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The Heat

Spring in New Orleans. The nighttime air is still crisp but warm compared to my hometown in the North. I revelled in the warm Mississippi breeze, letting it kiss my skin and breathing it all in. Pushing my way through the drunken debauchery on Bourbon Street, I turned down Ursulines Ave, past the infamous convent and took a left at Decatur Street.

I entered the restaurant alone. It was late, much later than most people would arrive for dinner. But food was never really in my plans, however tempting. 

“Table for one?”

I nodded, my heart beating out of my chest. 

They took my jacket. Underneath, my favourite cocktail dress – a short magenta sheath with black lace overlay. My hair pulled back to reveal the curve my neck. The soft, golden candlelight casted glow over the wine glasses and silverware and caused the porcelain dishes to gleam.

Led to my seat at the long bar in front of the kitchen, I spotted him- the reason for the secret smile on my face. Amongst the buzzing of activity of the kitchen, he remained an island of calm; the fierce look on concentration on his face as he decoded orders going in and organized dishes coming out.

Pretending to read the menu, I enjoyed the view. The warm brick dining room was abuzz with people lingering over coffee and wine. I wondered how long it would take him to notice me. I knew that by the time I arrived, the main rush would be over and he would be breathing a little easier, laughing and chatting with his cooks again, and perhaps notice who his diners are tonight.

I ordered something off the menu - I’m not even sure what. Dessert, I think, and two drinks.

It was one of his cooks who noticed me staring first. I saw him laugh as he nudged him and pointed in my direction. I saw him turn, and watched his eyes widen- first with shock, then with amusement. I could see the reality of the situation slowly registering on his face. After all, he's only seen me through a computer screen. Yet there I am, at the restaurant, in flesh and blood.

I smiled, and in five steps he's out of the kitchen and staring at me from across the bar. His eyes, over the shock now, are now wide with wonder.

“What… when…” he stammered. “ You can’t be real.”

I laughed. “I got in this afternoon, and I leave Friday morning.”

He grabbed my hand and pressed his lips lightly to them, teeth grazing my knuckles. I sighed, and felt myself blush. Such an intimate gesture on public display, my instinct would usually be to lower my eyes, to be coy. But as he looked up, he saw that I held his gaze, unwilling to look away.

I’ve come this far and I’m not turning back now.

“…ballsy… “ I heard you mutter under your breath as the server appears with the two drinks and a raised eyebrow.

The Jack on ice is for me, Jameson for you. I raised my glass. “To New Orleans, baby.” I leaned in and whispered in his ear, and felt him shiver ever so slightly. I know that he would have caught a whiff of my perfume - feminine, familiar, understated but darkly sexy.

I sat back and sipped, enjoying the headiness of the sour mash and letting it flow through my body. I looked at him over my glass and he sees something else in my eyes – a longing, a lust. He drank deeply from his glass.

“Baby, are you sure about this? “ he asked. “There’s no going back.”

“I fucking want you.” I replied, each word more sure of that then anything else I had in a very long time.

He looked over the shoulder at his line. It was late Sunday evening, almost midnight. There is nothing that the kitchen can’t handle without you at this point. “Fuck this,” he muttered, and grabbed my neck and pulled me into a passionate kiss, right there over the bar.

The restaurant and the rest of the world became inconsequential at that one kiss. His tongue parting my lips and I eagerly accept, and hungry for more. I sucked his tongue between my lips, and let mine intertwine with his. With some reluctance we pulled apart – we were still in public after all. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a back hallway and through a door. Chef’s office, not that he’d mind – it’s not like this is a first.

He turned to me as soon as the door is locked. Before I could register what was happening he had me against a wall, my arms pinned to my side and his face only a breath away from mine. He looked deeply into my eyes, and saw the steely determination.

I leaned in and closed the distance between our lips. He, in turn, pressed his body to mine as I ground my hips to his. His hand reached down up my short dress and found that I had soaked through the black lace I was wearing underneath.

I groaned into his mouth as his fingers found my swollen clit and brushed up against it through the fabric. With his free arm he drew me tight against him as I fumbled with his belt.

