The ice clinks in the tall glass as she absentmindedly stirs her Fleur de Lis, the red liquid glowing under the lights. Perched on a stool at the end of the bar, she sits primly, legs crossed at the ankles, watching the snowflakes fall outside through the huge floor-to-ceiling window of the guest lounge. It's late and most guests have retired to their rooms for the night after a hard day on the slopes. She, however, has just finished her shift and is still wide-awake, albeit incredibly bored.
A cool breeze and a heavy thud draw her attention to the reception. A slightly disheveled young man is leaning on the counter waiting to check in, his collection of bags strewn around him. His torn black skinny jeans hang off his waist, and as he bends to rummage through his backpack, reveals maybe just a little too much.
She crinkles her nose as an array of trash is emptied from his bag - Red Bull cans, No Doze packets and an array of fast food wrappers - before he stands upright again, clutching a crumbled piece of paper triumphantly. He's clearly pulled an all-nighter to get here. Interesting. She props an elbow on the bar, draws a long sip of her drink, and leans her chin on the back of her hand as she watches him complete his check in.
Leaving his mess behind at reception, he saunters over to the bar, removing his black beanie (curiously, with kitty ears) to reveal a mop of dirty blond hair. And although the bags under his eyes indicate he has barely slept in days, the lopsided grin on his face says he's not ready for bed…yet.
He spots the girl sitting at the far end of the bar and gives her the once over. She's leaning on one elbow as she jabs at the ice in her drink with her straw, dark wavy hair hiding most of her face. Her dark blue dress with elbow length sleeves hugs her body nicely, hemline ending conservatively just above her knees. He drops his gaze to her legs tucked neatly under her seat and notes seams running up her calves. Interesting. He taps his fingers on the counter as he looks around for the barkeep as he greedily eyes the array of bottles on display.
"Any chance of a drink?" he calls out, in the hope that someone's out the back.
"The bartender's knocked off for the night," she tells him, over her shoulder.
"I see you've still got one," he sniffs.
She turns her head to glance over at him. "Connections," she replies dryly.
He drags his fingers along the countertop as he stalks towards her before flashing her a cheeky grin. "Maybe you could hook me up then?"
She holds eye contact for a moment and returns to stabbing at her drink. "Sorry, I don't do hook-ups with people I don't know, Mister-?"
"Clemmensen. Andy Clemmensen," he says as he leans against the bar to her right. She swivels on her seat to face him and looks down at his outstretched palm, noting his spindly knobby fingers. Works with his hands, she muses as she places hers in his to shake. He pulls her in closer, tilting his head her right ear, and lowers his voice an octave, "But you can call me Randy. Randy Cummensen."
She quickly extricates her hand from his grip. "Oh, I don't think I'll be calling you at all," she says, with a raised eyebrow, "Mr. Clemmensen." She bids him goodnight with a curt nod and gets up to leave.
"Wait," he says, catching her by the elbow as she moves to brush past him. "What about you?"
She lets out an exaggerated sigh and turns back towards him. She had no real intention of actually leaving anyway; she's having entirely too much fun with this repartee and the glint in his eye says it's just getting started.
"What about me?"
"Do you have a name?" he asks, sliding his hand down her forearm causing goosebumps to prick up on her skin in the process.
She looks down at his hand holding her fingertips and nods. "I do."
"Which is…?" he asks, gesturing with his free hand for her to elaborate.
She looks back up at him, scanning his face. He's quite attractive, she concedes, even if he is dressed a bit like a hobo. His strong, angular features are accentuated by slight stubble along his jaw. His hair is ruffled and hangs down messily in front of icy blue eyes. There's a tiny indent just under his lip on the left, indicating that he has removed (or lost?) a piercing recently. He appears almost nervous under her scrutiny, his eyes flickering back and forth between hers as he awaits a response. She chews her lip for a second, choosing her words carefully.
"Most people just call me M," she says measuredly, "but you, Mr. Clemmensen, can call me Mae." She smirks at the puzzled look on his face, waiting for the penny to drop.
"Aha," he grins. "Nice." He raises the back of her hand to his lips. "Now that we're acquainted, how's about that hook up?"
Her eyes widen and she blushes slightly but then remembers, "Oh yes, your drink."
His eyes follow her as she makes her way 'round to the other side of the bar. Mae-Em. Ha, as if. In her plain dress with its high neckline, complete with a tiny silver rabbit pin, she looks about as straight-laced as they come. It would be a great pleasure to defile that. On the other hand, subtle details hint at bolder side: the seamed stockings for one, her tightly cinched waist another. Not mention the innuendo-laced replies escaping her ruby red lips…
"So, Mr. Clemmensen, how can I service you?" she asks, interrupting his thoughts.
