First Date

Michael drove to work with eager anticipation on Friday. His sleep had been full of erotic dreams, of an impossibly sultry Erica, willing, lustful and pliant. He found himself hugely erect as he arrived in his parking place and dawdled in the car, thinking about baseball until he could safely go inside.

Erica came in late, muttering about mechanics and cars, but with a lightning flash of a smile for Michael as she hung up her coat. "Sleep well?" she asked.

"Not too bad," he deadpanned.

"That's good, you need to make sure you get the proper rest."

"That sounds like an 'old man' shot," he smiled.

"You didn't seem so old last night," she grinned, patting his hand.

"Didn't feel so old, either."

She looked at him appraisingly, one eyebrow raised. "No. No you didn't," she replied softly.

The day went by quickly, Michael feeling a steady intoxication with Erica's scent and nearness. Several times he caught her smiling at him.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being teased?" he asked.

"Because you are. Don't try to tell me you aren't enjoying it."

"Immensely," he laughed.

At the end of the day Michael drove home with anticipation fluttering in his belly. He showered, thinking of her kiss, and dressed, thinking of her scent. He drove to pick her up, thinking of the sheen of her hair. He tried to tell himself not to raise his hopes unrealistically but could not succeed.

Erica answered her door in a short tight blue dress covered by a long coat she wore open. She greeted him with a peck on the cheek and a smiled thanks for holding the car door open for her. They drove to the pub, making the most minimal of small talk. To Michael, she seemed nervous, perhaps having second thoughts about the evening.

At the pub they found a corner table, dark and out of the way of the pool players. When their drinks came, they tapped glasses and sipped, smiling at each other.

"Thanks for driving me home last night," she smiled.

"Thanks for kissing me."

"Hmmmmm. Thanks for kissing back."

"It's the least a gentleman could do."

"So you're a gentleman?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not."

"I like that. It's good to be flexible."

"What about you, are you flexible?" he smiled and raised his glass.

"In more ways than one, Mr. Rourke."

"That sounds intriguing. Tell me more."

"It's not the kind of thing you can tell. It's something you have to see for yourself."

"That's even more intriguing." He leaned forward, smiling.

"I knew you'd say that." She touched the tip of his nose with a cool finger.

"Keep this up, and you're going to get me all excited."

"That was the point," she smiled, looking at him from under her lashes as she sipped her drink.

"And then?"

"That's up to you. A girl can only do so much."

He touched her chin, lifting her face and kissed her softly. She sighed and leaned into the kiss, her lips gentle against his, her tongue a hot probe. When they parted he saw the familiar smile on her lips, her eyes sparkling at him.

"Want to go?" he asked.

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Rourke," she simpered, widening her eyes in mock innocence. He stood, and reaching for her wrist, pulled her to her feet. He picked up her coat from a chair and tossed a bill on the table, steering her towards the door. She leaned against him, bumping her hip against his as they walked.

At the car he opened the door for her, but before she could get in he pulled her to him, kissing her with a greedy savagery that surprised him. Even more surprising was her reaction, wrapping one heel behind his leg, holding his neck tightly and pulling him to her, her other hand between them fondling his growing hardness. She broke the kiss suddenly, panting slightly.

"Take me home," she husked at him. "Your home."

Later, Michael remembered little of the drive except the scent of her beside him and the thickening excitement rising in him. At his building he parked underground and they walked towards the elevator, her heels clicking on the concrete. Waiting for the elevator they were once again in each other's arms, lips and hands exploring.

Inside the elevator he pushed her against the wall, kissing and stroking her. Her hands fondled him, stroked his hardened shaft as it strained against his pants. Their breath came in short gasps and murmured whispers of joyful encouragement. He slid his hand under her dress, stroking her inner thigh and felt her spread her legs to help him. Her hands fumbled with his zipper, trying to free him.

When the elevator door opened at his floor they almost fell out in their urgency. He pulled her along the hall, scrabbled with his key and pushed the door open, dragging her in with him. Both of them frantic, her coat half off, his belt undone and pants unzipped, her dress tugged above her hips, exposing a thong so tiny as to be barely there.

She freed his cock, her small cool hands stroking it as he kissed her, tugging the top of her dress down to expose the tops of her breasts. Hands and mouths were everywhere, exploring, demanding.

Nearly insane with lust, Michael pushed her against the wall, pressing himself between her eager, welcoming thighs. He pulled the thong aside and with a sudden brutal thrust entered her, feeling her bite his shoulder as he filled her.

Erica's hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer, her mouth urging him. She wrapped one leg around him as he drove into her, again and again, her ass and back banging against the wall with every thrust, rattling the pictures.

Her hands grabbed the sides of his face, holding it away from her, staring wildly into his eyes, her mouth slack and surprised. Her hips pumped madly in time to him, her legs tight around his ass.

"I'm coming," she gasped, and Michael had just enough coherence left to register the surprise in her voice before she began a wailing exultation of joy that drowned his own explosive orgasm.