Numbers

A new genre for me, and a different writing style. I can't tell if I like it or not, but hopefully you will. Is it a slow burn? Quite possibly. I do have a second part planned from his point of view, and hopefully it won't take another 3 years. There is a lot of repetition of words and phrases, and a good amount of it is intentional. So if that throws you off or takes you out of the story, sorry?

This hasn't been edited by anyone other than myself, so any mistakes are just that. All characters are over 18, and all writing is my own.

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What am I doing? This is a bad idea.

Knowing she was making a poor choice didn't make her feet move. She was no closer to the door now than when she began cursing herself for a fool ten minutes ago. It didn't matter that she shouldn't be doing it. She wanted it. She wanted him.

It would never have crossed her mind that she might end up in a hotel room, waiting for a 21 year old barista she'd known for all of six months. They'd never even had what she'd call a proper conversation in person, only through text. But here she was anyway. Maybe she was intrigued that he was so relentless in pursuing her, maybe she was just horny. Either way, she was waiting eagerly for his arrival.

She was a regular at the shop, and she honestly had paid very little attention to him when he started. She knew most of the staff, and while she'd even say she was friends with a few of them, she kept an intentionally healthy distance from the younger ones. Encouraged them during exams and congratulated them on graduations, sure, but she was 32--far too old for it not to be weird to be friends with people who were essentially (or sometimes actually) children. And then there was Levi.

She recognized he was attractive, of course, but in a removed way. He was tall and lean, an athlete's build with corded muscles and a trim waist. He had a tight ass that she would never admit to glancing at more than once. An angular, almost pointed face with high cheekbones, and a cupid's bow mouth set in a cocky grin. Mischievous blue eyes and dark blonde curls that rivaled her own black ones, just long enough to pull back into a bun. He wasn't a potential partner, so she simply moved on. She gathered haphazard breadcrumbs of his identity over time. Found out his name when his manager yelled across the store. An old fashioned name for a man who exuded youthful energy. Learned he had just finished his junior year at a local college when he complained about his exams and his worries about his senior course load. Discovered his age when another barista mentioned taking him out for his first "legal" drink. It wasn't long after that that the notes started.

She could admit that maybe she'd been too comfortable in the shop, but especially around him. She spent hours there. Stopped by most days, would come on weekends to read and do work, had even made friends with some of the other regulars. It delighted her to be greeted to a chorus of hellos when she walked in, and maybe she let her guard down a bit too much. Maybe she'd been too casual, had encouraged too much familiarity. Drawing lines was easy, but she'd never been good at staying on her side of them.

The first time he wrote her a note, it didn't show up on the ticket. He'd used his employee ID to pay for her drink, which was common for any of the baristas to do for regulars, but he'd been disappointed that it hadn't shown up. When she asked what he'd tried to write, he'd just grinned at her and told her, "You'll just have to wait for the next time."

The next time, she'd paid for her drink herself, and her entire face flushed when she looked at the comments on her ticket. It was ten numbers. She threw the ticket away in alarm, and chastised herself for getting too casual. He was 11 years younger than her and she certainly hadn't meant to give him any signals. She wouldn't embarrass him, though, and resolved to be more formal with him.

The next time, he wrote on her cup. Nothing lascivious, but still overly familiar. And so they continued. Some just telling her to have a good day or to cheer up, some telling her she looked pretty. Some telling her how hot he thought she was, some telling her exactly what he liked most (he had many ways to express his appreciation for her ass). Then the messages all became the same. Ten numbers.

She could have stopped him, she knew that. At first it was embarrassing and she'd tried to ignore it. She didn't want to get him fired, and as long as she didn't respond, it was harmless. She knew a part of her enjoyed it. It was flattering, even if it was totally inappropriate. But it was always nice to be appreciated, especially when she hadn't been on a date in months. Then, as they got more explicit, she wasn't sure what to do except ignore it.

