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You swore you were done for the night after your last drink, but as you lay eyes on him you reconsider.
He's blond, with a jaw covered in stubble and tired eyes lined with dark circles. Older looking, too—too old to be in a place like this on Halloween, especially without a costume to add any whimsy and distract from how depressed he looks. He lurks in a shadowed corner of the room as he stares down at the wood of the bar. The shadows cast on his face from the dim light of the bar give him an almost gaunt look, only serving to make him look more tired and even older than he seems.
It's not long before he feels your gaze on him and nervously glances your way with those same sad eyes. They widen as he looks down at your (admittedly revealing) costume before quickly flicking away, face drawn tight in guilt. You can't exactly say you blame him; you'd be ashamed of yourself too if you were that old and still hanging out in bars full of college kids for you to ogle.
Still, he looks easy to funnel a few drinks out of and is even easier on the eyes.
You're not giving yourself up that easily, though. He seems quick to squirm under attention and you intend on doing just that. Like how you catch his eyes dropping down to your exposed legs more than once, or when you shoot him a quick little smile and he very nearly spills his drink in his surprise. Whether that shock came from you noticing him staring you down or the fact that you're—in a way—reciprocating that attention you aren't sure, but it shocks a laugh out of you that you quickly cover with your hand.
The first drink comes not long after you smile in his direction. You linger by the bar as you sip on it, peeking in his direction when you feel his eyes burning through you as you wait for him to approach. All you get in return, though, is another panicked glance away when you catch him making eyes at your legs again.
By the second drink, you've more than tired of the bashful act. The guy was clearly here for a reason—much like you—but obviously couldn't man up enough to come and get it. You close in on the man slowly but surely, skirting around the drunken revelry before you in an attempt to get to know the shadow of a man in the corner.
"You know," you start, sliding into the empty seat next to him. Your voice seems to startle him, his entire body jolting once he gets a whiff of your scent. He glances at you, unable to make eye contact in his anxiety, before quickly looking somewhere over your shoulder instead of at your face. "Most guys actually approach someone after buying them a drink."
"Well…" he shrugs, shoulders sagging in a way that gives off the demeanor of a man already defeated.
He still won't look at you. You wait for him to continue, though nothing but silence falls between you two, made slightly less awkward only by the music and chatter surrounding the you both. Your eyes narrow playfully, bumping your shoulder against his in an attempt to get him to loosen up. He jumps like he'd just been shot at the gentle contact, eyes flitting down to where you'd just touched him and staring. You raise your hands in mock surrender, instead going to lean against the bar so they're in clear view and clearly not cooking up any surprise touches again.
At least not for now.
"What's a big guy like you doing in a place like this anyways?"
"I come here… often," the man says, giving you your first real taste of his voice. It's low and raspy and the warmth of it would curl somewhere deep in your gut if you didn't know he was lying to you. This bar was one you frequented, and you'd never seen him before. You'd recognize him too—he sticks out in this place like a sore, depressed thumb in all the excited buzz from college students.
"Well I've never seen you around here before," you pout, reaching out to rest a tentative hand on his forearm closest to you. He tenses, but doesn't pull away, instead staring down at the point of contact like it'd burned him. You lean closer, close enough to smell a hint of mint aftershave over the more powerful scent of petrichor and dusty books, and smile sweetly up at him. "And trust me, I would remember."
He glances warily at you at that comment, eyes squeezing shut as if he almost can't believe what he's hearing. After a moment of hesitation, he continues.
"I guess I should say I did come here often," he says, clearing his throat. "Back in my college days."
You tilt your head to the side and your smile grows like it's the most interesting thing you've heard all night. Maybe it is. "And how long ago was that?"
"Almost two decades now," he says, shoulders sagging at the confession. Almost as if he knows how it looks for someone his age to be hanging around a place like this but he still can't bear to leave.
"Oh!" You exclaim, tapping your finger to your chin as if thinking hard on something. "I may as well have still been in diapers then."
Admittedly, the laugh that leaves you when his face falls is a bit mean spirited.
"Jesus, kid," he groans, hand coming up to cover his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he's got a headache coming on.
The man looks mortified when he sees your face fall at the nickname, his cheeks flushing so brightly under your scrutiny you notice it even in the dim light of the bar as he downs the rest of his drink. You can't help but wonder how long it's been since someone's flirted with him considering his first course of action when obviously trying to get into your pants was to call you kid. You muse to yourself that he's lucky the nickname was doing wonders for you, watching as he sags forward heavily and rests his elbow on the bar.
