Barroom Stranger’s Dirty Hunger.

The light in the bar was too bright—every damn thing stitched in neon and sweat, the hum of voices just loud enough to swallow my thoughts. I ordered my third whiskey, neat, and didn’t flinch when he slid onto the stool beside me. “You’re staring like you’re either drunk or waiting for something,” she said, tilting her head. Close up, she smelled like smoke and salt, her words hot enough I could feel them against my jaw before they finished. “Or both.” Her laugh was a cigarette burn against my skin—sharp, quick, gone. Then her hand found mine under the table, fingers wrapping tight around my wrist like she knew I’d pull away if she asked. But she didn’t ask. Just guided my palm up her thigh, past the hem of that tight dress, over heat I’d already caught glimpses of in the mirror behind the bar. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” she whispered, leaning close enough the bar noise vanished between us. One breath of her, and my cock was *her* problem now. “I don’t know your name,” I said, my thumb brushing the lace of her underwear—already damp, already mine to pull off her. “Lia.” She slid her hand lower. “Get me out of here, and I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

Lia’s grip tightened as she pulled me off the stool, her heels clicking against the sticky floor. I followed, my fingers still hooked under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down with deliberate slowness. She let out a breathless sound, half growl, half gasp, as air hit the place I’d been touching. The backseat of the cab was warm, the driver already halfway down the block before she pushed me inside. The door locked with a final, heavy *click*. Lia didn’t wait for me to adjust—her mouth crashed against mine, tongue demanding I forget the bar, the street, the name she’d just given. I didn’t try. Instead, I cupped her throat, thumb pressing into the hollow just under her jaw, and she arched into me, the fabric of her dress a goddamn nuisance between us. My hand slipped under, but she stopped me, nails digging into my neck as she fumbled with the zipper on her skirt. “Not yet,” she murmured, tugging it down over her hips in one swift motion, leaving nothing between the cold leather seat and her skin but a pair of stockings. “Let me feel *you* first.” I didn’t argue. She pulled me closer by the wrist, my cock already aching against the rough, dark denim of my jeans. Her fingers worked expertly—no hesitation, no mercy—and the second I was free, she wrapped them around my length twice, squeezing so hard I wondered if she’d leave marks. Then her other hand joined, stroking in a rhythm that had me already on the edge, my breath ragged against her shoulder where I was buried my face. “Fuck.” Her teeth grazed my earlobe. “I *want* you to finish.” She dropped her grip, and I hissed as she left me—*that* kind of cold, the one that makes you desperate to grab her back, to drag her down onto you and bury yourself all the way. But she was ahead of me, already shimmying out of her skirt, rolling it into a bundle at her feet. The stockings stayed put, but they weren’t the point anymore. “Lia—” I started, but she cut me off with a press of her fingers to my lips. “My turn,” she said, leaning back, bracing herself on her hands. Her skirt was gone, her pussy glistening, waiting. “I’m on the pill. Come in.”