He pauses for a second. Did she just say what he thought she said? "Ahh…" he begins, eyes darting side to side, as a stream of potential ways she could service him flow through his mind. That lopsided grin slowly reappears.
"Sex on the Beach, please," he quips.
Mae looks at him pointedly.
"Have you forgotten where you are?" she asks, jerking her head to the expanse of glass behind him, where the snow is still falling outside.
His face falls.
"Slippery nipple?" he asks hopefully.
"Ha! Not likely," she laughs and Andy pops his bottom lip, pouting like a child. "Out of Sambuca," she shrugs.
"Alright then, I suppose I'll just have a Jack and coke."
She rewards his more sensible choice with a smile, grabs a short glass off the rack and loads it with ice. He spots the old-fashioned glass coke bottles stacked at the bottom of the fridge behind her and smirks to himself.
"But none of that pre-mixed crap. I want the real stuff," he says, pointing to the lowest shelf.
"Ok," she says sweetly.
Opening the glass door, she slowly, deliberately, bends at the waist to reach the beverage. He leans forward on the counter top and allows his eyes to roam freely over her derrière. The fabric stretches tightly across her shapely ass and accentuates the curve of her hips. She can feel his eyes on her and smiles to herself.
"Oh! It's only just been restocked, the cold ones are at the back," she says, reaching further into the fridge, causing her dress to hike up and the split in the back to open to reveal the lacy tops of her stockings.
He readjusts himself slightly and quickly sits back in his seat as she stands up, but can't help grinning like a Cheshire cat. Mae pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, resisting the urge to return his smile and focuses instead on fixing his drink. He has a mouthful then licks his lips suggestively. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
She turns her back on him, placing her hands on her hips as she scans the display. She's in need another drink, to quell the heat that has started between her legs and is threatening to spread throughout her body. She spots the raspberry liqueur she had out earlier and a devious idea crosses her mind.
He watches as she sets about mixing herself a drink, scooping ice into a cocktail shaker before pouring in one part Chambord, two parts Baileys, and milk. While her back is turned, he takes the opportunity to slip around to her side of the bar. She jumps as he sidles up next to her.
"Oh! You're sneaky," she chastises.
"Like a fox," he winks. "I need another drink."
"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a knot," she says, as she begins to vigorously shake her drink.
"Reckon I could get your knickers in a knot," he says, waggling his eyebrows.
"Oh. You," she sighs in exasperation, "just be patient."
"I'm not known for my patience."
"Good things come to those who wait," she promises. She strains the concoction into a martini glass and dips her little finger into her drink.
"So, what are you known for then, Mr. Clemmensen?" she asks, slowly sucking on the tip of her finger.
"Besides my roguish good looks and irresistible charm, you mean?"
"Of course," she indulges him.
He places both hands onto the counter behind him and leans back, and looks down. Her eyes follow his gaze and are immediately drawn to his crotch jutting out from the bench.
"My massive cock."
"Massive cock-iness, more like," she scoffs, turning her back on him once more to grab a selection of liqueurs to mix him a fresh drink. Blue curacao, Malibu and peach schnapps and a dash of lemon juice are quickly transformed into a line of shots.
"What are you giving me here?" he asks, peering suspiciously at the lurid blue concoction.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," she says mysteriously.
"Ok, fine. Tell me, what have you got over there, then?" he asks, eyeing her drink.
She takes a sip of her cocktail, and then sets it down on the counter top next to him. She places her right hand on his shoulder, stroking the velvety fabric lightly.
"You want to know what I have?" she asks, looking up at him with big blue eyes behind dark lashes.
He nods, taking a tentative sip. It's sweet but also slightly tarty.
"I have," she says, balancing on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "a Wet Pussy."
Andy just about chokes on his drink. Mae grabs her glass and steps back, smiling wickedly as she sips her cocktail.
"My drink, that's what it's called."
He chases his speechlessness with another shot.
"Oh, oh is that so?" he asks, having regained his composure. "Maybe I can have a taste later?"
"You can have a taste right now, if you like."
She takes another mouthful of her drink and swipes her pink tongue across her crimson lips, grinning at him devilishly as she steps closer, daring him to take her at her word. She reaches past him to place the glass on the counter behind, deliberately brushing her body against him as she does so.
With her hands on his broad shoulders for balance, she rises onto the balls of her feet and pokes out her tongue, mere inches from his face. It's like a red flag to a bull, and he quickly grabs her by the waist and latches onto it with his lips, sucking hard. She pulls her head back slightly, tongue retreating before granting him full access to her mouth. Eagerly, he probes her mouth, savouring the flavours of her raunchily named cocktail. She tastes like raspberries and cream and he moans softly in delight.
If he wasn't rock hard from their tete-a-tete before, he definitely is now, the bulge evident as her pelvis presses into his groin. His obvious excitement turns her on and she grinds against him as they continue to explore each other's mouths.