It's only then that you notice a mark on his ring finger, though the ring that seems to take residence there is suspiciously absent.
You're left wondering if that's why he seems so hesitant despite what he's clearly here for. Even if you don't intend on sleeping with a married man, it's not the worst opportunity you've ever had to get a few free drinks. If he is cheating on his spouse, you can at least bleed him dry before he has a chance to go sniffing around for someone who might indulge him.
"Hey!" You exclaim in mock offense, moving to shove lightly at his shoulder. He allows the touch this time, letting you push him with surprisingly little effort. "This kid has a name."
You stick your hand out and introduce yourself, cocking your head to the side and waiting expectantly. His eyes flicker from your hand to your face before he eventually gives in, large hand wrapping around yours with ease. "I'm, uh… James. My name is James."
"Well, James," you say, hand releasing his only once you've stroked your thumb along his ring finger. His name comes out half purred from your lips. "Now that you know I'm not a kid, how about we celebrate with a drink or two?"
Your attempts might just be the most obvious thing in the world, but James eats them up all the same. He shoots you a despairing look even as he flags down the bartender and tells her to put whatever you order on his tab too. Fresh drink in hand, you angle your head towards him as your eyes rove across his side profile.
He's even more handsome up close than he was from afar, that you can't deny. Long eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks, and now that you're closer to him you can finally see his eyes are a pretty shade of green whenever he peeks at you from the corner of his eye like a nervous prey animal. Not to mention his jawline, sharp and covered in stubble that you can't help but want to run your fingers over to feel the scratch of.
The hand on his forearm drifts lower, closer to his hand. Towards his wrists, his green jacket has ridden up, allowing you to feel the slightest brush of his arm hair against your fingertips as you drag your fingers across his skin. James just stares down at your hand as if he can't believe someone is actually willing to touch him all the while.
It doesn't take long for guilt to eat at your conscience. Free drinks from a handsome older man or not, you don't want to come between a marriage. Your index makes its way over to his ring finger, tapping the tan line still prominent on his skin.
"So, James," you practically coo at him. He shivers like it's his first time hearing his name when you say it. "I couldn't help but notice this. I'm not destroying a happy marriage, am I?"
James looks as if he might be sick. He shakes his head frantically, eyes wide as if it physically pained him to even think of that being a possibility. "What? No! Of course not. I'd—I'd never do that."
His hand slides out from under yours, falling to his side as he messes with the bottom of his jacket. You watch as his thumb rubs shaky circles against the fabric. Another uncomfortable silence falls between you before James finally spits out what's bothering him. "I… I had a wife. She died, though. I just—just wear the ring still." He fishes a golden wedding band out of the pocket of his jacket closest to his heart and turns it in the dark glow of the bar. "Occasionally. Not all the time."
Well, now you feel like an asshole. You're still 50/50 on if the guy is just giving you a sob story to try and get to you or if he's just trying to move on from his dead wife. You can always poke the bear and figure it out, you suppose. You had already gotten multiple free drinks out of him if things go sour.
"You sure your wife didn't just leave you?"
James's mouth falls open in shock, shouting No! so loud people on the other side of the bar snap their heads in your direction. "She'd never. We… We loved each other."
Okay, maybe you were an asshole. He's doing a pretty good job keeping up appearances if he is lying, and the downright pitiful way his voice just cracked almost pulls at your heartstrings.
"Sorry," you say, voice so soft James strains to hear you over the buzz of people around you. "I just had to make sure. I don't want to come out of this a homewrecker."
James seems to pale at your words, as if the lengths of your age gap is finally catching up to him. Eyebrows furrowed, he mutters, "Why would you be a homewrecker?"
Then quieter, under his breath: "What the hell am I doing?"
He doesn't give you time to respond to what looks to be the beginnings of a mental spiral. "Look… I'm—I'm sorry for lashing out, kid. Here—" he flags down the same bartender from before. "You want another drink?"
"Only if you drink with me."
James sighs, eyelids squeezed shut, but eventually nods a single bob of his head. He's every bit the spitting image of a man in too deep to back out now. James downs nearly half of his drink in one go when it arrives before slowly turning to finally face you again. You take a swig of your own once he's facing you, eyes fluttering shut as it burns its way down your throat. You can't help but notice James's eyes are still glued to your throat when you open them again.
Your lips stretch into a smile you hope looks innocent enough before you look him dead in the eye and ask, "So, James. What brings you here tonight?"
