K is for Kinky by Alison Tyler Page B

so vivid that I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d had a thought bubble over my head for everyone in the bar to see.
    â€œYou do realize that if you weren’t so good looking, I’d punch you for coming up with a line like that? But, as it is, you get a chance to buy me a drink. Assuming that your conversation isn’t limited to trite compliments?”
    It took me a while to register what she’d said, and when I did, I felt intimidated at her confidence—but still drawn to her. And painfully aroused. Her voice was cigarette tainted, with a slight break in it, her inflection somehow suffused with an underlying giggle.
    â€œIt wasn’t meant to be trite,” I said. “It just slipped out. I never usually…”
    â€œWhatever,” she said, waving away my apologies. “A bottle of Budweiser, please. And I’ll be watching you so don’t even think of spiking it.”
    As I went to the bar, my movements were hampered by the insistent erection that, although it had briefly subsided when she’d turned to challenge me, had swollen back to its former glory when she spoke. Something she noticed when I returned with her drink. She just glanced at my groin then raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for the drink. So, going to top your opening line then?”

    Talk about pressure. I figured the only way to deal with her was to give as good as I got.
    â€œYes. You don’t have a great arse. It’s bloody incredible.”
    â€œHave you got an entirely one-track mind? You realize I don’t have to listen to this?”
    â€œYou’re right. You don’t. But you are.”
    â€œIn the hope that first impressions were deceptive. Anyway, I can’t walk away—I know you’ll be ogling me. At least when I’m facing you, you can’t eye me up.”
    â€œImpeccable logic. So you’re going to continue talking to me, even though you find me loathsome, just so I can’t look at your arse?”
    â€œPrecisely,” she said, smiling—it was obvious that she was bantering with me. “In fact, to make double sure…” She moved to a nearby table and perched on the bar stool.
    â€œYou mean I’ve actually got to talk to you now? But what if you’re boring?”
    â€œThat’s a risk you’ll have to take….”
    Â 
    Three hours later, the risk was paying off. Despite my less than perfect start, it turned out that her arse wasn’t the only thing I liked about her. She had an evil sense of humor, a natural confidence and knowing eyes, but there was a hint of vulnerability about her too. Just the occasional mannerism or thing she said made me think she was less bulletproof than she first appeared. It was only the occasional flash though, and I wasn’t surprised when she was the one to ask me back to hers. Well, I was slightly surprised. I couldn’t believe my luck. But it seemed perfectly in character for her. Of course, I wasn’t going to say
no. Even before I gave her an affectionate pat on the arse as we left the bar and swore I heard her moan under her breath.
    Back at her flat, she got us both a beer, and sat next to me on the sofa. Away from the smoky air-conditioned bar, I could smell her properly for the first time. She had a delicate scent, albeit suffused with cigarettes and beer. But it was the musky base of her pheromones that really filled my senses: she smelled of sex. Although I was enjoying talking to her, from the second her aroma filled my nostrils, my mind was only half on her words. The rest of me was occupied with thoughts of bending her over the sofa, pushing up her skirt, ripping down her knickers and slamming my cock into her. I imagined her pushing back to meet my thrusts, my stomach slapping against her arse as I pounded her hard, unable to resist the urge to slap her bum as she begged me to go harder, faster, her muscles clenching tightly around my cock when I shot