He wasn’t late on purpose. But he didn’t rush either.
The bar was already throbbing with sound, the band getting started—looks like he got there just in time…
It should have felt familiar: the cheap drinks, creaky bar stools, the band covering music nobody asked for. It did. But it also felt… tense. Overwhelming.
His wife had told him to go out. Practically shoved him out the door.
It’s your birthday, Theo. Go. Have fun. No warmth behind the words. No kiss goodbye—in fact he couldn’t remember the last time they’d kissed. Just a look that said: Don’t come home early.
He spotted his brother, Jamie, first—at the bar already chatting up another new girl in tight black jeans and way too much eyeliner. Of course.
And then he saw her. D.
Sitting on the bench against the back wall, fingers toying with the straw in her drink, laughing with one of the regulars—also predictably. But who was he to judge? They couldn’t help themselves around her.
That laugh—fuck. It was irresistible, infectious. It brightened the dim-lit bar, attracted the strobe lights and made her shine. She was alive. The music always did that to her.
She didn’t see him at first, which meant he had time to look.
She was wearing that body-hugging dress, clinging to her like a second skin, black, sleeveless, hugging her tits in place perfectly and stopping just above those damn boots—massive, platformed, and dangerous. It barely shifted when she moved, stretching over her ass and hips when she crossed her legs. He knew it well, and under the right lighting, it was just sheer enough to catch a hint of skin.
He didn’t know if she was wearing anything underneath it. He didn’t want to know.
Yes he did.
The rings she wore—chunky statements on small fingers, black painted nails—glinted every time her hands moved, steel and silver flashing in the low light. But it was the choker that did him in. A simple heavy O-ring sitting snug at the base of her throat. A collar, really—and she wore it like it was made just for her.
His mouth went dry.
You haven’t even had a drink yet, he told himself. It’s just a necklace.
But it wasn’t. Not to him. Shaking off his nerves, he veered right, slipping around the edge of the L-shaped bar, and headed straight for the table, a drink already waiting for him. Thank fuck.
She looked up as he approached, amber-brown eyes flicking to his face and then down his body—quick, casual, but it happened. That alone had his stomach tightening.
“Birthday boy,” she grinned, sliding her arms around him as he took the seat on the cushioned bench beside her. It didn’t mean anything, it was just comfier than the chairs. The way she hugged him seemed so normal to her, but to Theo, it was sensual—the way her arms slipped under his and around his back, the way her whole body seemed to press into his.
Stop it, he scolded himself, feeling the twitch in his jeans.
Breaking the hug, he reached for his drink, taking an urgent gulp. His thigh stayed pressed to hers, and she didn’t move. He wondered if she knew what the simple contact was doing to him.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, setting the glass down on the table a little too firmly. He almost had missed it. He wasn’t there for her. He told himself that over and over—while he was in the shower, picking out his clothes, his cologne, and styling his hair.
But fuck, she looked like trouble tonight.
Jamie reappeared a moment later, drink in hand, dropping into a chair across from them with his usual try-too-hard slouch. The guy couldn’t just be himself, could he? Always a performance. Theo barely heard what he said as the music picked up, trying to keep his eyes off of her.
But it was that moment, the bass guitar grabbing her attention, that she decided to stand—her ass now eye-level. Fuck. She’s definitely not wearing underwear…
He felt that familiar twitch in his jeans again and shifted in his seat—trying to adjust himself. Trying not to stare. Trying not to imagine his cock buried between her ass cheeks.
This is going to be a long night.
As the song came to a climactic ending, her hips and ass swaying beside him, torturing him, she downed the last dregs of her drink and slipped out from between the bench and table. As if Jamie had caught him staring, his hand brushed her ass as she passed around him. She didn’t react, though, and Theo couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Want anything?” She leaned over the table towards him, noting his own nearly empty glass.
Great—now the tits…
“Uh, just the same again,” he stuttered, chugging back his own drink so she could take the empty glass.