The heat between her thighs seared through the thin black frame of her underwear—still there, but the moment had stripped them of meaning. I didn’t reach for them. Instead, my fingers bit into the flesh of her hips, pulling her down hard enough the fabric ripped with a sharp sound she swallowed against my mouth. She let out a shaky moan, the kind that meant she was *ready*, not just wet but desperate. My cock was slick with her precome already, the tip pressing against the slicker, softer give of her inner lips. I didn’t thrust. Not yet. Just tested the tension between us, her thighs falling open wider with every inch I pushed, her back arching as I let one hand slide up, thumb pinching the hard point of her nipple through the thin material of her dress until she let out a gasp, fingers clawing at my shoulders. “Christ,” I muttered, fingers finally sinking into the heat of her, her pussy already flexing around nothing but air, like she was *begging*. “You’re fucking dripping.” She didn’t deny it. Her gasps came faster now, little whimpers of need I was more than happy to fill. I kept the rhythm slow, deliberate, thumb still working her nipple as I curled my fingers inside her—punching, stretching, testing how tight she’d be when I finally buried myself all the way. Her dress slipped off one shoulder, the bra strap already dark with sweat. “More,” she breathed, voice raw. “Please.” I didn’t give her more. Not yet. Just let my teeth graze the edge of her jaw, her breath hitching at the contact. “Tell me why you’re doing this,” I growled, fingers curling deeper. “Tell me.” Her nails dragged down my spine, leaving a trail of fire through the thin cotton of my shirt. “Because I *want you*.” That was enough. I pulled her ass forward, cock already throbbing against her entrance. She was *mine*—every shuddering breath, every tight flex of her pussy. I pushed in, slow and steady, the wet drag of her clenching around me almost more than I could take. She let out a sharp, needy sound, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck—*yes*—” I didn’t stop until my hips met the warm weight of hers, her pussy stretched impossibly tight around every inch of me. She arched again, fingers digging into my skin this time, and I let my teeth find the pulse in her neck, the way she was already trembling telling me she was *close*. “Come,” I ordered, voice rough with my own barely leashed need. “Come on my cock like I’m *yours* tonight.” She didn’t argue. Just obeyed, her body clenching down as the first orgasm hit, her voice breaking against the roof of the cab. I didn’t let it end there. Not when she was still *my* problem, and I was already sliding my fingers down to brush over her clit, her breath stuttering into a gasp as she clenched tight again, the aftershocks of orgasm a fresh wave of wet heat around me. “More,” she whispered, the word barely audible. I didn’t answer. Just drove my cock into her, hard, fast, relentless—every stroke a demand, every snap of my hips a promise. She’d get all of me, and I’d get *everything* from her in return. Her second orgasm came with a broken sob, her nails finally scoring real lines into my shoulder. I caught her mouth in mine, swallowing the sound as I buried myself to the hilt, finally letting go with a groan that had her clenching down around me, her pussy still milking the last of my release. The cab rolled to a stop, and we just sat there, panting, skin slick with sweat. She turned her head, lips finding mine again, slow this time, deliberate. Her tongue slid against mine with a hunger I hadn’t even been trying to fulfill yet. “That wasn’t enough,” she murmured, fingers tracing the lines on my chest. I didn’t lie. Just pulled her closer, my cock already *hardening* again against her still-throbbing cunt. “You’re right.”

The driver’s cough against the passenger window shattered the silence. Lia’s lips peeled away from mine with a smirk, fingers already unbuttoning my jeans. “Guess we’re not done.” I didn’t touch the door as she pushed me back against the seat, her knees digging into the bench between my legs. Her stockings were still there, but I didn’t care. Just the idea of her riding me, bare and needy, had my cock already slicking over again, the tip brushing against her clit—still sensitive, still *mine*—as she straddled me. Her hand wrapped around my length once, twice, then guided me back to her entrance. The first inch was wet and easy, her pussy already clenching down around me like it knew exactly what it wanted. Then she hesitated, her teeth pulled in between her lips, eyes dark with the same kind of hunger that was now raw and sharp in my own voice. “Lia—” I started, but she cut me off, pressing her fingers to my lips. “My turn,” she repeated, and this time, I didn’t argue. She sank down onto me with a shaky exhale, her thighs trembling as she took every fucking inch at once. The wet drag of her pussy, the tight clench of it, had me gritting my teeth. Then she started moving. Slow at first, her hips rolling in tight circles that had my cock hitting places that made her breath catch. “Christ,” I muttered, fingers biting into her waist. Her dress was rucked up over her shoulders now, the thin strips of fabric still clinging to her bra. Her free hand found it first, hooking under and flicking the clasp so the straps fell away. Then she lifted up enough to shrug it off, leaving it behind in a heap on the floor, the air conditioning finally finding exposed skin—goosebumps rising along her neck, her collarbone, my knuckles as I traced them. “You’re *mine*,” I said, low and rough, thumb brushing the edge of one dark, peaked nipple. “Do you hear me?” She didn’t answer. Just leaned forward, her dress forgotten as her mouth found the skin of my neck, teeth grazing again. Her hips didn’t stop—no, they picked up pace, her pussy flexing so tight around me I had to fight to keep my strokes slow and even. The cab rocked with every snap of her motion, the driver’s cough long gone now, replaced by the sound of her thighs slapping against mine, the wet glide of her taking me. “Fuck—” Her voice broke, her body stilling for a half-second before she shattered. Her pussy clenched like a fist, her breath sawing out in short, sharp gasps. I didn’t wait for her to come down. Just pulled her down onto me, hands gripping her hips as I gave her everything I had left—every thrust brutal, every slide into her wet heat a reminder that she was *mine*, tonight and every goddamn night to follow.