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“I want my waitress back in fifteen minutes, boyo,” Uncle Paddy calls after me. I wave the bottle over my head and keep climbing. I can’t be sure but I think I hear him say something that sounds like, it’s about feckin’ time.
I push the door open and drag Lisa inside after me, kicking the door shut. By now it’s full on dark and I forgot to leave a light on when I left so as soon as I do, we’re surrounded by dark, the only light that cuts through the gloom is the dim glow of a streetlamp. It’s weak and watery, making it impossible to see her and I’m glad.
I lean into her, try to kiss her but end up catching her ear and she laughs softly. “Relax, Patrick...” she says against my neck, pushing my shoulders into the wall, not more than five feet from the door we just came through. “By the time I’m through with you, you won’t even remember her name...”
I feel her hands, sure and practiced, working the buckle of my belt open—the clink of cool metal. The snap of warm leather. She tugs my zipper open, yanking my pants down low on my hips, giving herself enough room to slip both hands down the front of my jeans. One of them cradles my balls while the other wraps its fingers around my cock, a slow, teasing thumb brushes across the head. As soon as she gets her hands on me, her eyes flare for an instant before slipping to half-mast. “Your cousin wasn’t kidding,” she says softly against my neck, her tongue gliding up the rigid cords of my neck.
This isn’t Lisa’s first rodeo.
Pulling the speed pourer from the Jameson, I tip the open bottle against my mouth while pushing my hips against her hand, pumping myself into her grip. I don’t ask her what she means by what she said. Truthfully, I don’t give a shit. Eyes closed, I concentrate on the sensation of her hands on me rather than who has her hands shoved down the front of my pants.
She abandons my cock, her fast fingers working the button of my shirt open until it’s laid open and her tongue quickly follows, licking its way across my pecs. I take another drink and whiskey hits my chin, running down my chest. She laps at it, running the flat of her tongue down my chest and abs, circling my navel. She’s working herself lower and lower, lips and tongue against my hips while she sinks to her knees in front of me. I can feel her breath, hot and fast against my stomach and she yanks at my jeans, pulling them down until they’re just under my ass, but she’s still circling. Still waiting for me to tell her what I want. Like it isn’t obvious.
WWCD? What Would Conner Do?
I cup my hand around the back of her head and guide her to my cock and like I waved a magic wand, she’s got her lips wrapped around it, licking and sucking like her life depended on it. I take another drink because while Lisa is giving me the blowjob of a lifetime all I can see is Cari. I look up from the shadowy head that’s bobbing between my legs and find what I’m looking for in the watery half-light of the streetlamp. The full length mirror I used to watch my roommate get dressed not more than an hour before.
Even though the angle isn’t right and it’s dark, I can still see her plain as day—that scrap of bright red lace stretched between her thighs. Her hair lifted away from her nape, exposing the slim column of her neck. My cock is rock hard in an instant. So hard it’s almost painful.
“Her name is Cari,” I say under my breath, whispering it into the bottle I’m drinking from. The mouth between my legs seems to take it as some sort of challenge and flips into high gear. For a second I can smell gardenias and suddenly I’m on the verge of coming. I feel my balls tightening under Lisa’s expert fingers, her mouth a fast glide as she works me against the back of her throat...
Light peals across the wall I’m leaning against, pinching into my narrowed eyes. The bar noises from downstairs are suddenly amplified—college kids shouting drink orders and the loud clack of pool balls. I look up from Lisa’s bobbing head to see Cari standing in the open doorway, watching us.