He watched her at the bar, leaning over it as she made her order over the band’s noise. Her hips continued to sway—was it instinctual? He wondered, watching her pressed up against the bar.
Bent over, it would be so easy to slide in—No. Fuck. Stop.
He suppressed a groan, hoping his brother hadn’t noticed. A quick glance showed him staring at his phone, thumbs moving quickly across the screen. Who was he texting?
Why did Theo care? He shook his head, as if shaking away the thought, just as D returned with their drinks, straw already between her lips. Sliding back into her seat beside him, he noticed her thigh brush his again, sending a shiver down his spine.
Was that on purpose?
But then she leaned in to say something, glancing at Jamie—close enough that her perfume hit like a wave, close enough that he swore he felt her lips brush his ear before she even spoke. Was she feeling it too? The tension?
He didn’t catch a word of what she said. It didn’t matter. Not when her voice was low like that. Not when her fingers brushed his forearm, just for balance, or grounding, or—fuck knows what—but it sent a current through him so hot another groan almost slipped.
He could only stutter, his eyes flicking between her and his brother. Had she noticed that? Because she shifted, and the touch of her thigh against his disappeared, leaving him feeling cold.
“Didn’t mean to bite,” she still smirked, nudging her shoulder against his playfully. She hadn’t. But he wished she had. God, he wished she had…
He smiled like it was nothing, returned her nudge and reached for his glass to cover the twitch in his jeans. She was right there, beside him, warm, relaxed and glowing—from the drink, from the night, the music. And all he could think about was how high that dress would ride if he tugged her into his lap.
No. Not now.
But that dark corner of his mind didn’t care.
It served him a picture anyway—her, bent over the far end of the bar, a dark corner, hair fisted in his hand, head tipped back, that sheer dress dragged up and over her ass. No one would see. No one would hear. Not if she stayed quiet. Not if she let him slip inside nice and slow.
He swallowed hard. The thought didn’t go away. Bringing his glass to his lips, he searched around the room for a distraction—anything to ease the strain building in his jeans.
D’s attention was back on the band, thankfully. They were drumming out a metal cover of Shape Of You. Of course. Fitting. He sighed, glancing out the corner of his eye at her standing, again, hips swaying, ass eye-level—cruel and torturous. Tempting.
“She yours?” A random to his right leaned over to him, blatantly staring at her ass. “Fucking lucky…” He muttered, not even trying to hide his gaze. Theo wanted to punch his lights out.
He looked at Jamie, who hadn’t heard, didn’t notice—although he had put his phone down, at least. Why he wasn’t watching his girlfriend, he didn’t know. Idiot.
Ignore him, Theo shrugged the guy’s statement off and turned away, chugging the last of his drink. At least the boner was gone. For now. He stood, brushing her arm to get her attention.
“Going for a smoke,” he waved a box of generic brand cigarettes, inviting her. She nodded, the song finally—thankfully—ending. He knew her too well—enough drinks and she’d always join him for a quick smoke and fresh air.
Outside, the cold air was a relief to his flushed skin. They found a spot at the far end of the beer garden, away from the noise, and offered her the open box. She took one without a word and slid it between her lips—such a simple act and yet she made even that look sexy.
He struck the lighter for her, and she shielded it with her hand, her fingers brushing his wrist, her touch making him shiver. He stepped in only to block the late winter breeze. She leaned in close, eyes on the flame, lips parted just slightly. She radiated warmth, hotter than the flame burning between them. He watched the hollow of her cheeks as she inhaled.
The glow flared at the tip, and for one dizzying second, it looked like her eyes were glowing too.
“Thanks,” she said softly, voice lower now that they were outside. Alone.
She exhaled, slowly, watching the smoke curl between them like it was something personal—watching it collide with his chest and upward while he lit his own cigarette. The chill caught her cheeks, made her dress look thinner somehow—bare arms, goosebumps, nipples just slightly raised beneath the fabric.