This question seems to throw him for a loop. You aren't exactly hiding your attempts at disarming him, but James either hasn't noticed or just doesn't care enough to bring it up. The flush that settles on his cheeks goes beyond the rosy glow of being tipsy and you think you already have your answer before he even speaks.
"I wanted to… decompress," James eventually rasps out, all the while refusing to make eye contact with you.
That's certainly a way to put what he's after.
You hum, propping your elbow up on the bar and resting your head in your hand. "Decompress with a drink? Or are you looking for something else?"
James sputters, very nearly choking on his whiskey. His hand slams down on the bar and the sound of rattling glasses is muffled only by the music and chatter from nearby patrons. "What—what makes you think that I'm here for that?"
"Well," you say, leaning forward to straighten the fabric of his jacket's collar once he trails off. James stiffens under your touch, eyes flicking down to your hands that linger a bit too long to be appropriate. His Adam's apple bobs mere centimeters away from your fingers, the muscles in his neck cording as he swallows. "When you buy someone a drink—multiple, no less—they might get ideas, James..."
James still seems almost in disbelief at the fact that you're here with him, touching and flirting back with a man nearly two decades your senior. But really, with a face like that, how could you not? He's almost distractingly handsome with his strong, stubble-covered jaw and bright green eyes. In what world could he consider himself unworthy of your attention? It must be the whole dead wife thing, you suppose. That or he's still grappling with the fact that he's still attracted to someone as young as you.
He scrambles for a response, hands trembling as they come up in surrender. "I don't know what you're talking about," James eventually rasps out, and you can feel the rumble of his voice travel from deep within his chest where your hands rest near his throat.
You can only smile as you pat his scratchy cheek in response to that. "Sure."
James pulls himself out of your grasp with an exhale that almost sounds pained. He clearly needs a minute, and you don't want to scare him off. "I'm gonna head to the bathroom for a second, okay?"
Your voice drops to a hush as you lean closer to whisper into his ear, "You can either meet me in there, or I'll come right back after a few."
You watch over your shoulder as you retreat to the restroom. A smile tugs at your lips as you see James shoot you an unsure wave (one that you quickly return) before turning your attention back to navigating towards the bathroom. Several long minutes pass with you seeing neither hide nor hair of James, long enough for you to turn knocks at the door away multiple times over. Luring him into the bathroom isn't the most romantic of gestures, but you can't exactly say you're opposed to hooking up with a hot older man in a bathroom stall.
You're almost worried you'd overstepped when the fourth set of knocking comes; you're about to yell at them to go away through the door when a familiar low voice calls your name. Snapping to attention, you almost immediately swing the door open and usher James in. James presses his back against the door as you reach around him to lock it, as if putting as much distance possible between the two of you is enough to extinguish the burning tension simmering in the air.
So James had watched you long enough to see which restroom you'd stepped in to. Maybe you were making progress. He was here, after all, was he not?
James's voice cuts you off just as you're wordlessly reaching down to unbuckle his belt. "Why did you want me to follow?"
Brow furrowed, you glance up to make eye contact with the oblivious man before you. Well—you're not so sure if he's oblivious so much as willfully ignorant as to what's brewing between you. Still, you're left blinking owlishly up at him.
Your fingers finally settle on the smooth leather of his belt and the flush on his cheeks would make you laugh if the situation wasn't so ridiculous. James's hand reaches out to stop you in your tracks, and a heat settles in your gut as you realize just one of his trembling hands can completely encompass both of your own. Whether his body is wracked with shame or desire, you can't exactly say.
"Well, I was about to suck you off, so what do you think?"
James's eyebrows shoot so high in his shock they're nearly hidden in his hairline. His only response is to sputter, and you realize with a shiver that James's hand has tightened around yours. "I—here?"
You only shrug in response. "Is that not what you came here for?"
"I—no—look, kid I shouldn't. Not with someone so much younger than me."
The combination of that damn nickname and the booze working its magic has something dangerously hot thrumming through your body. Your head tilts in response, asking, "Have you not been flirting with me all night? Like I said, James. You buy someone that many drinks, you may as well have already asked them to come home with you."
"That wasn't flirting," he mutters, grip tightening around your wrist. There's a tone in his voice that almost reminds you of a scolding parent.
"James, if you're trying to fuck me, you really have to stop acting like a disapproving dad."
Perhaps it was mean of you to be so harsh just to see him squirm, but the way his eyes flutter shut in defeat only leaves you smiling in response.
