Chapter 4: Scheming Over Scotch
The hotel bar was a sanctuary of shadows and low light, the polished mahogany surface cool beneath Larry’s trembling hands. He’d ordered a double scotch, neat, and downed half of it in one go, the burn doing little to settle the riot in his nerves. He could still feel the phantom heat of the shower spray, the grip of Nancy’s mouth, the terrifying thrill of his escape. The taste of her—of them—felt branded on his tongue.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her voice, low and smooth, came from behind him. He jumped, sloshing amber liquid onto the bar. Nancy slid onto the stool beside him, elegant in a simple black dress, her expression one of mild amusement. She looked utterly composed, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated his world’s implosion.
“Or perhaps just a very satisfied one,” she murmured, leaning in close enough for him to catch her perfume, something dark and floral that now smelled only of sin.
“My wife…” he started, his voice rough.
“Is currently being convinced by Brenda to try the chocolate fountain for the third time. She’s fine.” Nancy signaled the bartender for a gin and tonic. “You, on the other hand, seem a little… unravelled.”
“What the hell was that, Nancy?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Your husband was on his way up.”
“And you got out. It was a calculated risk.” She took her drink, her fingers brushing his as she did. A spark, deliberate and knowing. “The best things always are. Besides, you liked it. Don’t pretend you didn’t. I felt how much you liked it when you came down my throat.”
A fresh wave of heat, equal parts shame and desire, washed over him. He had. God, he had.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy!” Pam Jenkins descended upon them in a cloud of expensive perfume and vibrant energy, her sequined dress catching the low light. She squeezed between them, beaming. “I’ve been saying for years you two would make a cute couple. A lawyer and a businessman. Power duo.”
Nancy laughed, a light, tinkling sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, Pam, always the matchmaker. Speaking of couples, have you heard about the spa’s midnight couples massage special? I was just thinking Brenda would adore it. She’s been so stressed with planning this whole reunion.”
Pam’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, a massage! What a fabulous idea. Larry, you should book it for her! A romantic surprise.”
Larry opened his mouth, but Nancy was faster. “Oh, let me. A thank you for all her hard work.” She pulled a sleek black credit card from her clutch and slid it across the bar to Pam. “My treat. Go on, be a dear and book it for them. Tell the concierge Nancy Thompson insists.”
Pam, ever susceptible to being given a mission, snatched up the card. “You are too good, Nancy! Brenda will be thrilled! Larry, you lucky man.” She winked and bustled off toward the lobby, a woman on a mission.
The moment Pam was out of earshot, the air between them thickened, charged with a dangerous current. Nancy shifted on her stool, turning her body toward him. The hum of the bar faded into a dull roar in Larry’s ears.
Under the cover of the bar, her hand landed on his thigh. Not a tentative touch, but a firm, possessive grip. His breath hitched.
“See?” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “Problems solved.”
Her fingers began a slow, deliberate journey up his inner thigh. He was paralyzed, trapped between the solid wood of the bar and the liquid heat of her intent. His cock, which had been semi-hard since he’d first seen her, thickened painfully against his zipper.
“Nancy… someone will see,” he managed to grit out, his knuckles white where he gripped his glass.
“Let them.” Her fingers found the hard line of his erection through his trousers and pressed. A sharp, electric jolt of pleasure-pain shot through him. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? Knowing you’re hard for me right here, in public, after what we just did? After I swallowed your cum?”
Her language was filthy, direct. It stripped away the last pretense of their fifty-year friendship. This was raw, transactional hunger.
She leaned in, her breast pressing against his arm. “I’m still wet for you, Larry. Soaking. I’ve been thinking about your cock all night. I need to feel it inside me again. Not in a car or a bathroom. Right here.”
Her hand moved to his zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in his head. She deftly freed him, her warm hand closing around his shaft. He gasped, his head falling back slightly. The bar was mostly empty, but not completely. A couple murmured in a corner booth. The bartender was at the far end, polishing glasses.
It was madness. It was the most exciting thing he had ever experienced.
“Stand up,” she commanded, her voice a low thrum. “Turn around, lean against the bar.”
He was powerless to refuse. He slid off the stool, his back to the room, his elbows resting on the polished wood. He felt the cool air on his exposed skin, then the heat of her body as she moved behind him, hidden in the deep shadows between stools.
He felt her hands gather the fabric of her dress. Then she was pressing against him, her bare, wet heat seeking him out. She guided the head of his cock to her entrance.
“Fuck me, Larry,” she breathed into his back. “Right now. And don’t you dare be quiet.”
She sank onto him in one smooth, devastating motion. She was tight and impossibly wet, her inner muscles clenching around him instantly. A choked groan was torn from his throat. He braced himself against the bar, his whole body tensing.
She began to move, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was utterly consuming. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his stomach. Each thrust buried him to the hilt in her slick, hot depths.
“That’s it,” she moaned, her voice muffled against his shirt. “God, you feel so good inside me. So much bigger than… anyone.”
Her words were a catalyst. The fear of discovery, the sheer audacity of what they were doing, fused with the overwhelming physical sensation. His hips began to move in time with hers, meeting her thrust for thrust. The bar creaked faintly with their motion.
“You’re going to make me come,” he grunted, the words barely coherent.
“Yes,” she hissed, her movements becoming more frantic, less controlled. “Come inside me. Fill me up. I want to feel it. I want to walk back to my husband with your cum dripping down my thighs.”
The image, coupled with the frantic, wet sound of their joining, shattered his control. His orgasm ripped through him, a blinding, violent wave that left him shuddering, his knees buckling. He emptied himself into her with a guttural cry he barely managed to stifle.
She clenched around him, milking him, her own body trembling against his back with a series of sharp, silent spasms. For a long moment, they stayed like that, joined, panting, suspended in the aftermath.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled away from him. He heard the rustle of her dress falling back into place. He quickly tucked himself away, his zipper sounding final in the sudden quiet.
He dared to turn around. Nancy was adjusting her hair in the reflection of a brass beer tap, her cheeks flushed, her eyes brilliantly alive. She looked utterly triumphant.
She picked up her gin and tonic, took a slow sip, and met his gaze in the dim reflection.
“Pam will be back any second,” she said, her voice perfectly steady again. “She’ll tell you all about the wonderful massage your wife is about to enjoy.” She turned to face him, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. “For the next two hours, your wife will be very, very relaxed. And you… you’re going to come upstairs with me. We’re not nearly finished.”