He got bolder every day, and she wasn't the only one who noticed. She went in with a friend one day who kept remarking on how much he stared. She waved it off and turned around so she couldn't see. But she could feel his eyes on her until she left. Some of the other baristas had noticed him writing on her cups, but hadn't said anything to her directly. Only watched with thinly veiled curiosity. He began to find ways to touch her. A high five across the counter that she couldn't turn down without inviting questions from other staff, who did similar things for much more innocent reasons. Trailing his fingers over her hand when she reached for her cup. Loudly comparing the curls of their hair, reaching out to tug on hers, pushing it behind her ear and ghosting his fingers down her jaw. A hand on her waist when he passed by on his way to other parts of the store. Quickly, and only when no one else would notice. But increasingly brazen with every passing day.

She finally had to admit to herself how much she liked the attention. Loved seeing his eyes trail over her when she walked in. Exaggerated the sway of her hips when she knew he was watching. Pushed out her chest to display herself for his approval. He had been in control of this pursuit, and it thrilled her when she discovered that she too could find the right buttons to push to provoke him. She felt full of adrenaline after every encounter, her body tight and thrumming with energy. His attraction was more blatant as she responded in kind. The notes were always the same. Ten numbers. It became harder and harder to throw the tickets away. Eventually she didn't need them anymore. She couldn't forget them if she tried.

One day he was on his own. The shop was quiet, and she was tempted to turn back. But he'd seen her, and his hot gaze swept over her. She forced herself to keep walking, to pretend she wasn't affected by the force of his immediate, full attention.

"Hi Levi. Has it been quiet like this all day?" She bit her lip at her awkwardly high voice. Smooth. Totally normal.

"Not really. You came in at just the right time. What can I do for you? Whatever you need, I'm your man." His grin was wicked.

This is somebody's son. Damn near a child. You were already 11 before he was even born. Calm down. "Just the usual, I guess."

His smile dimmed for a moment, then came back full force. "No problem at all." She couldn't help but stare. God, he was beautiful. She snapped out of it when she realized he was waiting for her to say something.

"What was that? Sorry I guess I spaced out."

He smirked, and her cheeks heated. "I was just asking if you were planning on texting me one of these days. I keep hoping you will."

Her eyes widened at his bluntness. There it was, out in the open. "I'm flattered, Levi," she stammered, "but that's not... it just wouldn't... I don't think that would be appropriate."

His smile was gone, his face uncharacteristically serious. "I can't lie, I really didn't think that's what you would say. You've given your number to some of the others."

"You're a nice kid," she started, trailing off when he scoffed at her. "

A nice kid? Do you show off your tits to every 'nice kid' you know? I know I'm not imagining it."

"Look, Levi, you're... you've got to understand that there's just not ever going to be anything here. You're 11 years younger than me. I don't understand why you keep pushing this, and I didn't want to embarrass either of us by bringing it up, but now that we're talking about it, you need to stop. You're a handsome guy, and I'm sure you've got plenty of girls your age you can go out with. I'm sorry, but this isn't ever going to happen."

He stared at her for a moment before smiling brightly, "So you think I'm handsome?"

She gaped at him. "Is that all you got from that? This can't continue. I've been really patient with you, I think, and it's just for the best--"

"We both know that's not true," he interrupted her with a flat tone. Her mouth opened and closed without a sound, and he continued. "You like it. You like me. You like it when I flirt. It turns you on. You know it turns me on. So why not? If it's just the age thing, that's not a big deal. It's just numbers that don't mean anything. We're both adults."

"It is a big deal because you're barely an adult, and I know you can't be serious about this. I don't know why you're so committed to this joke, but it's not funny anymore."

"I'm not joking. Plenty of guys are attracted to women older than them. It's not like you're old--you're just older than me. And you're really fucking hot. But fine. I'll stop. I'm not some creep who is going to keep hitting on a woman who isn't interested. Here's your coffee, it's on the house."

He set the cup on the counter and turned away, busying himself with wiping down the bar.

She hesitated before picking up the cup. It felt wrong, somehow, even though she knew it wasn't. "Well, thanks. I'll see you next time." He didn't respond, but she felt his eyes on her back as she walked out the door. She shivered.

She felt the absence of him, even as he stood in front of her. His smiles were still bright and pleasant, but bland. No longer just for her. His hands stayed firmly behind the counter, her drinks always placed in front of her before she could reach for him. Them. No more jokes and double entendres. No more trying to make her blush. She'd said no and he committed to it as surely as he had committed himself to pursuing her.