He tried not to look. Tried harder not to think.
But then she brought the cigarette back to her mouth, and he watched it slip past her lips again, like she was sucking down a secret.
“How are things?” She asked, exhaling again, eyes searching his.
Loaded question.
He wasn’t secretive about the state of things at home—his wife’s cold indifference. But they’d never really talked about it. Alone.
“Uhhhh…” he thought for a moment. Should he be honest? Fuck it. “Well, I’m here?” He laughed, bitter.
“She practically booted me out the door in my boxers.”
She didn’t say anything. He watched her carefully, searching. Was she holding back?
Instead, she took another drag, shifting uneasy from foot to foot, shivering noticeably. He suddenly wished he had a jacket to give her. Not a moment after exhaling, she drew in again. Damn, she was going through it fast…
He couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the already half spent cig.
“Oral fixation…” she looked sheepish, avoiding his stare now.
But, for once, he didn’t notice the flush in her cheeks. He blinked, and swallowed. His cock throbbed in his jeans and he had to shift his weight, trying to find a way to adjust himself before it became noticeable. He hoped the shadows hid everything.
“Yeah?” he managed, voice choked. That part of his mind was alert again—no longer interested in small talk. It was somewhere else. Somewhere darker, hotter.
Her on her knees in that very corner, hands braced on his thighs, mouth taking him deep while her boots crunched faintly against the gravelled concrete. He’d hold her hair back. Watch her choke, and gag. Watch her swallow it all when he spilled down her throat. Maybe she liked it messy. Maybe she’d beg for it.
Jesus Christ…
He shook his head, trying to will the image away. But it stayed. Burned in like the cherry at the end of his cigarette. He brought it to his lips again, matching her movements—was that intentional? They inhaled together, and exhaled together, the smoke curling and mingling between them, like it was giving him permission to do something. Anything.
But she stamped out the butt of her cigarette before he could even contemplate it, and made a show of hugging her arms around herself.
“Fucking freezing,” she muttered, turning on her heels to head inside.
He waited a moment—watched the drunken chaos of the patrons by the door. Watched the guys ogle her body as she passed. The shadows around him allowed him a scowl. Did she even notice? Did she enjoy it? Why did it even matter to him?
The anger—not jealousy, he told himself—surging in his chest at least allowed him relief from the ache in his jeans.
Stamping out his own cig, he followed her inside, spotting their table, and slid back into his place beside her—noting Jamie’s absence, his drink gone, back at the bar again. He watched him briefly, laughing with the bartender. She was cute, to be fair—but she wasn’t Her.
He looked back to D, wiggling in her seat to the music. Another metal cover - Bad Romance. He couldn’t help the smile playing at his lips as she belted along to the chorus, brushing up against him. He couldn’t help dancing in his seat with her.
He was about to open his mouth, invite her up to the dance floor. But someone else had the same idea, and it wasn’t Jamie. He was tall, averagely handsome, nothing special, glancing at Theo as he bent down, bracing a hand on the table and leaning towards her.
“Look like you’re having fun, wanna dance?” he shouted over the music. Theo’s stomach twisted.
Not jealous. Not mine.
She glanced over her shoulder at him—did she want approval? Permission? She got up anyway, taking the stranger’s hand and letting him guide her to the dance floor. They stayed where Theo could see, but it didn’t placate him.
He looked around for Jamie. Should he do something? Is it even his place? God, he wanted to.
But he just watched. Powerless.
She moved like she’d forgotten the rest of the room existed—just rhythm, hips, heat. The lights licked across her body, strobe by strobe, like they were there for her alone. Purple strobes, amber flashes—each one catching the stretch of the fabric over her hips, the curve of her ass, the slick sheen of her dress like oil on skin. It moved with her, clung tighter when she twisted, lifted slightly when she raised her arms and let the music take her. The hem teased her ankles, then her calves, then higher—inching, teasing.
