Orders

"I see you," the text comes in randomly, and my cheeks bloom pink when I read it in a glance from behind the bar.

I was only meant to be back there for a couple minutes. My arms were dappled with warm water, leftover droplets from the stacks of glassware I was replacing onto their neon back-lit shelving. But the restaurant was quiet, populated only by a random spattering of customers and chatty, bored waitresses. I looked around, but I didn't see the sender anywhere.

"I don't see you," I responded, pocketing my phone.

I felt the buzz against my thigh almost immediately, and smiled. I dipped back into the kitchen, past the whirring machinery of the dish pit, and set to filling another load. But impatience had taken my lover over, and another buzz hummed against my leg.

"Come outside," the first one said.

"...please?" the second.

I couldn't help but grin at that, giddy. My lover, and all their manners.

"5 minutes," I texted. "Order me a drink."

They didn't respond, and I didn't check, loading a tall pile of aluminum food trays into the dishwasher with a rapid, repetitive motion. The sooner I could get out of there, the better. The sooner I could get to my lover, the better.

Finally, as the steam erupted in a thick wall from the sides of the dishwasher, I freed myself from the damp rubber apron that hung limp around my neck. I breezed around the bend, waving at the guys pretending to work the line, busy-working in between hits from a shared vape. I smiled and nodded through the mostly empty dining room and out onto the patio with a swift step, eager to see them.

The drink they chose for me: black cherry rum and soda, berries and mint muddled at the bottom of the glass. An ode to our shared sweet tooth.

"Come on," I said, coming to my lover's side as they sat lounging. "Let's go 'round back."

"You don't even say hello," they chided, but they were grinning all the same. They grabbed my drink and rose, coming to walk beside me as we wrapped ourselves around the strip of kitchy bars and taco shops. Past the parking lot, where the pavement isn't maintained and the industrial garbage bins overflow uncontrollably.

"Hello," I said pointedly. "Thanks for the drink."

I plucked it from their hand precariously as we made our way, finally, to our destination. We slid behind the dumpsters and grease containers to the mountain of bagged recycling leaning against the building, waiting silently to be whisked away. My lover leaned against the cement wall that stood between us and the rest of the courtyard, and for the first time that day, I took a real look at them.

My lover spent their summers well. Their skin, a brilliant brown ochre, glistened from hours spent on the lakes surrounding our city. Their arms and legs seemed especially hard, toned from the vigor of their recreation. And their smile bloomed brilliant and beaming every time I caught their gaze, a second sun in the summertime. Looking at them, I was grateful for my drink, which I'd taken several heavy mouthfuls of, to excuse the growing rouge on my cheeks. They said nothing of it, just smiling as they closed the space between us, their hand pulling firmly at my waist.

"I'm really glad you came," I said, earnest before I could feel embarrassed.

"Of course," they grinned, leaning close. "It's been a while. I missed you."

Their hand cradled the soft mound of my hip, thumb circling up and under my shirt to graze my flesh. I leaned into them, feeling the familiar heat of desire building between my legs. They brought their lips to my cheek, their hand emboldened, slinking entirely beneath the fabric and pulling a soft gasp from my throat.

"Finish your drink," they ordered, their voice soft, their hand tender.

I smiled and obeyed easily, taking the last bitter sip of my drink and setting the glass down clumsily on the splintered concrete.

"You're bossy today," I joked.

My lover's gaze was warm as it met mine, laughter on their lips, a smile in their eyes. I felt the weight of the long, slow slog of work fade from my shoulders. Unburdened, I kissed them. They held me tighter and pivoted to press my back into the wall behind us. The rigid plane of painted cinder blocks was cool against my back, a balm to the heat that their palm radiated as it trailed over my belly to the button of my jeans.

"I like you bossy," I added, pulling my lips from theirs.

"Is that right?" they smiled, their fingers playing with the hem of my panties while their free hand stroked my collarbone. "Should I order you around some more, baby?"

I giggled, a sharp sound which my lover stifled with another fervent kiss, their hand cupping my vulva and turning my laugh into a sigh of pleasure.

"Yes," I said.

My lover smirked, their lips still so close to my own.

"Alright," they said. "You need to be quiet here, okay? None of that whining you like to do."

Immediately, I wanted to let out a small huff, a little whimper of protest, but their hands on me left me spellbound and hazy. Their breath was hot, their skin was slick with the slightest sheen of sweat, and I longed for a chance to reach forward, to feel along their thigh for the outline of a strap. But they held me still, with their gaze more than anything else. I could feel, before they had even touched me, how I had grown swollen and wet with hunger for them. I wished for the hour to strike where I could punch out and come sauntering back to their doorstep, craving.

