The Date

Our relationship had an intense beginning, full of heavy flirting and possibility, until the realities of existing relationships came crashing in to spoil the party. Now, over a year after we first met, we're both in different places. I've been separated from my wife since shortly after lockdown was lifted and your relationship ended a while ago. We're closer friends than ever, and since I've had my own place you've been coming over a couple of times a month to get high, cuddle up and watch movies. When you finally caved after months of asking and came over for the first time, I know you didn't fully trust me. But, with each movie night we had, you became more and more comfortable around me; eventually staying in my spare room and having breakfast with me before leaving a few times. It was always a weird experience. I love your company and your friendship, but the want I've had inside me since we first met is still there. It's less intense now, sure, but it hasn't gone away. Having you cuddled into me while I stroke your hair is like a sweet torture. I wouldn't give it up, but it does nothing to lessen the desire to have you that still burns inside. And since you've been single, I haven't stopped thinking about asking you out. You've been over twice since you broke up. Once was quite soon afterwards and we talked into the early hours, holding you when you cried. My heart broke for you, and all I wanted was to look after you and make you happy again. The second time you came over, you were more yourself although you were obviously still upset and again, I felt the need to baby you.

Weeks later, you're much better. Not over him, but in a place where you've started flirting with me more again and allowing your brat to come back out a little. It's been months since I've seen that side of you and I've missed it. One evening, I decide it's time to take a chance and send you a message. Instead of coming to mine for movies this week, do you fancy going out for dinner and staying in an Airbnb? Same rules as at mine apply - I won't do anything, separate bedrooms, blah, blah, blah. I send it. Now I'm allowed to ask you, I'm going to - I've been dreaming of taking you out for so long, I'd be an idiot if I didn't. I stare at my phone. The message has been delivered. The little ticks turn blue. I watch the screen for a second, holding my breath. Typing... I look at the word under your name with butterflies in my stomach. I can't believe I'm this nervous. I can feel my palms becoming slick with sweat as I watch your status flick from Online to Typing... and back again. It's taking too long. I asked too soon didn't I, I just couldn't be patient, I had to jump the gun. Fuck, now you're going to let me down gently and not want to come over either. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

As I'm berating myself, my phone softly buzzes in my palm. I unlock it and bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for it to open.

"Sounds good! Where are you thinking?"

I read and then re-read that sentence six or seven times until it slowly sinks in. You said yes. Holy fuck, you said yes! My heart leaps and a million scenarios flood my mind as I type a reply "The city, that Brazilian place?" While I wait for a reply, I open the Airbnb app and put the dates in. I scroll through the options and pick a place just as your reply arrives. You seem happy with my choice of restaurant, and we arrange to meet for cocktails after work on Friday before going to eat. You pop over on Thursday evening for a few minutes to drop off an overnight bag for me to take with me, but much to my dismay, you don't hang around.

Friday finally arrives and time seems to pass more slowly than it should. I'm going out of my head. We keep messaging each other, flirting more and more as the day wears on. My imagination is running rampant with possibilities for tonight, and I remind myself over and over that I'm under house rules and I'm not allowed to touch you. The bratty tone of your messages makes me wonder what if, but I quickly slap the thought away before it consumes me and I lose my control before we even meet. Finally, 3pm rolls around and I leave. I drive into the city and check into the apartment. Instead of one of the basic apartments I would normally choose for a night out, I'd pushed the boat out a bit and booked a penthouse apartment with a private terrace. I blamed the high I was on when you said yes. I let myself into the building with a keycode and retrieved the key from a lockbox with another. I get into the large lift, swipe the fob to unlock the controls and hit the button for the top floor. I check myself in the mirror as the lift starts with a gentle jolt. Since separation, I'd lost weight and given up cigarettes with your encouragement, and I was feeling healthier than I had in years. I grin at myself as the doors slide open behind me, opening onto a small foyer with a small sofa against the far wall and a single front door on either side. I double check the number on the key, open the door and let myself in.