One of your hands slowly slips from beneath James's own, coming to rest once more on his stubbled cheek. In a move that seems to surprise you both, James leans into your touch, turning to press his lips against the palm of your hand. Your grin only grows wider as his mouth falls open in shock, eyes wide and looking for any semblance of an excuse to shoot back at you. He quickly gives up once he sees your expression, pupils blown into black abysses and lips parted at the sight of him being so damn needy. James glances away, once again unable to make eye contact with you so close and clearly able to read him like a book.
The pad of your thumb strokes over his cheek, leaning so close James startles when he feels your breath ghost against his lips. Eyes half-lidded, you ask, "Do you wanna get out of here?"
James looks simultaneously relieved and terrified now that you've said the quiet part out loud. To his credit, he actually seems to wrestle with your offer before nodding a shaky jerk of his head yes. His hesitation is all in the way his brow furrows, Adam's apple bobbing when he inhales so sharply you can hear the air being sucked into his lungs. You can't seem to pull your eyes away from the way his index finger traces a bead of precipitation around the rim of his glass.
"There's a motel around the block," he finally says, snapping your attention from his hands back to his face.
You cover your mouth in faux offense at the word motel. "A motel, James, really? Fucking me like a low class whore tonight, it seems?"
You only want to toy with him, really, but the look that flashes across his face at your words has you dropping the act pretty quickly after his quick huff of laughter. There's something else in his expression too, something in the way his cheeks flush and pupils expand that tells you he doesn't exactly mind your teasing.
"Kid—" James calls out, quickly cutting himself off to instead murmur your name. "—I need to stop calling you that. But listen, I don't mean it like that. I just assumed you didn't want some random stranger all alone in your home, and I'm a few too many drinks in to drive us all the way back to mine."
His hand moves to cradle the one still resting against his face, a comforting warmth against your own. "I figured walking down the block was the best bet for both of us."
You supposed he does have a point. Laughing, your hand pokes at his cheek. "I was only teasing, James."
Thankfully, the older man seems to be relaxing in your presence the slightest bit. A quiet chuckle falls from his lips as he playfully swats your hand away, only to die in his throat when you twist your hand around to interlace your fingers with his. James very nearly smiles at the contact before it quickly falls from his face, a frown weighing down the corners of his lips. You can see the conflict still warring behind his eyes, and quickly rise to your feet and squeeze his hand in an attempt to pull him from his thoughts. You assume what he's grappling with is either something to do with his wife or the age difference. Maybe even both.
You unlock the door behind James, holding it open for him to step back out into the bar. Your trace the outline of his form with your eyes, silhouetted by the dim lights of the bar. While James still looks as if one wrong word could send him to tears, he seems resigned to what's about to go down between the two of you.
Eventually your gaze lands on your still joint hands lingering by his belt. With a smile, you gently tug him in the direction of the exit.
"Well, big guy," you say, voice lilting. "Where's this motel you're so keen on showing me?"
James gently tugs you in the direction of the motel he has in mind, and you think you catch a hint of a smile on his flushed cheeks at your decided upon nickname for him. At the first sight of a shiver wracking your body, he pulls you tight against his side. The heat that radiates off of him almost immediately seeps into your bones, and you relax into his side despite the still lingering tension.
You figure you may as well bite the bullet.
"Have you… done this? Since her?"
James very nearly stumbles over himself at your question. He clears his throat, hand tightening against your side. "Done what?"
Your eyes narrow at him. "Fucked someone, James."
His free hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, gaze heavy as he pulls it away from you and shakes his head no. James seems to sag beneath the weight of his confession, as if what he's doing with you is an unshakeable presence on his shoulders. "No. I haven't."
You slow to a standstill, yanking James back as he tries to move past the conversation. The sidewalk is mostly empty now, though you still pull him beneath an alcove out of the way of any passersby. Turning James to face you, you slip from his grasp. His hand trails after your presence, lingering in the newfound space between the two of you before eventually falling back to his side.
"You didn't think this was important to mention?"
James very nearly jumps out of his skin at that. "No! Of course it's important. I—I just didn't want to…" His hands clench at his sides as he looks for the words. "I didn't want to put any pressure on you… Or make you feel as if you had to do anything special for me."
When his eyes open, you're so close he could count every single one of your eyelashes if he had the time. A shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of your breath brushing across his lips. James's bright green eyes, lined with dark circles, settle on your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" you ask, rocking forward on the balls of your feet. Gingerly, your hands rest on his shoulders to pull him down towards your height.
Swallowing, his eyes flutter shut once more. He nods after a moment of deliberation. You get the sinking feeling that he wouldn't have said yes if his eyes were open and he had to face the tangible proof of his actions, most notably you standing before him.