Suddenly, she breaks their kiss and looks him square in the eye. "You know," she whispers, "that's not quite what I had in mind."
He swiftly hoists her by the waist and spins, planting her up on the counter. "No, me neither," he growls, pressing his body between her knees, forcing them apart. He yanks her by the calves, her ass sliding forward on the silk lining of her dress, causing the hem to ride well up her thighs, exposing the red garters that hold up her stockings. He gazes at them appreciatively for a moment, sucking on the corner of his bottom lip.
Leaning in, he buries his head against her neck, lightly licking and nibbling his way to her exposed clavicles as his fingertips slowly trace the seams up her calves, starting at the ankles. She kicks out involuntarily when he reaches the backs of her knees. He smirks at this before bringing his hands over her knees to continue their ascent of her legs. He spreads his hands across her thighs and slides them agonizingly slowly upward, intent on teasing her as much as she has teased him all night.
Running her hands over his broad shoulders and down his chest, she revels in the feeling of his strong body wrapped in plushness of his jacket. Her hands find the zip tab and drag it down. Her fingers follow the raw edge of his t-shirt, tracing a long, ragged curve along his smooth skin from collarbone to collarbone.
She tilts her head back as his assault on her neck continues, nuzzling his way back up towards her left ear. Her breathing hitches when his calloused fingertips begin to brush over the exposed flesh of her thighs. With every minute movement, her heart rate quickens, blood coursing through her, insides clenching in anticipation. She begins to tighten her grip on the neckline of his shirt, an urge to tear it down the center overwhelmingly strong. She's just about to do so, when his fingers finally graze the edge of her knickers, and she freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, waiting to see what will happen next. Her shoulders slump slightly in disappointment as his fingertips follow the trim around to the sides.
Impulsively, she rips his shirt anyway and runs her hands all over his naked torso. It's firm and warm and soft and smooth, save for the snail trail starting at his navel and disappearing into his jeans. She lets out as gasp as his thumbs slide over the satiny material - precisely at the same moment his lips reaches the sensitive spot behind her left ear. He traces lazy figure-eights around her nub, and enthused by her wiggling and squirming, sucks harder on her neck, which elicits a deep groan. She flattens her palms against his chest and pushes him away. He looks back at her in confusion, his hands still positioned over her sex. "Don't you dare mark me," she warns.
He simply grins back at her and swipes his thumb again, pressing the damp fabric into her folds and causing her to throw her head back in pleasure. "Ok, I won't mark you… visibly."
Hooking his fingers into the sides, he quickly divests her of her panties. Stuffing the scrap of fabric into his pocket, he drops to his knees in front of her, thankful for the rubber safety matting on the floor of the bar. Throwing her legs over his shoulders, he begins to plant kisses along the insides of her thighs, the intensity of which increase as he works his way along them. It's inevitable that he will leave bruises, but any concern she had about this is quickly wiped from her mind as he reaches his target and runs his tongue up her center.
She winds her fingers through his hair, twisting it in knots as he alternates the pressure on her taut bead. Her fingernails scrape his scalp as he continues to tease her mercilessly, flicking his tongue and working her into a right state. Teetering on the edge, she bends her left leg and rests her foot on his shoulder. Her kitten heel digs into the soft flesh of the joint but he ignores, no, relishes the pain. She swings her right arm behind her for support, knocking her glass. It slides across the bench top and smashes into the sink loudly.
"Oh shit!" she exclaims, partly in response to the noise but mostly due to his ministrations.
"Is everything alright, Ms M?" a voice calls out from reception.
Mae kicks Andy away from her, putting all her weight on his shoulder as she leaps off the counter. This time it just hurts. "The fuck?" he exclaims in shock. She glares at him and raises a finger to her lips to shush him.
"Yes, yes," she calls out. "Everything's fine. Just dropped a glass is all."
She checks her watch. It's late. Or is early? Either way, the cleaning crew will be coming through soon. She hurriedly smooths down her dress and looks down at him. He's still on his knees, sitting back as he rubs at his right shoulder. His torn grey shirt hangs limply across his body, the umbrella print split in two. She holds out her hand to him.
"You've had your taste. Now it's time for bed," she says, helping him to his feet.
He grins as he slips his arms around her waist, pulling her in closely. "Show me to my room?" he murmurs, his hot breath tickling her ear.
She trails her index finger down his bare chest. The offer sure is tempting. She runs her fingers along the waistband of his jeans gently, then grabs him by the crotch.
"You're a big boy," she says, squeezing firmly for emphasis. "I'm sure you'll manage to take care of yourself."
His mouth forms a silent 'O' and she slips out of his clutches easily. Admiring her handiwork as she backs out of the bar, she taps the counter where his last two shots sit and grins.
"Enjoy your Blue Balls, Mr Clemmensen."
~xOx~