The penthouse is lush, more luxury hotel than Airbnb. The lounge and kitchen are open plan, separated from the terrace by floor to ceiling windows to give the best of the view over the city. Right now, it all looks a bit drab and grey, but I know when it gets dark and the buildings start lighting up the view will be pretty cool. I drop the bags and wander through the lounge. There's a a full bar, a huge open fireplace surrounded by plush sofas, a full sound system throughout the entire place; and as I open the door to the terrace and step out, I realise that what I took as trees and bushes to make the space greener is actually a windbreak hiding a hot tub bubbling away atop a raised platform overlooking the city. I have the sudden thought that I might have overdone it. Fuck it, it's too late now.

I grab our bags on the way back through the lounge and go down a short corridor, pushing doors open as I go. First is the bathroom, with a huge whirlpool bath. Next is the guest room; your room. I drop your bag on the king size bed. It's a pretty large room, a huge painting taking up most of one wall and more floor to ceiling windows overlooking the terrace. I turn and push open the last door. It's the master bedroom, and it's almost as big as the lounge. I turn to the right towards the enormous bed against one wall; modern looking nightstands on either side complete with phone charging points, bottles of water and sleep masks.

There's another huge painting taking up most of the wall above the bed, but the wall opposite is almost entirely mirror. It makes the room feel even bigger. I throw my bag onto the bed and walk to the huge windows, where there are more doors leading to the terrace. I open them, letting some fresh air blow through. Turning around, I walk to the other end of the room and into a small dressing room, leading to the en-suite; another over-sized room with an enormous monsoon shower over a drain in the middle of it. No screens, just minimal modern design. It looks cool as fuck. I put my things away in the dressing room and go back to the kitchen to roll a few joints for later to kill some time. Once I'm done, I mix myself a drink at the bar and then wander out to sit on the terrace. As I smoke and drink, I glance at my watch. Only a couple of hours left to wait. A wave of nerves crashes over me. God, I hope I don't fuck this up. The remainder of my joint helps calm the thoughts.

I finish up and go back into the bedroom, stripping off en-route to the en-suite, and take my time showering completely enveloped in a blanket of water. I shave and trim everything, just in case. Once I'm satisfied, I start going through my rituals in front of the mirror. As I do, my phone pings. I glance at it. It's a message from you to say you're about to leave. I text you back the directions to and entrance code for the car park, then finish up what I'm doing. I go and get dressed, putting on jeans, shoes, a shirt and jacket. I check myself in the mirror. I look tired, but I'd fuck me. I nod and tell myself tonight is going to be a good night. I mix another drink and stand out in the fresh air drinking it, watching the growing twinkling of headlights in the distance as the sun drops below the horizon. I idly wonder if one of the twinkles is you and my mind flits to what you might be wearing. It's supposed to be a relaxed night, so I mentally bet myself you'll be in a casual summer dress with sneakers on, looking beautiful.

I glance at my watch for the thousandth time and suddenly I only have 15 minutes before we're due to meet. More nerves flush through me. We'd arranged to meet in the building's Champagne Bar, handily on the same floor as the penthouse. I grabbed my wallet and the keys, and locked the door behind me. Walking back into the lift foyer, I see a door set in the wall behind the lift that I hadn't noticed when I arrived. I push through it and walk along a short corridor to another door and another foyer outside the bar and restaurant. I go into the bar and order myself a drink. It's pretty quiet this early in the evening, and I easily get a booth overlooking the city and sit awaiting your arrival. I get a text a few minutes later to say you've parked. I drain my drink and drop my glass back on the bar, turning towards the foyer just as the lift door slides open and you step out. I see immediately that I'd lost my bet. I'd got your outfit entirely wrong. Well, I was right about one thing... you look utterly beautiful.

You're wearing an off the shoulder black dress, so tight it looks like a liquid coating your skin; a simple gold pendant around your slender throat; and dark red lipstick to match the heels you're wearing. I can feel my jaw dropping as you spot me and wave, a huge grin spreading across your gorgeous face. I wave and grin back, walking to meet you. We briefly hug and I breathe you in deeply; your perfume mixing with your natural scent intoxicates me, and for a brief second I think about forgetting dinner and taking you back to the room to tear you apart. I let you fall to arms length before I can think about it too hard and look at you. Your eyes pull me in, as always, and I fall momentarily under your spell until you look away.