James's lips are chapped when you lean up to press against them. Unmoving, too, at least for the first few seconds, though you swear you can hear him gasp. He huffs out a sigh against your lips, rough hand cupping your cheek. He's so warm, warm against your lips, your cheek, where you're pressed chest to chest.
A swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip leaves him groaning, and you push forward to suck his tongue into your mouth. James shudders at the feeling, crowding you backwards until your back hits the rough brick wall behind you. Your hand slides up to tangle in his hair just as you feel one of his long-fingered hands slide down your hip. A knee slots between your legs and you're all too eager to spread them so you can roll your hips down against him.
There's a small, desperate part of you that almost wants to drag him into the alley to your left and go at him like a crazed animal, but you aren't particularly keen on getting charged for public indecency. You linger near his mouth once you pull away, breathing in the same sharp breaths of air as him.
"James," you huff out, wiping away the spit that still lingers in the corner of your mouth. "Take me to that motel now before we get arrested because I take you back there," you say with a quick tilt of your head towards the alley.
A small smile twitches at the corners of James's lips despite the embarrassed flush on his cheeks, eyes open wide in shock. It's almost as if he can't believe he managed to pull such a reaction out of you.
"Okay," he rasps out, though it takes a second for him to muster up the wherewithal to pull away from you.
You straighten your outfit out before accepting his offered arm, hand resting on his forearm and drawing idle shapes against the inside of his wrist as he guides you to the motel with a newfound urgency. The slick feeling between your thighs has you picking up your pace as well, eager to get out of the autumn chill even with James's wandering hands all over you. Your destination is immediately recognizable by the blinking letters spelling out VACANCY in all caps, and you're so relieved you almost collapse into James at the sight.
He glances through the glass entrance doors before holding them open for you, scanning the room. There's a brief moment where you second guess this whole thing—had he been checking to make sure he wasn't seen with you? Thankfully, most of your anxiety fades away with the speed at which he drags you to the front counter. You're suddenly grateful for the absence of people in the room besides the reception; you'd do anything right now to get into a private place with him fast.
Before you can even ask about how you're handling splitting the costs of the room, James pulls out his wallet and slaps a card down. You can't hold back your pleased laugh at his eagerness, and the receptionist's shocked expression only serves to make things worse for you. James lets out a quiet amused huff, ears tinged pink when you glance at him from the corner of your eye.
The receptionist rings him up with a bored expression before handing the keys over. You grab them with your free hand before he can, already having noticed the tremors in his hand from where your arms are linked. James shoots you a grateful little smile, and with that you both make your way to your room.
James is very nearly trailing behind you by the time you get to your room, his earlier excitement seemingly having faded into trepidation once more. You figure the reality of the situation is catching up to him now, but you have the feeling he'd rather deal with it in the privacy of your room than in front of potential onlookers. Gently, you steer him into the room.
His pretty green eyes are glued to the floor now, and something in your chest feels like it might crack. "James?" you call, voice soft. "You alright?"
He only hums under his breath, eyes squeezed shut. Guilt immediately gnaws a hole through your body, blood running cold. It's almost sobering, this wave of clarity that hits you. "We don't have to do anything, if you don't want this, James."
Under different circumstances, saying those words to someone so much older than you would leave you laughing.
James's gaze snaps up with a frantic shake of his head no. "That's the problem," he murmurs, voice cracking on the first word. "I want this. I want you so bad it hurts, and I—I don't know what to do with that anymore."
"Are you sure?" you ask, hand reaching out to rest on his cheek. "I won't be… offended, or anything, if this is too much."
Brows furrowed, your eyes follow the slide of tears running wet tracks down his cheeks and catching on your hand. James inhales another stuttering breath, voice shaky when he says, "It's not. I want this."
I want this is sounding more like a reassurance than a statement, but you can't exactly argue when his lips are pressing so intently against yours. You relax into the kiss even as the taste of salty tears invades your mouth. James shudders when you bite at his bottom lip, and the low whimper that hits your ears might be what it sounds like at the gates of heaven.
There's a stringy bit of saliva connecting you when you part for air, broken only by the swipe of your tongue against your lips. James rests his forehead against yours, panting against your face as he takes you in. You grin shakily at him and swipe your thumb against his cheek, wiping tears from his despondent face.
"You're sure about this?" you ask once more.
"Yes," James chokes out.
You move to take your costume's headband off, throwing it somewhere across the room with a little smile. Your hands slide under the warm material of James's jacket until you reach his shoulders and can move to push it off of his frame. The offensive green jacket falls and gives you a brief glimpse at his gray button up before you're pulling him down into another tear-stained kiss.
