Not Mine

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, my hands gripping the cool marble counter to try to keep the room from swaying. I've had way too much to drink tonight.

"Too much of a lot of things," I say out loud. Too much make-up. Too much cleavage. Too much time staring at someone else's husband, hoping he's noticing me. "Too much tequila." I scold myself. "Stop."

My reflection shrugs and I sigh. I think my long brown hair looked cute earlier, but it's warm in here and now it looks stringy and it's sticking to my neck. I wish I had something to tie it back with. I wish I could wash my face. I wish I could just go home.

Tears sting my eyes and I squeeze them closed. I cannot cry with all this damn make-up on. I open them again, assessing my reflection brutally. The black and white dress flatters my curves but it's too low cut and I pull at the neckline, trying and failing to conceal my breasts. I'm practically giving it away, here and no one is looking at me. Not even my own stupid husband who can't keep his eyes off whatever is playing on the television over the bar.

Giving up on whatever miracle I hoped would happen in there, I step out of the bathroom and lean against the wall. It's noisier out here and I wish I could duck back into the solitude of the restroom. It's too bright in there, though, so I guess I have to pick my poison, so to speak.

Now, how to get back to the table where my best friend and her husband are waiting for me? I am about to try when Mike comes around the corner.

Mike. My Mike. I sigh before correcting myself. No. Her Mike. Not mine.

He stops short when he sees me and stands there, grinning. "Interetesting," he says, smugly, crossing his arms. "Everything okay?"

I nod, blushing.

"Do you need help getting back to the table?"

I shake my head, but when I let go of the wall, the room begins to spin and I clutch it again quickly.

He is at my side in a heartbeat, wrapping a strong arm around me, but laughing. "I think I'll help you anyway."

"You smell good," I tell him. Amid the overpowering flowery air freshener from the bathroom and the stale bar smells from behind him, comes the sweet scent of his cologne. I press my face into his chest, breathing deeply and sighing.

He holds me close. "You're going to get me into trouble," he warns.

"Hmm?" I murmur contentedly. "It's just a hug. Not like we're fucking in the bathroom."

"But, Baby," he growls in my ear. "Baby, I want to fuck you in the bathroom. I want to press you into the wall and slam into you from behind so you feel every inch of me. I want to pound into you until you scream my name when you cum. Then I want to turn you around and pin you to the wall with my cock and feel you hold onto me while I fill you."

"Oh," I say, quietly.

"Yeah, 'oh,'" he groans. "Time to get back to the table, Sweet Girl."

"You're still holding me," I whisper.

His fingers tangle in my hair and he yanks my head back. "I'm having a hard time letting go."

"Don't let go," I whimper. "I need you."

His soft lips brush my temple, then slide down the side of my face to my jaw, just below my ear. "I need you, too."

All the humor is gone from his voice and I swallow, hard. "I...I think I can make it back to the table."

"I'll walk you."

"I don't think that's a good idea "

"Why not?"

Boldly, I arch against him, languishing in the feel of his erection pressing into my belly. I pull away and look down, pointedly, at the bulge in his jeans.

He groans and reaches down to adjust himself.

I lick my lips, longing to trace him with my fingertips, hold him in my hands before taking him into my mouth, licking and sucking until he shoots his hot, sticky load down my throat.

"You're not helping."

I blink up at him. "Sorry," I whisper, feeling my cheeks heat.

He smirks. "Yeah, okay."

"I am," I exclaim. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Let's go sit down," he says, softly.

I sigh and lean against him for another second, moving my hands over his chest to his broad shoulders. "I'm not exactly comfortable, either, if it helps."

He grunts and turns me in his arms, so I am facing away from him. He skims his hand down the front of my dress, over my breasts, down to my waist, and around to my backside. He slips his hand under the skirt and I jump when I feel his fingers on my skin.

"A thong, Sweet Girl? Are you trying to kill me?"

I say nothing, holding my breath as he slips his hand between my legs and inhales sharply.

"Jesus, you're dripping."

I whimper.

"Shhhh," he breathes into my ear. "You have to be quiet, Baby." He moves his free hand to cover my mouth as his fingers slip under the elastic of my panties. He stills. "Tell me to stop."

I shake my head and he moves his hand away from my mouth. "No, please," I whisper. "Please don't stop."

He pushes a finger inside of me and I yelp. He claps his hand back over my mouth and I arch back against him.

"Fuck," he breathes in my ear. "You're so wet."

Both thrilled and terrified that we might get caught, my body builds quickly as he continues his assault. I whimper when he adds a second finger.

I clench around his fingers as his palm presses against my clit. I cum, clutching his other wrist, pulling his hand down so I can suck his thumb into my mouth.

He hisses in my ear and I suck hard, then swirl my tongue around it. He pulls his hand free, releasing me and turning me to face him all at once. His arms surround me and I put my hands on his chest.

"I want you," he growls, his voice low. "I want to drag you into the bathroom and do dirty, disgusting things to your sweet body. I want to take you home and lay you out in my bed and worship every inch of you. I want..." his voice breaks and I look up at him quickly. His eyes are closed and he swallows hard. "But, damn it, I can't even kiss you."

"Oh." He wants to kiss me. "I never kissed a guy with a beard before." I wonder aloud.

"Go back to the table."

I frown. "You aren't going to help me?"

He smiles and smooths my hair back. "I'm going to clean up. Think about baseball for a little bit."

"I'll wait here for you."

He nods. "Okay."

"She'll wonder where we are."

He shakes his head. "Time is irrelevant. She's wasted."

I swallow. "Me too."

"I wish I was." He looks pained. "Then I'd have an excuse for my behavior. Don't hate me."

I shake my head. "I love you," I say, simply.

He draws in a deep breath. "I don't think it would be fair of me to kiss you right now."

"I know," I whisper. Standing up on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek, like I have a thousand times before. "It's okay."

He cups my face and wipes away a tear with his thumb. "It's not," he whispers. Gathering me in his arms, he holds me close. "It's not okay. I'm sorry. I lost control."

I shake my head against his chest. "I'm not sorry."

"This can't happen again."

"I know."

"I'm going to let go now."

I nod. "Okay."

He releases me, then turns quickly and disappears into the bathroom.

I consider following him, but sag against the wall, instead. What just happened? I cover my face with my hands. My best friend's husband just made me cum in the back hallway at a bar. What in the hell is wrong with me? How could I let this happen? How could I enjoy it so much?

I step away from the wall and the room sways. I halt until it stops, then take a step toward the noisy bar. I groan. I do not want to go back out there. I just want to go home. I lean against the wall again and turn back to the bathroom to wait for my Mike.

No. Not my Mike. Her Mike.