"You look stunning," I say.

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as I put my hand on the small of your back and guide you back to the booth I waited in. I go and get drinks and we chat and gently flirt until the Uber arrives to take us to the restaurant. Sat in the back of the car, I reach across and hold your hand in your lap. Your slender fingers run over the backs of my hand, the way you've done almost since we met. It feels comforting, calming, and I run my fingers over your wrist, tracing the bones just below the skin. We stay like that, in happy silence, until we pull up outside the restaurant. Thanking the driver, we get out and go in to enjoy dinner.

A couple of hours later, satisfyingly full and quite giggly with booze; we're standing on the street waiting for the return Uber. My arm is around your waist, fingers stroking your hip, as I hold you close to me. Even though I'm quite drunk, I'm careful not to let my fingers stray below the lacy band I can feel through the thin fabric of your dress. Bet they're black, I think.

As if I'd spoken aloud, you lean closer and whisper, "I'm wearing your knickers".

An image of the photo you'd sent me after I'd bought you knickers early in the relationship flashes into my mind. I clearly remember just how incredible your arse looked and I can feel my cock stiffening as I look down at you. You giggle and lean away again. I want to slip my hand lower, to trace the lace with my fingertips as it hugs your curves, but I don't dare. I suspect you're just drunk and flirting a bit too hard. I doubt they're even the same knickers. Mine were white. I bet you're wearing black. At least, that's what I tell myself as the Uber pulls up. I open the door for you, eyes raking over the flash of inner thigh as you get in. I shut the door behind you and climb in the other side and we're off. We sit in silence again; but this time you reach over and hold my hand in my lap, slowly stroking my skin. Every so often your finger tip brushes over my jeans, almost touching the tip of my cock... but I can't tell if you're doing that on purpose or it's just the movement of the car causing it. This tease is going to be a special kind of torture if it carries on all night, I think.

We get back to our building and as we wait for the lift, decide to get another drink before going to the apartment. We walk back into the bar and order drinks. The place has been busy but has now emptied out again as people have moved onto dinner or clubs and we pretty much have our pick of the seats. We choose a booth in the corner of the room, looking out over the city. We sit close to each other, my arm around you. You lean your head on my shoulder as we make small talk and flirt. You can feel my fingers tracing shapes on the fabric of your dress; from your back, across your hips to your stomach and back again. Even this level of contact is enough that I can feel myself starting to leak and I'm glad the bar is too dim for you to be able to see any developing wet patch. We sit in silence for a second, your hand resting on my thigh as my fingers continue to move.

You reach up and whisper in my ear, "I remember when you used to ask me to touch your cock."

Your tongue flicks over my earlobe before you gently bite it, your hand moving up my thigh to squeeze my balls under the table, making me tense.

"Remember when you showed me videos of you cumming on your phone?" you whisper.

I swallow hard and nod, flashing back to the night in question. I seem to have forgotten words as your hand slowly rubs the growing lump in my jeans.

"I do," you continue. "You asked me if I was wet and I said a little. The truth is that I was soaked for you."

Your whisper is husky and I can feel your warm breath on my ear. My cock is fully hard now and you're still rubbing it, teasing the tip with your fingernails through the denim. Your lips brush against my ear again.

"I'm soaked for you now. Your knickers are soaked. Would you like them back?"

As your words sink in, you can feel the wetness soaking into my jeans.

You pull away and laugh, the mischief clearly flashing in your eyes as you run one fingernail from the tip of my throbbing cock to my balls.

"Careful kitten," I say. "Get me too worked up and I'll take it out right here and make you lick me clean."

You hold my gaze for a second while you decide if I'm serious or not, whether to risk calling my bluff. Finally, you drop your eyes and move your hand to my thigh again. I feel a little disappointed, but I could hardly expect you to risk that in a public place. But then you look up at me and I see defiance flash in your eyes.

"I dare you to take it out," you say.

