By the time the third of my four tequila shots was done, my girlfriends had gone back to the table. My new drinking partner passed a lime slice across the pale inside of his wrist, pinched salt from the clay bowl on the bar and sprinkled it over the lime juice. He nudged the fourth glass at me and offered me his wrist with a dare in his eyes.
I gave him a saucy grin, slid my hand under his upturned palm, and licked the salt clean away, holding his gaze from under my lashes.
I knocked back the tequila and reached for the lime slice he still held, but he sucked it himself, setting the peel on the dish near his elbow. I raised an eyebrow, to which he responded by taking my chin in his hand and tipping my mouth up to kiss. His tongue was tart with a warm, lingering agave tang.
I raked gentle teeth over his lower lip as we pulled apart.
“Your turn,” I said, sucking my finger and drawing it across the top of my breast. I poured a measure of salt over the wet line.
His eyes widened, his color rose. I picked up his shot glass, raised it to him. He took the glass. I leaned back on my bar stool, spread my legs, and gave him access. The rest of the bar seemed to fade away; he licked the salt from my skin, raising goose-flesh as my body shivered in awareness.
He swallowed the shot. I handed him the lime.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked.
Fifteen minutes later we were making out on his couch like teenagers, grinding our tequila fueled bodies together to an old Portishead CD. He had his hands under my wool tunic, under my bra; I cursed his button fly.
He lifted his hips and I pulled his jeans down. “Commando?” I giggled, impressed.
He might have responded, but I took the length of him in my hand. He was so hard for me, I was so hot for him, I could have had the hell out of him then and there. Instead, I took my time, tracing a fingertip up the silky underside of his cock. He closed his eyes as his head fell back on the cushion.
The low moan that escaped his lips was better than the tequila, a thrill in my blood.
I bent to swirl the tip with my tongue before pulling more of his cock into my mouth, sliding his shaft against my lips as I bobbed my head once, twice, a third time.
“God,” he panted.
I purred deep in my throat and tasted salt.
I slithered up his body, sitting back and hiking up my skirt. He reached to push aside the satin between my thighs. He slipped a finger inside me.
“Oh…” I whispered.
When I left his apartment the darkness was giving way to light. The chill in the air cleared my head; I smiled as I hailed a cab.