A works ‘do’, one of the women starting maternity leave, a crowd of eighteen of us had descended here straight from work, and, several visits to the various food stations, showed no signs of leaving soon. The waitress brought another tray groaning with drinks. There would be a few sore heads in the morning. I had driven, so stuck to soft drinks after the one obligatory Tsingtao, perfect for washing down the noodles and Kung Po chicken.
Laughter filled the air around the table, the presents opened, a breast pump causing great hysteria among both the men and women. My eye caught the bright red uniform of the waitress, showing three people to the table next to ours. Two men, jeans and checked shirts, sat straight down, heads in the drinks menu. The third person, a woman, took the seat just across from me.
I caught her face in profile, long, dark hair, fringe cut straight, slim face, full lips. She reminded me of Jemima Rooper, an actress I’d seen in some film or television series. Striking features. She wore a grey jumper, tight across her chest. I tried not to stare, but she looked up, our eyes met. I smiled, then went back to my colleagues.
I got caught up in the chatter, lost in the moment. I got that prickly feeling on the back of my neck, could feel someone watching me. I glanced around, and caught her eye. She held my gaze for a couple of seconds, a smile played on her lips, then she broke the moment as one of her companions spoke. Her whole face changed, she looked bored, resigned. The three got up and went to the buffet, our moment passed, I assumed.
I needed a cigarette so excused myself, drawing disproving stares from one or two of my colleagues. I shrugged, smiled, and went outside. The restaurant had a strict no-smoking policy, a group of dedicated nicotine hounds grouped in a huddle beside a large plaster lion to the left of the front door. I looked to the sky, rain clouds hung heavy overhead. I drew a low-tar from the packet, sparking my cheap lighter three times before it caught, taking a deep draw.
“Can I bum one from you?”
Caught off-guard, the packet was in my hand and I flipped the top open. It was the girl from the table next to me. I smiled, the lighter blazed as I held it up, she bent and sucked on the filter to get the cigarette lit. Her eyes were hazel. She took a drag, almost immediately blowing the smoke out. Arms crossed, the cigarette held between long fingers, square nails done in a popular French manicure style. I gazed at her, not wanting to stare. Small stud earrings, a blaze of bronze lipstick, the kind of girl that didn’t need a lot of make-up. She caught me looking, smiled, a proper smile, her eyes engaging with mine.
The first raindrop fell, followed by a million others. The water bounced from the tarmac.
“Shit.” She looked at me.
“My car?” I was already two steps ahead. I blipped the alarm, pulling open the rear door, my laptop and work files cluttering the front passenger seat. She threw herself in, I followed, pulling the door to.
She laughed, her hair clinging to her face and neck, her jumper damp and clinging. The rain had brought a chill to the air, and I could see a faint outline of her nipples. She was bare legged, a black skirt finishing just above her knees, her oversized purse on the seat beside her.
“Thanks,” she said. She had lost the cigarette, as had I in the rush to get in to the car.
“You’re welcome. I’m Mark.” I offered her the packet, she shook her head.
“Callie. I don’t actually smoke.”
My interest piqued. “Company that bad?”
“No. Yeah, well…”
I looked at her, letting her open up.
“My boyfriend, soon to be ex. He’s been sleeping with my best friend. He doesn’t know I know. Just can’t think of what to do to hurt him.”
The inside of the car has begun to steam up, she turned and wiped a hand across the window, clearing a small patch. She gazed out at the rain.
“Revenge sex?”
She turned to face me.
I shook my head, “No, not married, not seeing anyone right now.”
Callie’s eyes were on my mouth. “Good.” She leaned forward, our lips crushed against each other. I pulled her closer to me, her hands in my hair. Our kisses were frantic, her tongue pushing into my mouth. I ran my hands up her back, before moving my right hand around and under her left breast, feeling the weight in my palm.
She moved closer, crushing her breast into my hand. Callie moaned into my ear, her lips biting the lobe. Her hand on my thigh, stroking up and down, each up stroke getting nearer my crotch. I buried my face in her neck, gently biting the skin, tongue tracing up and down her pulse point.
Callie shifted quickly, straddling me. My hands met around her back, unclasping her bra, trying to push the jumper and bra up and off her, only succeeding in exposing her breasts. Her exquisite breasts. I clamped my mouth to one nipple, her hands on my head, pulling me hard against her. I felt her writhe on my lap, my erection hampered by my trousers. I looked down, Callie’s skirt had ridden up. No knickers. Neatly trimmed hair framed a wet, pink pussy. I looked up at her.
She grinned, “Took a chance on you, slipped my panties off before asking you for a cigarette.”
My right hand slid up her thigh, fingers against her mound. She let out a soft gasp as fingers met her rapidly swelling lips. Her hands made short work of my trousers, the belt undone, the zip down, her hand reaching in for my erect cock. My turn to gasp. She looked down, bit her lower lip in appreciation. My fingers moved to enter her.
“Uh huh, no time, Mark.”
With that, she took my swollen member in one hand, lifted her ass up and fed my cock inside her. God, she felt tight. And wet. She started to grind down on me. I pushed up her jumper, clamping my mouth around her right nipple, sucking softly, biting gently, fondling the round, firm flesh.
Carrie bounced up and down, taking my length inside, her legs wide, clamping me, gripping my cock. I looked up at her face, eyes closed, head back. My fingers on her throat, then her head dipped and we kissed, she continued to ride me hard. It had been a while for me, Callie’s pussy milked me good and hard. Her face and neck reddened as she drove herself down on my cock, softly swearing as she did so. Her lips parted as she moaned. One hand on her ass, the other on her left breast, I urged her on, pushing upwards to meet her thrusts.
Callie gasped hard as she came, her head rolled back as I joined her seconds later, feeling my semen flood into her, my balls contracting and pumping until I was empty. Her head slumped on my shoulder, her breath hot and heavy in my ear, gasping for air. I gently stroked her chest, nipples proud, feeling the warmth of her skin under my fingers. She kissed me again, deep.
She reached around, clipping her bra and adjusting it before pulling her jumper down. My cock had shrunk, and she moved off my lap, reaching for her purse. She snapped the catch, removed her white knickers and slid them on. Straightened her skirt. She pushed her still wet hair from her face, smiling into my eyes.
“I don’t make a habit of that,” she told me.
“Me neither.”
She took out her phone, handing it to me. “Can I take your number? I’d like to do this again, somewhere more comfortable, if that’s OK with you?”
I punched in my number, hell, yes I’d do it again.
With a final kiss, she opened the car door, running back through the rain to the restaurant. I waited a couple of minutes before heading back myself. As I made my way back to the table, Callie gave me a wry smile, acting as if nothing had happened. I rejoined my party just as they were getting ready to leave.
I’d just got in to my flat when my phone chirped, one new message. It was from Callie.
‘Fucker dumped. Free tonight? We can take it slower.’
Like they say, the only bad thing about Chinese food is that half an hour later, you’re hungry again. Callie was having the same effect on my libido…