My cock instantly throbs hard against my jeans. The bar is pretty quiet, but I have a quick glance around. There are a few people at a table somewhere behind us, a couple in a booth at the other end of the room, and a lone woman tending the bar. No one could see unless they stood right next to us. I reach under the table and unzip my jeans, reaching inside to tug at myself, finally feeling my cock leap out from my flies under the table. You look up at me, raising your eyebrows. Your hand is still on my thigh and I cover it with my own, squeezing slightly. My eyes are locked on yours as, with a smirk, I lift your hand and wrap your fingers around my thick shaft. The skin is soft and slick under your fingertips and your eyes go wide with a sharp intake of breath. I slowly move your hand up and down my shaft before letting you go. Instead of being horrified that I'd called your bluff, your fingers squeeze, fingertips tracing the bulging veins on my shaft. You follow the veins until you rub your palm across the leaking head. Now it's me with the sharp intake of breath and it's you smirking.

I sit down further in the seat to give you more access as you start slowly jerking me off, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive underside of the head with every stroke. An involuntary growl escapes my lips, surprising me as much as you. Your eyes light up and a smile curls your full lips as your hand moves faster, squeezing, twisting. I can feel my cock pulsing and freely leaking precum, your hand spreading it over my shaft as you stroke. I don't know how long we sit there while you play with me like that, but I know how good it feels. I'd longed to feel your touch for so long, I was in danger of allowing myself to cum right there in the bar. I lift your chin and run my thumb over your lips. I badly want to kiss you as you make me explode in your hand, but it's time to take control again. I grab your wrist under the table, making you instantly frown and pout.

"Let's go back to the room," I say, with a grin.

I put myself away, holding my jacket in front of my crotch to hide the throbbing wet bulge you'd left me with. Putting my hand on the small of your back again, I guide you out of the bar and through the side door towards our apartment. I was replaying what you'd done in the bar in my mind. You'd taken me by surprise and I liked it, but it had also put me on the back foot and I couldn't let you get away with it. I wanted to show you I wasn't your toy and that I was fully in control. About half way along the corridor, my hand moves from the small of your back to your elbow as I slow a step behind you. I pull you back, spinning you towards me, and as you come to face me I grasp both of your arms and push you back hard into the wall, pinning you there. You look up at me, the faux anger on your face betrayed by the sparkle in your eye and the smile you can't stop playing on your lips. I kiss you hard then, finally feeling your soft lips beneath my own. You squirm for a moment, lips tightly closed, but then they part and your tongue darts out to meet mine. We stay locked together for a minute before I finally let you go. Taking your hand, I lead you down the rest of the corridor and to the apartment.

Opening the door, I stand aside and let you in. I shut the door behind us and flip the switches on the wall, instantly bathing the apartment in soft light. I pick up the tablet lying on the bar and put some music on as you look around. You're standing at the window looking at the sparkling view as I cross the room and wrap my arms around you from behind, pulling you into me and kissing the back of your neck, my fingers tracing the lace across your hip through your dress again. I hold you and you lean your head back into me, exposing more of your neck and sighing when I kiss it again. We break apart and you turn to face me as my hand finds yours, and our fingers intertwine.

"You were very bold tonight, kitten," I say.

"You know I can be a brat." You shrug. "I'm feeling bratty tonight."

My stomach does a flip, but I think I hide it. I can't hide the bulge in my jeans at this point though. You cross to the sofa, sit, and start taking your shoes off, innocently staring right at the bulge in my jeans and biting your lip. You look so fucking sexy, my cock throbs harder and leaks a fresh stream of precum. You smile wickedly and point.

"You've got something on you," you say, cheekily.

I look down at the bulge in my jeans, a dark wet patch spreading around the tip of it. "So I do. I wonder how that happened."

"A mystery," you reply, as you drop your shoes on the floor, "you need to go clean up."

It was time to take a risk. If I'd read you properly and this paid off... the rewards were potentially immense. And if I got it wrong I could always blame the booze and then drink until I forget I fucked up. I hold your gaze for a second while I compose myself.

"Stand up," I order.