You work at the buttons of his shirt as you open your mouth for him, sucking at his lip before licking at his tongue. His entire body trembles beneath your touch even as he leans into it, pressing himself against you so close you struggle to finish unbuttoning him. Your hand lingers at the bottom of his shirt, so close to the tent in his pants he lets out a pleased little noise when you brush against it.
James's hands stop you once you pull away to take your top off, shaking his head. "Can… can you keep it on?" he pants, grinding himself into your hip with a groan.
You glance down at yourself and the black latex of your nurse costume with a laugh. "You got a thing for nurses, James?"
He shudders at your tone of voice, and though he shakes his head no you both know it's a lie.
"I can keep it on," you say, bringing his face closer for another quick kiss.
Instead of attempting to take the rest of your clothes off, you sit back on the bed and get to work unlacing your boots. James looks confused for a moment before dropping to his knees and pushing your hands away so he can deal with the task of removing your shoes.
"Thanks," you practically purr. You could get used to the view of James on his knees before you. "Couldn't exactly take my underwear off with these clunky things on."
James's breath shudders at your words, hips moving of their own accord to press against your leg. He looks mortified with himself and goes to move away until you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. James fucking whines at the feeling, grinding jerky motions into you, and who are you to deny him?
You yank his head back after a moment, licking your lips at the sight of his bared throat. "As much as I'd love to see you come apart humping my leg," you start, free hand coming up to rub at the stubble of his cheek, "I do want you inside me tonight."
You realize the tears are back in James's eyes once he's looking directly up at you, slowly trailing from the corners of his eyes into his hairline at the angle you hold his head at. Whether they're in pleasure or shame you can't say, but the sight of his reddening eyes and hiccuping breath leaves a knot tightening in your stomach either way.
He nods finally, continuing to work his way down your half-laced boot. You lift your leg to help him pull it off and watch as his eyes immediately slip to the new skin under your skirt exposed by the new angle. Shit, James might even be looking at your cunt. The underwear you had chosen for tonight had to be skimpy lest they show through the exposed sides of your skirt, and you know for a fact that what little material there was is already soaked through.
James makes quick work of your other boot, going through the same process as before when pulling it from your foot. This time, though, he holds your leg up and continues staring up under your skirt. Wiping his tears, you coo at him, "You wanna take those off for me, too?"
As if waiting for you to ask, James nods so eagerly it's as if you just asked him if he wanted a million dollars. "Yes," he pants, leaning into your touch on his cheek. "God, yes, please let me."
You pat his cheek before nodding, and he moves like a man possessed. A hand comes up to rest on your hips, lifting them as the other shakily slides beneath your skirt. James fumbles with the fabric for a moment before finally hooking his fingers over the top and yanking them down your legs in one go.
James brings the soaked through fabric up to his face, breathing in the scent of you with a moan. He shoots a hand out to palm at his still clothed cock, rocking up into himself. "I need to taste you," he croaks out, dropping your underwear from his face and placing his hands on your knees to spread them apart. "Please, please let me taste you."
Well, how could you say no to that?
The second you nod, James shoves himself under your skirt. He has to slide up the skin tight fabric to make room for himself and you gasp at the feeling of his breath against your center. A finger runs up through your folds, slow and thick, immediately followed by his tongue. Your hands bury in his sandy hair, pulling him flush against your cunt at the feeling of his stubble scratching your thighs. He responds by taking your clit into his mouth and sucking, circling it with his tongue as your thighs tremble.
Every noise you make, every tug of his hair, leaves James whining against you. He slides down, nose pressed flush against your clit, to lap at your hole. James's hands bounce you against his face from their position on your hips, tongue fucking deeper and deeper into your cunt. It's only when you feel him circling you with a finger that you realize how dangerously close you are to finishing. He slips his pointer finger into you and your thighs squeeze so tight around his head you hear him gasp in shock.
James fucks you open slow and deep, lapping at your clit as he slips another finger alongside the first. He curls them inside you, pressing right against your velvet insides in a way that has your vision going black around the edges. The knot in your stomach from before tightens once more, snapping under the toe-curling pressure as you cum with his name on your tongue.
"James," you pant, hips jerkily moving to meet the motion of his fingers still fucking into you. "You're s-so good. Feel so, so good."
The sound he makes at your praise nearly leaves you wondering if he'd finished with you.
You have to pull him from your spasming pussy by his hair, seeing as he seemed content to continue probing at you long after your orgasm had passed.