For now, I could only focus on them in these brief moments. For now, I could only ignore the aching in my feet and the thoughts of impending boredom when my lover and I must finally part ways. For now, I needed to be right there, nestled into my lover's arms, allowing my world to be shrunken down to only them.

They pulled my panties to the side. They found the slick tufts of hair surrounding my labia and entangled their fingers in their curls. Their touch, so close to my swollen clit, my twitching cunt, made my breath catch in my throat. I wanted to moan, to feel the golden syllables of their name sliding from my tongue, and I wanted to see their reaction. Would they balk at my defiance? Would they punish me? Would they stop touching me?

That last question was enough to earn my silence, though I had to bite my tongue to maintain it. They loomed large over me, smiling with something like mischief in their eyes. I sighed and gasped, but was otherwise quiet as their hand at my neck danced over my skin, their other hand venturing down to circle my cunt. My wetness coated their fingers, which slid upward to find the small nub of my clit. My hips twitched and bucked forward, and they chuckled, finding an easy rhythm as they rubbed against me.

Their fingers, long and slender, ran swift circles over my clit. Between the swollen folds of my labia, my lover moved like liquid. Their hands were soft and firm, and despite their fervor, they were steady in their movements. I ran my lips up and over their jawline, fantasizing about a day off so I might finally take my lover out on a real date, when my kisses could leave a ring of cherry red on their skin. Proof that I was there. I thought of how well this butch could wear my lipstick on their bronzed cheek, how good it would look against the backdrop of their black leather, and how emboldened it might make them feel. How well they might love me afterwards, given how well they loved me here and now, in a place where we were both scum.

Eventually, their touch plucked those thoughts from my head. Their wide chest, breasts unbound and heavy beneath their shirt, pressed against me. Feverish, they brought their lips to mine. They let out a soft gasp at the lingering taste of rum on my lips, and I smiled against their kiss.

Their fingers were still circling my clit in a steady, pulsing rhythm, the pressure in my cunt growing heavier as I reached for them and held tight to their shoulder. Our kisses grew clumsy and we pulled back, breathless and giddy.

"God," my lover whispered, "you're so wet."

I hummed, the rising pressure in my belly begging me to release some sound. All I could let out was the slightest groan, which my lover reacted to instantly.

"Shh," they said, their hand trailing heavily up my throat, tensing ever so slightly over my jugular before ascending ever higher. They rested their palm over my lips and pressed gently, my head held against the painted cement wall behind us.

But I couldn't help it. My body twitched, muscles spasming, as though my whole body were convulsing around my lover's hand, trying to consume it entirely. I hummed and panted against their hand. I gripped their shoulder, squeezing so tight that my lover gave out a low gasp of their own between gritted teeth. In turn, they paused their swirling fingers to slide my clit between their thumb and forefinger. Their lips found my cheek again, wet and impossibly soft. Their hot breath blew along my jaw and I quaked as they cruelly pinched my clit. And they laughed, a low, whispered chuckle, as they resumed their firm massaging after finally releasing me.

I could never be quiet for them.

My lover kept their hand clasped over my mouth, but I was a mewling, bumbling mess all the same. The lines between the build up and the climax seemed to blur, the waves of pleasure climbing up through my core like the coily tendrils of bindweed: it clung to everything. It crawled down deep, just as high as it climbed, wrapping around the branches of my lungs so that I couldn't help but gasp. Orgasm tore through me in full-body waves, an electric torrent through every nerve. It was a rare thing, a lover who could fuck me like this. Who could work me up into a proper frenzy, a howling mess, a gambling woman. Someone who says, "please," when I'm talking about cumming.

I mean, really, what the hell is that?

When they pulled their hand from the zipper of my jeans, fingers wrinkled and slick with wetness, my body moved forward as if in protest of the new distance between us. My lover's smile softened, and they stroked my cheek as I caught my breath.

"That wasn't very quiet, baby," they said.

I smiled, refastening my jeans and reaching out for them. I wrapped my arms around their middle, hooking my fingers through their beltloops and planting my lips firmly against theirs.

"Something tells me you're gonna let it slide," I told them.

My lover grinned, twirling the end of my ponytail in their fingers.

"Maybe," they said. "Or maybe not. Are you closing tonight?"

"No," I said.

"Good," my lover smiled, that mischief once more permeating their gaze. "Come to my place after work."

"Is that an order?" I smiled.

"Yes."