She woke with a moan, a hand in her shorts cupping her soaked sex. She'd been dreaming of him. Of the weight of his gaze on her skin as she spread herself open for him. Of that wicked smirk as his fingers trailed over her body. Of his muscles flexing as he held himself over her. Of her hands catching in his curls as his mouth moved down her body. Of that tight ass flexing as he thrust into her.

She groaned as her hips moved, seeking the friction of her palm covering her clit. She shouldn't give in, but she was so primed, so ready. She didn't tease, just thrust two fingers inside her sopping wet channel. Her other hand wormed its way to cup her breast, rolling a tight nipple in her hand.He's right. I love the way he flirts. I love displaying myself for him.

Her fingers flew over her clit as she pushed herself towards release.I bet he's done this before. I hope he has. Made himself cum thinking of me. I wonder what he thinks of. He loves my ass. Does he want to take me from behind? Does he stroke his cock thinking about fucking me?

She tumbled over the edge, moaning his name. "Fuck yes, Levi. Cum for me. Oh fuck. Show me how much you want me. Fuck fuck fuck. Cumming for you. Levi, FUCK!"

She knew she'd feel guilt in the morning, but in the quiet of her bedroom she indulged in her depravity. She let her mind wander, dreaming of his body covering hers, twining around hers. Imagining the feel of his mouth pressed against hers, the taste of his cock, the sticky saltiness of his cum down her throat. She lost count of how many times she called out his name in the darkness. Numbers jumbled in her head. She came again and again, calling out to him and imagining her fingers were his until finally she slept, legs clamped tight around one hand, pressing itself desperately against her messy cunt.

He was alone at the counter again, but his blue eyes shuttered as they connected with hers. She forced herself to keep walking, to pretend she wasn't as affected by the lack of his attention as she'd been by the force of it. He was alone at the counter, but a college-aged girl stood on the other side of it, giggling and tossing her long brown hair. There was no ambiguity in the girl's actions, and Levi smiled back. That cocky smirk covered his face once again, but not for her.

"Hi Levi. How's it going?" She bit her lip at her awkwardly high voice. Smooth. Totally normal.

The girl stepped to the side as she approached, glancing sidelong. Not for long. She'd been sized up and found wanting--she wasn't a threat.

"What can I do for you today?"

"Oh, just the usual, I guess." Did she imagine the pause, the flicker in his eye?

"No problem at all. On the house."

A pregnant pause. She couldn't help feeling like he was waiting on a response. "Sorry to interrupt. Feel free to keep... talking, or whatever. I'll just wait over there." He turned away, shoulders tense, and the girl moved back in front, a chattering voice easily drowned out by her own conflicted thoughts. She snapped out of it when she realized he was waiting for her to say something.

There was her coffee, held out, waiting for her to grab it. She stared at his hand, waiting for it to withdraw. It didn't. His face was blank, no hint of his thoughts. The girl had stopped talking, looking annoyed at the interruption. She grabbed the cup, her fingers tangling in his as he let go.

"Well, thanks. I'll see you next time."

He turned away, his attention back on the girl. His cocky smirk fixed in place but differently than before. He didn't respond, but she felt his eyes on her back as she walked out the door. She shivered.

Ten numbers, no longer on her cup but nonetheless on the tips of her fingers. She paused, debating, considering the lunacy of what she was considering. It wasn't a good choice, but she hit send anyway.

How do I know you're not joking?

L: I can prove it.

It felt like hours before her phone vibrated again in her hand. He'd sent a video.

His hand, the same one that had been tangled with hers, gripped the stalk of a long, fat cock. The muscles of his arm shifted and tensed as he slowly pumped his erection, precum beading at the tip of the reddened crown. His voice was gravelly and deep. "Does this look like I'm joking? Fuck, you make me so fucking hard. Do you know how many times I've jerked off because of you? You're fucking killing me, have you seen your ass in those short fucking dresses you wear?" His breathing was shaky. "Damn, I can't wait to fuck you."

Who says you're going to fuck me?

His hand was moving faster in the next video. "Gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand. Goddamn fucking tease. Can't wait to feel that pussy wrapped around my cock. I want to hear you beg for my cum. Shit. Do you want my cum? You want my cock?"

