite ready to go back home to Chicago yet.

I lock the door of my lease-by-the-month apartment and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, heading to one of the town’s two bars. It’s farther from the mostly boarded-up main stretch, but the guys at the station said they’ve occasionally seen women there. I’m in the mood for some company.

It’s practically pitch black out, but the moon provides enough light as I walk the mile or so to the battered building. Technically it’s called Lucky’s, but apparently the “k” in the illuminated sign has been burnt out for so many years that people started referring to it as “Lucy’s.” The sign is like a tacky orange beacon, and though the place is falling apart, it’s bright inside. And there’s beer.

The bartender, a grizzled guy in his fifties, nods at me.

“What’s on tap?” I ask.

“Bud. Bud Light.”

“Anything else?”

“What? Like craft beer? Shit’s for pussies.” He coughs vigorously for a few seconds.

“Budweiser, then.”

A couple of slightly flat beers later, I’m listening to Grizzly’s thoughts on politics and thinking my coworkers were fucking with me, because there’s not a single girl in sight. A few locals lean against a beat-up pool table in the corner, watching some game on the TV. Some other suckers like me drink at the bar, and a group of young twenty-something guys with construction gear laugh loudly around a table.

And then I see her. It’s like a magic trick; she unfurls herself from the back corner where she was hidden, appearing as if out of thin air. And I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her legs are long and thin, and over her skin-tight jeans are a pair of knee-high black leather boots. The white sweater she’s wearing clings to her chest, which is absolutely perfect. I mean, if you could design a pair of flawless breasts, that’s exactly the fuck how they’d look. The sweater is low cut, the swell of her tits visible, her skin creamy and pale. Long black hair frames her face, and her lips are painted dark red.

She’s wearing too much makeup, but she’s so gorgeous I don’t even care. And I no longer know what Grizzly’s saying, because all thought has left my mind except one thing: I’m going to fuck this girl tonight. I’m going to take her home and strip off those tight jeans and sweater, and make love to her for hours.

She tosses a few bills on the table, then walks right the fuck past me on her way to the door, without even a glance in my direction, the sultry and dark smell of perfume hovering in her wake.

“Closing out my tab,” I say to Grizzly, putting a twenty on the rough and worn bar top and sliding off my stool. I follow the girl over the dingy wood floor and out the door.

Her head’s bent, one hand cupping a cigarette she’s trying to light in the wind. Her lighter clicks over and over again.

“Let me help.” I stride toward her.

She looks up at me, holding my gaze for a few moments before shrugging and handing me the lighter. With both of our hands as a shield, her cigarette catches immediately, the tip glowing orange as she inhales.

“Thanks.” She turns her head to exhale as I hand back the lighter, which she shoves in her pocket. I can’t help noticing her nipples, underneath that fucking white sweater, are hard.

“Cigarettes will kill you,” I say.

“Oh really? I hadn’t heard.” She raises an eyebrow at me as she inhales again. She’s so pretty I feel breathless. Though it’s dark out, I can see how expressive her eyes are, harboring what looks like a hint of sadness, which she’s trying hard to hide with her tough girl act.

I watch the smoke she breathes out float and dissipate into the chill air. She turns her body away from me so she’s facing the abandoned quarry across the road.

She’s hot, but I don’t like to work too hard, and I don’t like to play games. And that vulnerability showing through the crack in her veneer makes me want to run.

“Have a good night.” I head away from Lucy’s, toward my almost empty apartment.

“Wait.” Her voice has a slight rasp to it, like she’s getting a cold, but I think it’s just her natural sound. And it’s really goddamn sexy.

I turn back.

“I don’t want to be alone.” She flicks her cigarette into the darkness, and when it hits the pavement it bounces, sparks shooting and then disappearing.

“You should go home.”

“I said I don’t want to be alone.” She takes a step closer, the heat in her eyes burning so hot it almost eclipses the sadness I saw before.

“So you want to use me to keep your loneliness at bay?” I joke. I think I’d let her use me for anything she wanted.

She shakes her head. “I misspoke.” She walks steadily till she’s standing right in front of me, looking up into my eyes.

“What did you mean to say?” She smells like that perfume mixed with cigarettes, and I bend my head down slightly. Not close enough to kiss her, but enough to feel her breath when she speaks.