And under the right strobe, it was almost transparent. Just for a moment. Just long enough for him to imagine…
He didn’t know if anyone else noticed. He hoped to God the guy she was dancing with didn’t notice. But he felt the anger surging anyway, preemptive.
Her boots made her taller, impossible to ignore—thick soled, unapologetic things that made her hips swing sharper. Her rings caught the light like weapons. The choker—God, that choker—stayed perfectly still while the rest of her danced. She was on fire and she didn’t even know it.
Did she?
The stranger was dancing close—but not touching. Not yet. Not quite. But Theo could see it coming. He could feel it. That kind of proximity didn’t stay innocent for long. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve just had another drink. Should’ve laughed it off like Jamie would have.
But he stood. Just to stretch. Just to move. Just to be closer, in case something happened that… shouldn’t. His phone was already in his hand. A reflex.
One snap. Her face. Eyes closed. Mouth parted, smile just barely there like she was lost in the music.
Another. A full-body shot—her ass swaying as she twisted under the strobe lights, dress clinging to her movements. It made him ache again.
A third, angled from the side. Her hair swinging, her arms overhead. The O-ring at her throat glinted silver.
He could pass the photos off as innocent. But they weren’t. Not really. Not for him.
He imagined shoving that dress up over her waist and sinking to his knees right there in the dark of the dancefloor. Mouth on her pussy, inhaling her scent, her hands in his hair, trying not to scream. He wanted to. Badly. Jamie wasn’t watching—disappeared around the bar, too busy chatting up the bartender again, like he hadn’t brought her there at all.
No. You’ve got the photos. That’s bad enough. Stop.
His phone vibrated, tearing him away from the fantasy—Jamie texting from the bar. Something about shots. Theo didn’t reply. He pocketed his phone, about to join her. But the stranger leaned in, said something close to her ear—don’t touch—and she laughed. Threw her head back. Touched his arm.
Not jealous, Theo told himself. Not yours.
But it didn’t stick. Not with this new pain twisting through his gut like a knife. He resigned himself to sit back at the table, chugging the last of his drink, and then hers, as he took his seat. He’d buy the next round.
D followed a moment later, flushed and breathless, the song finally over.
“I thought you were gonna join us,” she smiled, briefly, then frowned when she noticed her drink gone.
“I’ll get the next round. Shots?” He asked, forcing a smile.
“Tequila!” She threw her hands in the air, eliciting a cheer from the table next to them.
That—that made him smile, chuckle even.
“Your funeral,” he grinned, getting up with their empty glasses.
The next song was starting, which cleared the bar quickly, making ordering quick and easy for him. He ordered three shots and their usual drinks, even if he didn’t know where his brother had gotten to, and took the chance to check out this bartender that had grabbed his attention.
She just wasn’t D…
Didn’t have the same mouth. Same laugh. Same presence. Didn’t wear a dress like that. Didn’t wear that collar.
He leaned on the bar, phone in hand, checking for messages, hoping his wife had messaged. Nothing. Did that ease the guilt he felt looking at Her the way he did? He didn’t know. She was still his brother’s girlfriend.
He watched the bartender’s sloppy pour when movement to his left caught his attention. Jamie, back at the table, phone in hand, already typing like he hadn’t just ditched her for half the night. Typical.
And then—
She stood.
From this angle, Theo had the clearest fucking view in the world. Her body lifting off the bench, dress glued to her, boots carrying her, hips swaying like a metronome to a song he couldn’t hear. The view drowned out everything—the music, the crowd, the noise in his own head.
She crossed the room slowly—like she owned it. Like she was the show. In his mind, she was. Just before the bathroom door swallowed her whole, she glanced back. One second. One look. It might have been at Jamie. Might have been the band. Might have been no one. But Theo felt like it was aimed straight at his chest.
Follow her.
