Ian

Thank God Flamingos is only a few minutes from my house. It took serious effort to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road after she climbed into the truck and slid into the seat right next to me. If this was anyone else, I’d think she was flirting.

As we walk through the doors, we are welcomed in and I’m greeted by my first name like a member of the family. “OK, maybe I’m here more than I realized,” I joke.

Sam and I take a seat at the bar to get drinks. I order a double of Jameson Irish whiskey, my usual, and she opts for some sort of fruity concoction.

“Alright, step one is complete, now what?” I ask.

“All in good time,” she says while seductively manipulating her straw.

Our conversation flows naturally and time passes quickly as we trade stories about our experiences with this or that. I realize I am only now just getting to know this person I have known so many years and each new thing I learn only reaffirms my long-held belief—she is some kind of special.

A drink or two later and my stomach reminds me with a growl I need something more than alcohol. “Shall we move to a table and get food in our bellies?” I ask, placing my hand on hers.

“Good call,” she says with one last sip of her drink.

No sooner are we seated than I look over and, in horror, spot my ex-fucking-wife and her fucking boyfriend.

“Mother fucker,” I say as quietly as I can. “OK Sam, I hate to ruin your plan for the evening, but I could use some help here.”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” she asks with a wrinkled brow.

“Don’t look now, but Gail is over there with what’s his face. You’ll understand if I’m not interested in putting any crash and burn pickup attempts out on display for her. I refuse to give that bitch the satisfaction, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m leaving. She’d just assume I still give a fuck about her. Which I don’t. So … what are our options here?”

Without so much as a hesitation, Sam hops her chair over next to mine. Then, when we are shoulder to shoulder, she lets out a light-hearted, but clearly audible laugh followed with “Ooooh Ian,” catching at least half the room’s attention. In case that didn’t deliver the message, she places her hand on my cheek, turning my face to hers and delivers a passionate, lasting kiss for emphasis.

As soon as she sits back, I place my hand on the base of her neck, and gently pull her toward me, keeping my eyes locked on hers. I lean in and slowly return her kiss, allowing my tongue to momentarily brush her lower lip before withdrawing. Her mouth responds in kind, moving toward mine, searching for what was there the moment before. I complete the gesture by drawing my hand back, slowly sweeping past her ear lobe, and ending with it placed just under her jaw line while I deposit a small, delicate, final kiss on her forehead before I release her.

“Fuck it, would you like to get out of here?” I ask, the words dripping with desire.

She nods, the look in her eyes assuring me the feeling is mutual.

I pull a crisp hundred from my wallet and leave it on the table as we depart. That should be more than enough to compensate the server for her time and to make up for any inconvenience our scene may have caused.

Samantha’s hand is in mine as I make my way to the truck. I cannot fathom the drive home right now. It may be short on an ordinary day, but this day is turning out to be anything but ordinary and I can’t risk losing the moment.

I lead Sam to the passenger side so I can open the door for her, but stop short and draw her body into mine. I brush the bangs from her eyes, my body on fire with yearning, and take a breath before I give my confession.

“Samantha, I don’t know what just happened, but I have wanted it for a very long time. If I’m reading this wrong and you were playing a part, I need you to tell me now.”

“Oh my God Ian, no. I have thought of that moment longer than I can bear to admit.”

“All I needed to hear,” I say pulling the back-passenger door open to help her inside. “I want you. Right here. Right Now,” I tell her.

“Oh God. Yes,” she says.

We pick up where we left off in the restaurant, pulling at one another’s clothing, with no concern for the tight quarters. My hand behind her head, I lay her back across the seat to get better access to her body. I remove my hand from her breast and pull her dress up to her waist revealing a tiny pink-lace thong poorly concealing the promised land beneath.

I place my thumbs under either side of her panties and slowly pull them down. She assists my efforts with a slight lift of her ass and then her legs. I take a moment to enjoy the view after carefully separating her knees. “Are you sure you want this?” I ask one final time.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer. I need you inside me,” she says, pulling at me.

“Who am I to deny a girl what she needs?” I reply, as I loosen my belt and pull off my pants freeing my cock from the prison it’s outgrown.

I take my place above her and lick my index and middle fingers before placing them in her pussy only to find the gesture was unnecessary. She’s dripping for me.

Between moans, she begs, “No, I need the real thing. Please, give it to me.”

I guide the head of my cock to her opening and rub it along the edge, top to bottom and both sides. At this point, her moans can be heard several parking spots away, but they only make me want her more.

I enter her and feel a gush of fluid, accompanied by several partial words between her gasps for oxygen.

“Don’t worry, darlin'. I’m just getting started.”