James's face is coated with a layer of your slick when he reappears from between your legs, the remnants of you shiny across his face. He drags his fingers across the side of his face to slide some of your essence into his mouth with a groan, sucking on the fingers he'd just had buried inside of you so hard his cheeks hollow.
You pull James up into a kiss by his jaw, and he leans into your touch readily. His tongue is heady with your taste as he moans into your mouth, hips stuttering as he rolls and grinds down against you. Your hand slides down his front, and the keening noise he makes when your hand lands on his belt has your toes curling once more.
You click your tongue in sympathy when you feel how much he's straining against his jeans. "Is that not painful?" you ask, dragging a finger up his clothed cock as he shudders.
"It's… not comfortable, for sure," James grits out, grinding up against your hand. You have a feeling he'd be all too eager to cum in his pants if it weren't for the fact that you'd said you wanted him inside of you. It's endearing how desperately he's been seeking out your approval since you got into the room—you aren't quite sure you've ever been with someone so eager to please before.
"Please," James begs, voice low and shameful as you unbuckle his belt with a metallic clank. "Please. Can I—can I fuck you now?"
Before you can nod, James continues, hips rolling against you. "I've—shit—been thinking about this since I saw you," he confesses. You let out a whine as he spreads your legs further apart with those warm hands, pathetically grinding into your cunt. "You and that damn costume. I was sitting at that bar half-hard the whole night," he chuckles under his breath. "No wonder I acted like such a damn fool. There wasn't any blood left in my brain to function."
You finally manage to wrangle the button of his jeans open and he lets out a satisfied hiss. His zipper follows immediately after and soon enough you can feel the weight of him against you once he reaches a hand down to situate himself.
"Condom," you gasp out, sliding your cunt over his leaking cock. James nods from his position above you, bangs tickling your forehead, but only manages to pull back after a few shaky thrusts through your glistening folds.
He scrambles for his wallet, digging through his pockets like a mad man. With trembling hands, he forces the worn leather thing open and pulls out a foiled wrapper. You have to steady his hands with your own to help open the thing, and the sight would almost be sweet if you weren't so desperate to get fucked. You quickly slide the condom over his leaking cock, giving it a few quick tugs before falling back against the mattress. Your legs hook around his hips, pulling him flush against you.
James's head hangs low, staring down at you. It's not hard to read the war of conflicting emotions written all over his face, even in your current state. He wants this, that much is obvious, but you begin to doubt yourself when his eyes flutter shut and more tears flow. You reach up to wipe his face clean in what you hope is a comforting gesture, and when he opens his eyes something akin to determination washes over his face.
Slowly, he reaches a hand down to guide himself inside of you. He's hardly pushed more than the head in when his entire body tenses, breathing out an overwhelmed gasp that sounds like it's caught somewhere between pleasure and pain as you accommodate to the stretch of him inside of you.
"You can move, James," you half plead, batting your eyelashes up at him in an attempt to convince him.
"I can't," he grits out, and you're about to ask why when it clicks. You aren't quite sure how it didn't until now, but the way his entire body is tensed and he had to force himself not to move would have been enough to clue you in if it weren't for the warm haze currently settled over your mind. Not wanting to cut things short, you reach a hand up to run through his hair. Though James shudders all the same, you suppose it's the better option between that and the instinct to roll your hips and force him to move.
James relaxes after what feels like an eternity, though you can't exactly say you blame him considering he apparently hasn't gotten any action in awhile. He gives a tentative roll of his hips, sinking deeper into you with a sigh. James is thicker than you had thought, though with how wet you are the stretch only has your eyes rolling in pleasure. Your heels dig into his back, forcing James deeper until you can feel the coarse hairs at the base of his cock brush against you.
His rhythm is shaky at first, unsure, as if one wrong move might shatter the illusion of you in front of him.
"You—you feel so good," James pants, rutting into your soaked cunt. His broken whimper cuts through the air so loud you're certain any surrounding rooms will know exactly what's going on. "So tight. So wet."
It's only when you cant your hips up to chase after him that he begins to seem more sure of himself, hands gripping your sides tighter to pull you back onto his cock. The pace James settles into isn't a rough one, but it's thorough, and manages to hit a spot deep inside you with every thrust that has you inching your way towards a second orgasm. Wet noises fill the room with every thrust, echoing off the walls as you feel your slick slide down your thighs with James's movement.
You aren't her, but you feel like her, he realizes. James knows it's unfair to compare the two of you; the thought makes something sour curdle in his gut even as he tries to push it away. Arousal shines through the shame for now and in its place he's left whining into your neck as tears burn in his eyes.
