Page 37 of Taking Savannah
"You know what I was thinking while I cleaned this place?" she says.
"Tell me."
"I was thinking about how many times I've fucked guys in bars after closing. On the floor, in the stockroom, against the jukebox once, which broke and cost me a week's tips." She picks up her own glass and takes a sip. "But I've never fucked anyone on myownbar."
The whiskey in my stomach turns to gasoline. "Is that an invitation?"
"It's an observation. The invitation is: get behind this counter before I change my mind."
I don't need to be told twice. I'm off the stool and around the end of the bar in three steps. She's waiting for me in the narrow space between the counter and the shelves, rag still over her shoulder, glass still in her hand, a look on her face that could start a fucking wildfire.
I take the glass out of her hand and set it on the shelf, the rag off her shoulder and drop it on the floor. She watches me do both with the particular patience of a woman who is letting me have this moment of control because she's already decided how the next twenty minutes are going to go.
Grabbing her face in my hands, I pull her closer and kiss her. My thumbs on her cheekbones, my mouth moving against hers with a forcefulness that makes her breath change. She grabs the front of my shirt but doesn't pull. She holds.
"Sit on the counter," I say against her mouth.
"Do it for me, asshole."
I grip her hips and lift her onto the bar. She weighs nothing, or I'm running on enough need to bench-press a car. Her ass hits the polished wood, her legs open, I step between them. Her thighs lock around my waist.
"You know," she says between kisses, "this counter took me forty minutes to polish."
"I'll polish it again after."
"You don't even know where I keep the Windex."
"Under the sink. I watched you put it there when I walked in."
She bites my bottom lip. "Observant little shit."
I kiss down her neck while my hands work her shirt up and over her head. No bra, because Savannah makes her own rules, and the sight of her bare on the bar I used to drink at with soldiers who would never in their lives believe what's happening on it right now makes my cock so hard it hurts.
She pushes me back. One hand flat on my chest, holding me at arm's length. "Sit on the stool."
"What?"
"My stool." She points. There's a stool tucked in the corner behind the counter where the bartender sits during slow shifts. "Sit."
I sit. She slides off the counter and drops to her knees between my legs, and the sight of her on her knees looking up at me with those brown eyes and that perfect fucking mouth does things to my circulatory system that should require medical attention.
She undoes my belt in stages, belt, button, zipper, and she pulls me out of my boxers before wrapping her fingers around me. The contact makes my head tip back against the shelf behind me.
"Eyes on me," she says. "You wanted the view. Here it is."
I look down at her. She holds my gaze and takes me into her mouth.
The sound that comes out of me isn't dignified. It's not smooth or charming or any of the things I'm supposed to be. It's a groan that starts in my gut, comes out broken rasp. Her mouth is hot, wet, her tongue doing something on the underside that makes my fingers grip the edges of the stool hard enough to whiten my knuckles.
She takes her time. Long, slow strokes with her mouth, her hand working the base, her eyes on mine the entire time. She's not rushing, she's enjoying this, and the enjoyment is visible on her face, in the way her eyes go half-lidded and her cheeks hollow and the small sounds she makes around me that vibrate through my entire body.
"Fuck, Savannah." My hand finds her hair, just holding it, allowing her to set the rhythm, "Your mouth is..."
She pulls off long enough to say, " Perfect? I know," and then takes me deeper, and my vision narrows to nothing but her.
She works me until I'm shaking, until my thighs are tense, my breathing ragged, my hand fisted in her hair. I'm about thirtyseconds from finishing in her mouth when she pulls back, wipes her bottom lip with her thumb, and stands.
"Nuh uh uh," she says. "I want you to come somewhere else."
