You catch the eye of 'Tall, Dark, and Handsome' at the bar

Aimee took a seat at the bar, and you perched on the stool beside her, still conflicted. To say you were horny was an understatement - you were out of your mind with need - but were you **** enough to cheat on Greg again? Surely you could wait until he got home from work... Right?

*You need this,* a part of you thought, *it isn't your fault; you can't help yourself.*

Your nodded absently, turning the situation over in your head. Aimee was right; girls like you couldn't help themselves.

Beside you, Aimee ordered you both drinks and then turned toward you. Her tone was conspiratorial and her eyes danced as she said, "Alright Stefi, there's a guy over at the end of the bar who looks perfect, but he's alone. Are you willing to share?

You looked down the bar, your breath catching a bit with a mix of apprehension and nervousness. The guy she'd indicated was watching you both, sipping at a martini glass and apparently ignoring the music. He was tall, a bit over six feet, in great shape, and dressed in a grey suit without a tie. He couldn't have been more than 35, and smiled confidently back at you when you made eye contact with him. The smile sent shivers through you. You continued watching as he waved down the bartender, his dark skin a contrast against the stage lighting behind him, and spoke something you couldn't hear. You blushed, looking back to Aimee.

"He looks kinda rich," you said, "and I think he's getting us drinks." You were exhilarated; all of this was new to you. You sipped at your drink, which was something fruity and strong, and continued, "I've never... Been with a guy like that."

You didn't want to say it, but Aimee had no such reservations. "You mean a rich guy, or a black guy?" she asked, eyes sparkling, "Rich is good; they're usually clean and sometimes they get you presents! And black guys... Well I'm not picky but let's just say I haven't been disappointed yet, you know? You're not racist, are you?" She pouted, which was also sexy.

You giggled back at her; giggling felt good too. *Everything* felt good. "No, no! I just..." You trailed off, noticing that Aimee was looking over your shoulder, and heard a cool vice behind you.

"Hey there ladies, you having a good time?"

You turned, and saw that he'd taken the stool beside you. His martini was finished, and he held two drinks out for you. Aimee reached past you, accepting hers, and you took the other as she answered him, "We just got here, but I think we're going to head out, you know? We were hoping to have a good time tonight, but this music isn't really our scene."

The stranger's eyes twinkled as he answered, extending a hand. "I'll have to speak to the entertainment. The name is Jonas. I don't think we've met."

Aimee's smile rivaled the stage lights behind you as she spoke, "Jonas, this is my bestie Stefi, and I'm Aimee. This place is yours?" Her voice was accusing and unimpressed, but she was smiling and pushed her shoulders back to emphasize her already fantastic boobs.

His expression was pained and apologetic as he addressed his reply to her chest, "I'm afraid so, Aimee. But if the music is driving you off, perhaps you'll let me give you girls a ride to wherever you're going, to make it up to you? I hate to see a beautiful woman leave unsatisfied."

You caught his implication and giggled again, then finished your first drink, embarrassed. This guy was smooth! You were getting used to the room spinning around you.

Aimee squeezed your knee, nodding back to Jonas. Coyly, she said, "I would *love* a ride, and I've got to keep an eye on Stefi here. She can be a *total* slut when she's had too much to drink."

You nodded back innocently, and giggled yet again. Jonas was watching you with rapt attention as you licked your lips.

"Well, then that settles it! Our carriage awaits, ladies." Jonas said, and stood. Aimee followed, and you got unsteadily (the **** wasn't doing your earlier dizziness any favors) as well. Jonas offered you each an arm, an then the three of you were walking out, drinks in hand, and getting into an SUV parked outside.

The interior was roomier than you'd have guessed, with seats removed to leave only the wide rear bench seat. It felt more like a limo than an SUV. To your surprise, Jonas followed you into the back, and a driver (separated by a tinted window) asked the destination. Jonas looked to the two of you briefly, then answered, "We're taking these ladies home, Oliver."