He took my leg around and wrapped it around his waist, pushed my panties aside and entered me in one long, steady stroke. He held himself there as we looked into each other’s faces, breathless with anticipation. Months of chatting, teasing and virtual playing condensed into this one moment. I stared into his eyes and saw a lust and longing that equaled my own.

I cried out as he lowered his lips to me neck and bit me, my nails raking down his back. He started to thrust himself into me – hard, insistent, but with a degree of self-control that suggests that he wants to savour and remember this.

I felt the wetness running down my thigh and my own climax building. The wet sound of our fucking and the smell of our musk filled the room. He was thrusting faster now as his own need builds. I clung to him and absorbed every glorious thrust.

There were fireworks when I came. My climax ripped through my body, causing me to cry out, my wet pussy quivering. He sensed me cum, and pushed a little harder to reach that beautiful peak himself. I can feel his cock pulsing as he filled me with him cum as he groaned.

His body slumped against mine and we remained like that as I luxuriated in his warmth and weight. We breathed heavily, reluctant to move, unwilling to let this moment end.

Eventually, he pushed himself up with one hand, and the other, he gently caressed my face.

“Baby, what are you doing here?”

I look up at you, the answer already on my lips.

“Evolving.” I replied – something we talked about over too many late nights. Something I hope he’d understand, and accept.

He looked deeply at me again, and kissed me gently.

“I just need to talk to chef and I’m out of here…”

“I’ll be waiting.“


My seat was empty.

He looked around the empty restaurant in confusion. I did not come all the way to New Orleans for a quickie in an office. He knew that. Had I thought better of it and backed off?

Looking closer to where I sat, he noticed a deliberate vignette on the bar. The two glasses remained: one half full, with ice, the other emptied of its content but the ice remained. Leaning against the glasses was an envelope. I had paid the server to leave it the way it is.

“…. what the fuck…. “ he muttered under his breath.

My pink lipstick marks the empty glass and my perfume lingered. He picked up the other glass and drank- Jameson. She remembered, he thought with amusement. Ripping open the envelope, a card key. Hotel Le Marais, six blocks away by his calculations. Inside, a note in my handwriting - room 347.


I walked into the night New Orleans night with that secret smile still clinging to my face.

I wonder if he’d come.

I hope he would.


The hot chicory coffee and the beignets smelled heaven-sent when they arrived at the table. I sat the Café du Monde, enjoying the late afternoon sun on the banks of the Mississippi. Over the course of the last few days, it became clear why I had chosen New Orleans- something in my gut told me I was supposed to meet him and discover myself along the way. I’ve evolved and, much to my own surprise, I’m enjoying this fearless, carefree new me. My heart is lighter, and my outlook more clear.

I reached for one of the hot donuts, carefully removing the mountain of powdered sugar before dunking it into my strong, milky coffee, and taking a greedy bite.

Oh yeah, I came to New Orleans for the food too.

“Amateur. You’re doing it all wrong.” You laughed as you reached for your own donut, complete with the sugar, and took a bite - somehow maneuvering the hot pastry so your shirt remains unsullied. Seeing me roll my eyes at you, you scooped up some more sugar with your donut and offered it to me, inviting me to take a bite.

I leaned in slowly, holding his gaze with a wicked little smile. I parted my lips and…

You tilted the donut up, covering my nose and my black tank top with powdered sugar. There’s a smug little expression your face as you laughed – you’ve been waiting days for this.

I frowned, and pouted. I almost never pout, but this meant all out war. I instinctively scooped up whatever sugar was left on the plate, and tossed it his way. By the end of it, we were both covered in the sticky white powder and laughing hysterically.

I don’t remember the last time my heart felt so… weightless.

As my breathing returned to normal, you took my hand, placed a tender kiss on my palm, and held it against your chest. I leaned in and cautiously licked whatever sugar was left on your lips and kissed you gently.

I could lose myself in this moment – the perfect afternoon in the sun, the clarinet playing in the distance, the sounds and smells of New Orleans. This city holds magic.

A smile curved your lips as I pull away. “Come here…” you whispered, and kissed me again.

I have never been more sure.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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