Before Mara’s hand even touches the bar door handle, she feels it: a pull in her neck, as familiar as her own heartbeat. The smell of beer and worn leather mixes with something she doesn’t want to name—an anticipation that tingles in her fingertips. She pushes the door open, and the music hits her, a dull bass that vibrates in her ribs. And then she sees him. He sits at the end of the counter, a glass of whiskey before him, and when he lifts his head, his gaze strikes her like lightning.
The Encounter
Her breath catches for a split second. His eyes—that blue she once drowned in a summer rain—rest on her as she moves through the crowd. The bar is full, voices and laughter colliding, but between them a bubble of silence forms. “Mara,” he says, and her name sounds in his mouth like a familiar melody. She sits on the bar stool next to him, their knees almost touching. The wooden counter beneath her fingers feels rough, real.
“You look stunning,” he says, and she feels heat rise to her cheeks. “Liar. Two kids and a sleepless night.” But she knows it’s true—the glow of the neon sign catches in his cheekbones, and she thinks back to when she traced those lines with her lips. “And you? Still the old wanderer?” she asks, her voice lighter than she feels. He shrugs. “Now and then. But the offers are getting worse.” His smile is crooked, and she feels a tug deep in her belly.
She orders the same as him, whiskey neat, and as the bartender fills the glasses, her hand trembles barely noticeably. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice close though he doesn’t lean in. “I wanted to see you,” she says, the words coming easier than she expected. “I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. About that night.” He says nothing, but his hand finds her arm, a touch that sends electricity through her veins. She feels his fingertips on her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “Me too,” he murmurs, and his thumb strokes the inside of her wrist, where her pulse races wildly. A shiver runs down her spine, and she takes a sip of whiskey to steady herself. The liquid burns in her throat, but it’s a welcome fire.
The Longing
Time in the bar blurs. They talk about trivialities, but every word is charged. Their fingers brush over the glasses, his hand rests on her knee, warm and heavy. She feels the heat through the fabric of her skirt, and her skin burns beneath it. “Let’s go,” he whispers, and she nods without thinking. He takes her hand, leads her through the crowd, the back door swings open, and the cool night air hits them. A light wind blows, carrying the smell of damp stone and late summer. She breathes deeply, and her heart races.
The yard is small, surrounded by a brick wall, above which a patch of sky hangs with scattered stars. An old wooden bench sits under an awning. He turns her toward him, his hands on her hips, and she feels the pressure of his fingers through the fabric. “I missed you,” he says, his voice hoarse. She closes her eyes as his mouth finds her neck, a kiss that leaves goosebumps. His tongue traces a path from her earlobe to her collarbone, and she leans back, surrenders. His lips wander to her shoulder, and he bites gently into the fabric of her blouse before pushing the collar aside with his teeth. She lets out a soft moan, and her hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer.
“Remember back then?” he asks between kisses. “In the rain, on the meadow?” She nods, the memory flooding her. “You were so wild,” she whispers. “I want to make you wild again,” he says, his voice rough with desire. He pushes her blouse over her head, and the cool air embraces her bare arms. His gaze travels over her body, and she feels him undressing her without touching. “You’re even more beautiful than before,” he says, and his hands find her waist, pulling her to him. She feels the heat of his body through his shirt, and her fingers work at the buttons. Slowly, button by button, she opens his shirt, and as it falls, she presses her palms to his chest. The muscles beneath are firm, warm. She feels his heartbeat under her hand, fast and strong. “You too,” she says, her smile soft.
The Unleashing
His hands wander under her blouse, finding the bare skin of her back. His fingers are cool, but they leave a hot trail. He unclasps her bra, and the fabric falls loose around her breasts. His palm cups one, his thumb stroking over the nipple, which hardens instantly under his touch. A moan escapes her, and he kisses her to swallow it. His kiss is demanding, his tongue entering, and she opens to him, her hands in his hair. She feels his tongue exploring her mouth, and she returns the kiss with the same intensity. Their tongues dance, and she tastes the whiskey on his tongue, mixed with the salt of his skin. She bites gently into his lower lip, and he groans.
He presses her against the wall, the rough brick surface scraping her back as his hands push up her skirt. The fabric bunches around her hips, and he slides her panties aside. His fingers glide through the wet slit, and she jerks at the touch. “You’re so ready,” he whispers, his voice triumphant. He kneels before her, his tongue finding her, and she feels the first wave of pleasure shoot through her body. He licks her with slow, savoring strokes, his tongue tip circling her clit, and she claws at his hair to keep from slipping. His hands hold her hips steady as she presses against his face. “Oh God, yes,” she moans, and he laughs softly, a vibration that goes through her. He picks up the pace, sucks at her until her knees can’t hold her anymore. She slides down the wall, and he catches her, lays her on the wooden bench. Her legs dangle over the edge, her skirt around her waist, and he leans over her again, spreading her thighs. His tongue dips into her, and she cries out as the second wave takes her. Her pelvis lifts toward him, and she feels herself clench around his tongue, a pulsing that blinds her.
“I want to taste you,” he says, and his tongue works on until she comes a third time, this time quietly and
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