You can't exactly say the feeling of his tears against your skin doesn't excite you.
A thought hits you unbidden, and you're acting on it before you can stop yourself.
Pulling James's head from where it's buried in your neck, you turn him to face you. In an action so sudden it shocks you both, your tongue drags its way up the tears lining his cheeks, from his stubbly jaw up to the apples of his cheeks. James goes stock still inside you, and for a moment you're scared that was too much. That you'd pushed him too far and ruined this for the both of you.
Any reservations you may have held are quickly wiped away when James whimpers his way through a whole body shiver, hips slamming back up into yours with a desperation even greater than before. Tears continue to fall and his body still heaves, but the debauched noises falling from his lips only spur you on more. You lave at his face despite the uncomfortable drag of your tongue against his stubble, groaning at the salty taste of tears.
Hips rising to meet his thrusts, you drag a hand down your body to feverishly rub at your clit. That little bit of stimulation is all you need to push you over the mind numbing edge; the sound of you finishing for a second time and the feeling of your cunt tightening around James is more than enough to finish him off, too. You just barely hear the cry of your name over the rush of blood in your ears, James slumping forward to collapse against you with his entire weight.
"Thank you," he cries, hips still rutting into you, carrying you both through the aftershocks of your orgasms. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you so much."
You lay there panting, comforted by the weight of him on top of you. James once again buries his face in your neck and lets out a sob and all you're able to do in response is cradle him against you. The shaking of his body against you is a near constant reminder of his cock still stuffed in your oversensitive cunt whenever he shifts.
"James," you coo, trailing a hand down his back. "Are you alright?"
His only response at first is a bob of his head against you. Eventually, once the heat and uncomfortable stickiness of your joint bodies becomes too much, he extracts himself from you with a sigh. Once James has tied off the condom and stumbled his way back to bed, he lands face first against the mattress.
If the way he'd avoided looking your way on the way back to bed is anything to go off of, you're almost certain he can't bear to look at you anymore. The thought has that same sobering coldness seeping through your body like before; the post-sex haze lifts from your mind and heavy limbs almost immediately.
Still, James is obviously having some sort of breakdown. It feels wrong to just get up and leave him to his own devices. You turn on your side to face him, reaching a hand out to run your fingers through his hair. It's soft and still smells of his shampoo under the more potent scent of sweat and sex, you realize.
Eventually, James cocks his head to the side to look over at you with watery eyes. "I'm sorry," he says, lip trembling. "I'm so, so sorry."
Brow furrowing, you ask, "For what, James? For crying? I can't say I didn't enjoy it, as sick as that sounds."
James's cheeks flush at that, and he glances away sheepishly as you continue.
"But the sex was good—even though it was a bit more involved than I typically get with hookups. But you're hot, and eat pussy like a man starved. I have no complaints."
James nods tentatively after a moment of deliberation. "I just—you're too good to be tainted by the touch of someone like me," he says, finally looking you in the eye again in an attempt to drive his point home.
You laugh at that, so loud James almost looks scared when he stares up at you with wide eyes and an open mouth. "Need I remind you that I approached you first? Sure, you bought me a drink, but I actively sought you out."
"You deserve someone… not me."
Dragging your hand from the back of his head down to his cheek, you give him a comforting pat on the cheek. James leans into the touch despite himself, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist and looking at you with such reverence it nearly takes your breath away.
"James," you whine, leaning in so close your noses brush. You know what this is about—not only is he grappling with the guilt of sleeping with someone after the death of his wife, but the whole age thing surely plays a part, too. While you can't exactly help him with the first problem, you can at least reassure him on your decision to sleep with him. "I might be younger than you, but I am still an adult. Old enough to drink, old enough to make my own decisions. I may have joked about it back at the bar, but I have no qualms about sleeping with someone older than me."
"I'll even let you in on a little secret," you say, dragging your nose up his cheek until your lips are hovering by his ear. James's cheeks flush as your voice drops lower to whisper, "You calling me kid is what got me so wet in the first place."
James looks as if he might pass out at your confession. The tension slowly leaves his face until he's chuckling under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "I'll remember that for next time, kid."
You cock an eyebrow at him, smiling as you ask, "Oh? There's gonna be a next time, is there?"
James looks mortified until he sees the smile on your face. He shoves at your shoulder playfully, face still hot as he confesses, "Well… I was going to ask for your number after this."
Cheeks aching from your smile, you shake your head and say, "I suppose I can give it to you then, big guy."