“It’s not just that I don’t want to be alone.” She scratches her cheek and grinds the gravel beneath her feet with the tip of her black boot.

“No?” I bend closer.

Her fingers find my bicep, then run down my arm to my hand, which she grasps, pulling herself nearer to my body. “No. I meant to say I want to be with you tonight.”

“What’s your name?” I whisper against her lips.

She hesitates for a moment too long before answering. “Aria.”

“Is that your real name, Aria?”

She shrugs. “No questions, OK? No strings. That all right with you?”

She reaches up, pulling my neck so she can kiss me. It’s light at first, and I taste the smoke on her breath and her sticky fruity lip gloss—I can’t remember the last time I’ve kissed a woman who wore fruity stuff on her mouth—and then her tongue finds mine and I don’t care about anything else. I almost always listen to my instincts, but the small voice inside my head saying this is a mistake can go to hell right now.

“That’s fine with me, Aria,” I growl. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Whatever,” she says. “Take me home with you.”

I’m surprised she can keep up with my pace along the dark streets, and I can’t get my key into the lock fucking fast enough. Before we’re even halfway up the stairs, we have to stop to kiss, our tongues battling one another, our breath coming short and fast. When I kiss her neck and bite it gently she moans. And I can’t wait any longer.

She drops her purse right inside the front door, and I grab her hand and pull her into the bedroom. But then she pushes me away.

“Stop,” she whispers, putting up one dainty hand.

I stand still and watch. In an instant, she pulls her sweater up and over her head, and I’m not surprised to see her bare breasts, no bra, her nipples hard and pink and small. I shift slightly, my cock already hard, as she sits on the bed and unzips one tall leather boot, slipping it off and tossing it aside. She does the same with the other, and I take a step closer.

But she shakes her head.

She stands again, this time her hands finding the zipper of her jeans, and she stares at me as she pulls the zipper down and starts to push the denim down her hips. She wiggles her body to get the tight jeans off, and I bite back a groan. Fuck.

Her jeans are on the floor, and she’s stepping out of them, and all she’s got on are these fucking lacy black panties.

“Your turn,” she says in that sultry voice.

I don’t waste a second. I’ve never undressed this fast, my T-shirt and jeans on the floor in an instant, so I’m just in my underwear.

She smiles, then walks up to me, grabbing the elastic of my underwear and pulling me right up against her. Her hand so close to my cock makes me moan, and this time I don’t hold it back.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper into her ear. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this entire town.”

She laughs. “That’s not saying much. But you are too. Gorgeous, I mean.” I’m surprised by how shy she sounds. Her hand runs over my chest and abs. “I can tell you work out a lot.”

We kiss, her mouth pliant and eager, and I reach behind her, cupping one of her ass cheeks in my hand. Jesus. Her body is slim and luscious, soft and eager, and I don’t remember ever being this fucking turned on before.

Her hand rubs my cock through my boxer-briefs, and I slip my fingers inside the front of her panties, feeling her already wet pussy.

“God, Aria,” I moan as we stumble toward the bed, our hands eager. Saying her fake-name gives me a twinge of doubt. But if she doesn’t want me to know her real identity, what does it matter? No strings, like she said. All I care about right now is sinking deep inside her soft, wet body.

~~~~

That was the best fucking sex of my entire life. It’s not the first time I’ve said it, but this time it’s true. I sit up and switch on the lamp next to the bed.

“You a fucking cop?” Aria sits up too, pulling the comforter around her and staring at my badge on the nightstand. She shakes her head, a bemused smile on her face.

“Yeah. What do you do?” I stretch my neck, rolling my head back, my body more relaxed than it’s been in a long time.

She bends over the side of the bed and picks up her sweater. “No strings, right?”

“Right. I’m going to go clean up.” I head to the bathroom to throw away the condom. I wipe off with a damp towel and splash cold water on my face. I probably smell like stale beer, so I brush my teeth too, then head back to the bedroom, surprised by how eager I am.

She’s gone. Clothes. Purse from by the front door. Everything.

Fuck.

I peer out the window, and even open the door to look around the black night, but she’s disappeared. Feeling foolish, I go back inside and get a beer from the fridge.

No strings. I’m cool with that. But for some reason I think I’m going to have a hard time getting “Aria” out of my mind.