🔥STEAMY ALERT—intense steaminess towards the end! 🔥

♫ I've been thinking bout you
Can't get you off my mind
And if I gave it to you ♪
(Sevyn Streeter—Come on over)

Chester pouted, placing both hands over his heart in feigned offense, with Coralie's words still ringing in the air. "Oh, that stings. I guess I'll go, then—"

Coralie grabbed his sleeve before he scampered too far out of reach. A whiff of his sugary sweet cologne hit her nostrils, and she frowned, wishing she hadn't moved closer. "Why are you here? If you're gonna go, at least explain yourself, first." Her heart raced in her rib-cage, too fast for her liking; she had to grip Chester's sleeve harder to stop from stumbling forward or toppling backwards.

Seconds had passed since Michael had departed from the bar. Then Chester entered, strolling in as if he owned the place. They'd likely walked past one another; did Chester recognize Michael? He'd seen pictures of him, on Coralie's Facebook and Instagram, she had no doubt. But Michael had no inkling who Chester was... so what if Michael came back in and discovered her grasping his sleeve and standing close, intimately so, to him?

Chester's smirk—sly and sexy all at once—worsened her struggle with balance. "Well, despite my messages telling you I saw you, I didn't actually catch you in the elevator today. Which is a damn shame." He eyed her up and down and whistled. "Because we," he pointed between himself and Coralie while squinting, "have unfinished business, don't we?"

She gulped. Yes, they did have things to discuss, issues to bring up. They had a record to set straight and limits to determine. How dare he basically molest her in an elevator? Not that she complained or threw him off, because she'd been as wound up and curious as he was... but he hadn't asked. He hadn't waited for her consent—which she would have given—and took advantage of her astonishment. And these were matters she did want to breach with him, to make him understand what he'd done was wrong.

But what if Michael returned in the middle of that conversation, and snuck up to hear what she had done? Or what if Ryan decided to pop in by surprise, unable to respect her boundaries as she'd requested? She'd be fucked, doubly so, because Ryan would throw a monumental fit, and she worried he might reach out to Michael in his anger. Then both would be aware of her betrayal, and she'd be left with Chester as her only option. And he was out of the question; polyamorous, unfaithful, flighty, fickle... no, she wouldn't choose him.

"I..." She shook her head and scrunched her eyebrows, refraining from spitting out all her thoughts at once. "It's not safe to talk. And especially not about that. You shouldn't even be in here—"

"—right, I saw Michael outside." Chester's smirk somehow grew wider. Was he amused by Michael's proximity, and the risk of him returning? "Looked chill as he crossed the street, I watched him. But I assume he has no idea who I am?"

Coralie let go of his sleeve and hastened behind the counter, hopeful for something to separate them, to keep Chester's hands away from her. Away from her body, and her mouth. "No, he doesn't, and I'd like it to stay that way."

Chester followed her and settled on a bar-stool as she busied herself wiping glasses, seeking any means to avoid dealing with him. "So what's good here? Any drink specialties? Got any mixtures you could whip up for me? Red-headed sluts were our think back in the day—"

"—Chester." She slammed the cup on the sink below the counter and cringed as she nearly shattered the glass. "You can't be here, I mean it."

He bunched his lips and spoke in a childish, mocking tone that made Coralie want to smack him. "Why, because Michael might be lurking? Might be spying on you?" He fixed his face as he leaned over the counter. "Please. He's not doing that. He trusts you, Cora. I told you, I saw him cross the street. Yeah, he's gone. He's not a bad guy, like me." Chewing on his lower lip, he glanced at her breasts. He lingered on them as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. "Like you."

She hurled the cup into the sink. "I'm not bad!" This time, it clinked into the stainless steel surface with such force that it broke, prompting her colleague—a constantly baked and not always right in the head chick who usually ignored her—to stare at her in shock. Coralie rubbed her forehead and gestured at her. "Sorry, sorry, I'll clean that." She bent over to pick up the shards of glass on the ground, and as she redressed herself to toss them in the garbage, Chester was still angling over the counter, focused on her. "What?"

He shook his head, his gaze narrowed on her. "Don't lie to me. You've been thinking about us, right?" His minty breath whooshed out, mixing with the waves of delectable cologne still wafting from his neck. His shirt was buttoned, but lower-cut, and tight-fitting over his svelte figure. And she was glad he hadn't turned around, because the pants he wore were also tight-fitting... and she remembered he had an amazing ass. "You've been dreaming about extending that kiss we had. About venturing further into a risky zone, about seeing me naked while sober. Because you don't remember all those times... but I do. And I really wish to help you, Cora. To bring those memories to life again, so you don't have to wonder and dream anymore."