She hesitated. She could still go back. Could stop this. Could walk away. But she didn't want to force herself to keep walking again.

I want you to cum for me.

He only spoke in groans and expletives in the next video. His hand was flying over his cock, up and down with a twist around the almost purple tip. His abs flexed and his hand stopped moving, gripping tightly as pearly white cum spurted in long ropes across his body. He came loudly, moaning and thrusting into his hand as the last of his cum slid down over his hand. Her cries matched his as she came with him, creaming on the fingers pumping between her widespread legs. She panted along with him and long after the video had ended.

L:?

I guess you're not joking.

L: Is that all you got from that?

How many times have you cum thinking about me?

L: I don't know, but it's a big number.

She couldn't bring herself to save his number. If it was just numbers, if there was no name, she could ignore her misgivings and focus on the pleasure it gave her. He was constantly horny. She loved the videos he'd send her, telling her in great detail all of the filthy things he wanted to do to her. She dressed to provoke him, and she was rewarded with his low groans and muffled moans. She responded in kind, sending selfies of herself in various states of undress, videos of her fucking herself with her favorite dildo, voice messages of her screaming his name as she made herself cum. She was on a runaway train, rushing towards a precipice.

Slowly she found more breadcrumbs leading back to him. He made her laugh so hard it hurt. He astounded her with his intelligence and complete obliviousness to it. He was kind of a dork, and much less self assured than he let on. He'd almost stopped the notes before that day in the store. She was sure she'd never have ended up here if he had, which made her both grateful and confused. He wore glasses to read, which made him look kind of like a fluffy bird when his hair was down. He had moved for school, and his mother and one younger sister lived several states over. She had a brief internal meltdown at the mention of his mother, who was closer to her age than he was, but then she stopped by the shop and his eyes on her body in the little summer dress she wore gave her goosebumps. She forgot to be concerned, lost in the rush of him.

She needed more. He hadn't pressed her, but she knew he wanted it as much as she did. She couldn't sleep without cumming anymore, and while the phone sex was incredible, she craved the taste and feel of him. Every time they'd come close to talking in person, someone interrupted them. The phone was her safe place--it was just numbers, it wasn't real. She couldn't, wouldn't, bring it up there. Then he was alone again.

She didn't speak. She wasn't sure if she could. She just stared at him, a visible shudder coursing through her body as he froze in place at the sight of her. She'd come from the pool, so she was wearing a bikini with a sheer coverup and cutoffs. If her dresses were a tease, this put her entire body on display for him. She spun around for him on the pretense of making sure her car door was locked. Her body quivered and the hair on her body rose as his jaw clenched and his eyes roved across her exposed flesh.

He glanced around, making sure there were no other customers around before he broke the silence.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but it took a few seconds before her brain caught up and remembered how to form words, "Nothing that I can't get out of."

He chuckled, "Getting out of things is definitely the point. Meet me at 7? I can make sure my roommate has other places to be."

"No," she paused, and then realized her mistake when his confusion and disappointment covered his handsome face. "I mean, not at your apartment. I'll get a room somewhere."

A slow smile spread over his face. He paused for a moment before pulling on one of her curls. He tucked it behind her ear and ghosted his fingers over her jaw. "Can't wait." He moved as if to lean in, eyes focused on her mouth, but pulled away quickly as his coworker came back from break, and she left in a daze. She felt his eyes on her back as she walked away. She shivered. She was halfway home before she realized she hadn't even gotten a drink.

The numbers on the hotel clock glowed a bright red. 6:45. Here she was. This was a mistake. But she would make it regardless. She wanted it. She needed it.

Everything felt awkward and contrived. How should she wait? She wanted to be natural, but she wanted to take his breath away. She had covered herself, but barely. Her lingerie was a complicated series of silk straps and small scraps of lace that took twenty minutes to figure out how to get into. It covered her nipples and her pussy but left her ass entirely exposed. It would probably take only a matter of moments to get off. Not worth the effort, but it would stop him in his tracks and that was reason enough. Her lips were painted a deep red. She wanted him to remember what her mouth looked like wrapped around his cock. Her curls were pinned up. She fully expected it to be tumbled down almost as quickly as her lingerie.