The thought landed like a punch to the ribs. He could. Right now. No one would stop him. No one was watching. He could slip in behind her, drag her into a stall, pin her to the stall door, drag her dress up…
His fingers would rake slowly across her thighs, savouring every supple inch. He’d kiss her. Hard. Dress hiked up, he’d fill her with his fingers until she moaned into his mouth—like honey on his tongue—until she begged him to fuck her. Because in his mind, she would. She’d want it as badly as he did.
And he would. He’d slide into her, shove his fingers into her mouth to muffle her moans—make her taste herself. He’d pound into her—relentless, urgent.
He’d cum inside her, cock throbbing in time with her cunt spasming. No one would hear over the music.
Fuuuuuck…
His phone groaned under his tightening grip, the other hand reaching beneath the bar to adjust the raging boner threatening to expose him. He needed her—needed to fuck her. If he could just get it out of his system…
Yeah, right.
The bartender set the tray of drinks in front of him and a card machine, breaking him out of the fantasy. He paid, nodded his thanks, took a steadying breath, and picked up the tray. His hands were shaking.
The table was close, thankfully. He pulled Jamie out of his trance when he set the drinks and shots down on the table, sliding back into his seat quickly before anyone noticed his bulge.
“Where’d she go?” he asked, noticing for the first time that his girlfriend had disappeared.
“Bathroom.”
He shrugged, already disengaged, and knocked back his shot before chasing it with his drink. His cringe was amusing. But Theo didn’t have it in him to mock. He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare. Because if he opened his mouth now, he might not stop.
She returned a few minutes later—refreshed, flushed, fingers still damp from washing. She smelled like cheap soap and sin, and it made his cock twitch again. Slipping wordlessly into the booth beside him, she took her shot, noting Jamie’s empty shot glass, and turned to Theo, thighs brushing again like it was nothing—like she hadn’t just walked him through a fantasy that left him shaking.
“Miss anything?” she asked, nodding to his shot, waiting.
He took it, avoiding her stare. He couldn’t look at her—not with the images still flashing through his mind. Not while he still wondered what it would be like to fill her up, imagining the release that tortured him to his core.
“Just Jamie dying slowly,” he muttered, reaching for his own shot and gesturing to his brother—who was grimacing, still chasing tequila with his rum and coke mixer.
She chuckled. Low. Private. Leaning into him. The sound—the gesture—was a solid punch to the gut, taking his breath.
He knocked back the shot, spilling slightly in his shaky hand, and she did too. Not a word about how close she was, about how much it was torturing him. Just a twitch between his legs when she shifted, crossing her legs, her heavy boot brushing his leg under the table. He kept his cool. Barely.
You’re fucking married. She’s your brother’s girlfriend.
But by the time Jamie announced he needed to go home—tequila too much for him—Theo was already fishing for his cigarettes again, searching for another distraction. He adjusted himself, tucking the raging hard-on under the waistband of his boxers and jeans, and nudged her arm with the box.
“Coming?”
She nodded without hesitation, while Jamie disappeared to the bathroom.
They stepped outside into the crisp night air, the crowd outside thinning enough for the quiet to settle over them. Back in their same spot—the far edge of the garden, out of the light—he offered her another cigarette. Her fingers brushed his as he took it. This time, she smiled like she knew he liked the way she did it.
He lit hers. Lit his. They inhaled. The silence between them was charged—the feeling becoming familiar to him. Everything he wanted to say and do to her hanging in the smoke curling between them.
She leaned her weight into him just slightly, balancing in her boots. Her bare arm brushed his, and when a breeze brushed over them, she shivered again. He wished he had something to offer. Wished he could do something to warm her—wrap his arms around her. But he didn’t move.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, stifling a yawn. Her perfume caught in the breeze, making him dizzy. She seemed so comfortable with him that it made him ache in a different, but familiar way. She touched him in ways his wife couldn’t—wouldn’t. Simple, effortless, but filled with affection. And it made him hard. Hot.