She gripped the metallic edges of the sink and peered at the drain, determined to plunge into it, to detach herself from Chester's enrapturing gaze. Because if she looked at him for too long, she'd be swallowed by him, drawn into him, convinced to give in to her urges—the ones he was way too right about. Of course she'd been thinking about him, about them. Why else would she be having feverish fantasies, night and day, including when she should have been concentrating on her boyfriend?

"I... I can't, Chester. That kiss was... it was..." She held her tongue, racking her brain for a description that wouldn't taunt Chester further. If she complimented him, he'd make a move; if she told him it was bad, he'd wish for a re-do.

I'm stuck.

"Delicious? Daring? Irresistible?" He batted his lashes, so close to hopping over the counter that Coralie wanted to slide backwards, out of his perimeter. His aroma toxified her, tortured her, tipping her overboard. "Ah, no, you hated it, huh? You were having nightmares last night, not wet dreams!"

"No." She couldn't stop herself, couldn't help needing to correct him, to be sure he knew the truth. They were friends, no matter the attraction, the tension, and she didn't want to lie. "No, they were... wet dreams. Intense and hardcore and... unbearable. That kiss was spectacular, and hot, and all that but... dude, my boyfriend is in town. I was lying next to him when I had that dream. I feel... disgusting."

"Ah." His flirtatious smile faded. "I see that now." A hint of malicious amusement remained on his face as he peeked at her through half-slitted eyes. "Well, I want to know more about that dream if it was that deranging for you. Did you moan in your sleep? Did he hear you? Oh, fuck, did you... touch yourself? Hmm... what was I doing to you? Tell me."

"Chester!" She released the sink and crossed her arms over her torso, wary that he was still checking her out. Yes, a part of her wanted him to ogle her, but another couldn't stop remembering that five minutes prior, she'd been talking to Michael. Allowing Chester to admire her that way... was treacherous. "You can't talk like that, not here—"

"—then when's your next break?" He peeped towards Coralie's co-worker, bustling about at the other end of the bar. "Are you allowed to take any?"

Coralie groaned. "I am, but you're not listening to me. I can't do this with you, okay? Michael's on his way to my apartment right now, and Ryan is unpredictable and likes to keep tabs on me, and... it's not cool. This," she gestured between the two of them, like Chester had earlier, "is not cool."

Chester dug his fingers through his hair, shoving the strands out of his face. The motion was so calm, so effortless, he looked like a shampoo commercial actor trying to lure her into trying his product. And she did want to try it. To try him.

"Cora." He stood up from the stool, but still hung over the counter, getting into her space. "Ryan is a control-freak. He doesn't own you, and you're not even together, so you owe him nothing. And Michael? Sweetie." He reached over and brushed a fingertip over her cheek. "You're already cheating on him with Ryan. What's one more dude going to change? Besides..." he proceeded backwards, sucking his lips inwards, then letting them out with a pop, "I'm only asking to talk. To hear about your dream, compare it with mine. Is that so bad?"

It wasn't bad; but what would follow it would be perilous. She could predict the events with ease: she'd follow Chester outside, she'd describe her dream, and in excitement, he'd kiss her again. And this time, he'd ease his hands under her clothes, caressing spots that would wind her up enough to leave her desperate for more. Then he'd ditch her and go home to text her more erotic, explicit poems that would enable more wet dreams and frustrate her until she lost her mind.

Her co-worker—apparently eavesdropping their conversation—skidded over and winked. "I see you two devouring each other." She nudged Coralie, whose jaw dropped in astonishment—this woman had never uttered more than a sentence in her presence before. "Take a break, go get some," she used air-quotes, "air. I'll cover for you."

Coralie had no chance to protest or deny the offer as Chester hurried to the door while waving at her to join him. She had to make herself clear, to ensure he understood her, so she grunted, kicked the counter, and threw a rag to the floor as she stomped after him.

He prowled out the front door, shifted to the left, and skipped around a corner leading to an alleyway where patrons smoked cigarettes or snorted drugs or fucked between the two faded green dumpsters. Sneering, she hesitated to pursue him. She'd seen all the dingy activities happen here many times and wasn't sure she wanted to chat with Chester in such a foul location. "Dude—"

But he didn't care. He continued down the alley, then disappeared left, into a crevice in the brick wall. Coralie knew that spot—a few dilapidated steps led to a metal door that was a back entrance to the bar's kitchens. It was always locked, never used, and a perfect spot to get frisky.

She sped up to meet him there, preparing to raise her voice and give him a piece of her mind.

Be strict, Cora. He can't keep messing with you like this.

Once she reached him, she found him slanted against the door, knees somewhat bent, arms folded over his chest. He watched her, his lips partially parted, his eyes glowing with lust. "Hey. Sup?"

"Sup?" Growling, she dared one step up, but knew better than to undertake another; to be too close to him was beyond dangerous. "This isn't the best time or place to—"

Her attempt to maintain a distance between them meant nothing to him. He snatched her by the wrist and yanked her against him, nestling her between his legs, that he kept semi-bent. And before she could squirm away, he seized her chin to hold it up, and jammed his lips to hers. And when she didn't weasel out of his grasp, he slid his tongue into her mouth, demanding, begging for her attention.

She'd craved that tongue since their last kiss. She'd craved to feel his body against hers, to sense his pleasure mounting, to get another taste of him. So as his tongue searched for hers, she let him find it. And she opened her mouth more, welcoming him inside. He twirled, twisted, ate her tongue up, sucking the life from her—and she loved it.

Every inch of her tingled as he ran his hands down her back, squeezed her ass once, twice, then kept a firm grip on it as he deepened their kiss. As he pressed into her, she sensed his erection shoving between her legs, and its pulsations woke her up, compelled her. Liquid began to pool in her underwear, and she weaved a hand under his jeans waistband and into his cotton boxers. The thickness waiting for her there made her heart skip a beat and added more moisture to her panties.

As she grabbed his penis, he let out an ultra-sexy moan, and its vibrations into her mouth sent jolts up and down her spine. She felt him in her bones, his energy spiraling down her legs and numbing them, his tongue flicks firing off fireworks in her core. He pulled her nearer until they were as one, kissing and touching and beseeching one another for a release. And as she continued to stroke his member, he slipped a finger into her underwear, between her two lower lips.

"Mmm," he mumbled, unlinking their lips for a few seconds. "God, you're so wet, Cora. That's so... hot."

Butterflies animated in her gut as his raspy voice echoed in her head. But they weren't the usual winged creatures that arose in Michael's or Ryan's presence. These were violent, virulent beings with knives as wings and teeth that sunk into her stomach linings. She ached with desire for him, and if she didn't give in, she worried she'd be sick with lust.

As more surges propelled into her vagina, tickling every nerve ending, she pried herself out of his arms, desperate to catch her breath. "Fuck." She toppled down the stairs and halted, afraid if she moved too fast she'd be dizzy.

"Yeah," he said, stuffing a finger—the one he'd used to touch her wetness—into his mouth. His eyes rolled back as he grunted in pleasure. "Fuck, for sure. Jeez, Cora. You taste divine."

"Stop." She fixed her pants, which had started to slither too low for comfort. "Was it... always like that? Our kisses? Our... touching? Shit."

"Truthfully..." Chester wiped his mouth with his sleeve and descended the two steps separating them. "No. I mean, it was fun, and definitely turned me on... but we were sloppy and inebriated, you know? This was... this was us sober. Fuck... imagine what we could do without alcohol in our system."

She wanted to swish out of range, but they were already nose to nose, and she couldn't quit looking at his lips, his fingers, and the bulge below his navel. Was it always that big? Or had she spaced that out, too?

"Chester..." She flinched, then pinched the bridge of her nose. Those wild butterflies needed to die, immediately. "We... this..."

He took hold of her waist, but not strong enough to prevent her from moving. His touch was soft, smooth, as if lulling her to him with a blanket of silk, wooing her into laying down and relaxing. "I want you. Now." With his other hand, he clenched her hand against his erection. "In case you hadn't noticed."

Her inner lips swelled with fervor, and against her will, she encased his shaft in her hand and gritted her teeth. "I know, but I... Michael. And Ryan, asking questions... it's not right, it's unfair."

Unfazed—he fixed on her like she was a dripping chunk of chocolate that he couldn't wait to slurp up and swallow and delight in—he wrapped his hand over hers, pushing harder against his cock. "One night, Cora. A few hours. Ditch Michael, ignore Ryan, and come have a blast with me. Take a load off..." he chuckled, leaving the rest of his sentence unfinished. She knew him, and he had some silly, witty comeback brewing in his mind, but appeared unwilling to share it.

"But..." She shifted her weight, grimacing as the dampness in her panties intensified and the fabric caused friction against her clitoris. "Shit. Shit. I'm at work. I can't..."

"What time are you off?" Chester released her middle to gape at his watch. "And does Michael know?"

"Unsure, and..." She nibbled on her lip and fought against the grin growing over her face. "No, he doesn't. I told him I had no clue when I'd be able to leave, so I presume he won't wait up..."

Chester tipped her chin up and skimmed his lips over her earlobe. "Then I'll wait for you, and once you're done, you're coming with me. You and I are going to revisit the good old times... sober, and without our clothes on."

♥♥♥