He could feel the zipper of his jeans digging into the pulse of his cock. He took another drag, eyes fixed ahead, as if looking, acknowledging, would undo him.
The back door slid open. Jamie. D adjusted herself, quickly. Stepping away.
Not so innocent after all…
“Cab’s on the way,” he called.
Theo nodded, barely hearing him. They stomped out their cigarettes, making their way back inside and to the front of the bar.
The cab arrived quickly—he couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He wanted more time with her, but he’d been rock hard half the night and was ready to explode. Jamie took the front seat without question, leaving Theo alone with her in the back. In the dark again. She slid in beside him, their knees brushing in the space of the tiny car.
She smelled like smoke and vanilla and something warm underneath. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But every nerve in his body screamed with the want to reach for her. To let his hand slide along her thigh, to lean in and breathe her in properly. To ask her—come home with me. Just once.
His wife would be asleep, they’d been sleeping in separate rooms for over a year. She wouldn’t know. And if D said yes…
He glanced at her, staring out the window. She seemed lost in thought—and he wanted to ask about what. But she adjusted slightly, her leg brushing his, sending another surge through him. He didn’t move.
Only the occasional flash of streetlight cut through the darkness, painting her face, strobing her dress clinging to her thighs, the collar—let’s call it what it is—around her neck. He could smell her, still. The same mix of smoke, perfume, and sweat. It would haunt him for weeks.
She shifted again, ever so slightly, and the subtle touch between them became unbearable. He adjusted in his seat, tried to make it look casual, but his palm landed straight over the bulge in his jeans. Hard. Throbbing. Leaking.
She kept staring out the window. He froze for a second—then pressed.
Just for a moment.
Just easing the pressure, he told himself. But his hips twitched. And his mind went wild.
They’d barely make it through the front door. He’d grab her by the waist and push her up against it—hard—mouth on her neck, hands dragging that dress up past her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh. She’d gasp, moan into his collar, legs parting like she’d been waiting for it since the moment he sat down. She’d be soaked. For him.
She’d tug at his belt. Fumble with his zipper. No words, just the sound of her breathing, her wanting. He’d slip his cock between her thighs and she’d angle her hips—inviting, eager. He’d fuck her right there, in the dark, rough and filthy, one hand on her throat, the other keeping her steady. Boots still on, her legs locked around his waist.
His wife would be upstairs. Cold. Oblivious. Asleep.
But D? She’d be clawing at his back, whispering his name in his ear like a sin, cumming around his cock so hard it made him see stars.
His hand shifted again, pressing down on the head of his cock, soaked now with the weight of the fantasy. Precum flooded his boxers, seeping through to his jeans. He ground his palm into it once. Twice. Just shy of stroking. Just enough to make his stomach tighten, his thighs tense. One more second and he’d lose it—cum right there in the back of the car, with her beside him, his brother in the front seat.
Fuck. Fuck—
Just a little longer.
He wanted to. Badly. If only to feel the relief, to clear his mind. But the darker part wanted her to see, wanted her to watch him explode at the fantasy of her. He allowed himself one more picture, leaning over, pulling her into him, kissing her as he spilled all over her thighs.
Fuck no. Stop—
He wrenched his hand away, clenching it into a fist beside him, heart pounding like it might tear out of his chest. He didn’t dare look at her. Didn’t trust himself to breathe near her. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t even notice.
What is she thinking about?
He wondered if she felt the same way as she adjusted in her seat, brushing her knee again as the cab slowed outside Jamie’s place. He didn’t move—couldn’t. Worried the slightest shift would make him explode. But the ache between his legs was worse now. Heavy. Leaking. Unrelieved.
She’d lean over to hug him goodbye and he wasn’t sure if he could take it.
Except she didn’t…
Shit. Did she notice?
He watched her follow Jamie to the apartment building before the cab pulled away. Taking him home.
He wasn’t sure which was worse—that she didn’t know what she was doing to him. Or that she did.
