Comments and criticisms always welcome.

Elle hadn’t been to a bar in a very long time. Her work had been so busy lately; it must have been nearly a year since she tasted bad martinis under low lighting, watching men in ill-fitting suits sidling up to young girls in short dresses.

She had already been approached twice in the first half-hour. One was at least a decade older, forty maybe. His breath made her skin crawl and his body was unpleasant, to say the least. The other was closer to her age, perhaps he was thirty too. Creepy and too eager, she thought.

She ordered another drink and was considering making it her last. She remembered why she hated bars.

“You don’t want the martinis here. They taste like paint-stripper,” a voice from next to her said. She shifted her body towards the deep voice and found herself looking at a young man. Nineteen, maybe twenty. But not a boy, that was certain.

His eyes were clear, bright, intelligent. A beautiful suit, well cut for his athletic body. Well groomed, unlike almost every other man there. She smiled as she found herself wondering what was underneath that suit.

“Hello. I’m James,” the young man said, confidence exuding from his face. She took his hand delicately and replied with a flirtatious smile,

“Well hello James, I’m Elle. You’re right about the martinis, they’re terrible.”

He suddenly leaned close to her ear, her soft hand in his firm grip still,

“Tell me something Elle. Why is a thirty-year old woman talking to a twenty-year old boy in a dark bar that can’t even make a good martini? Why aren’t you at home, being fucked by, I don’t know, a barrister, or surgeon, or an author of high regard?”

Taken aback by his words, she was speechless. He let go of her hand, and she could feel her fingers throb just a little. Why was her heart pounding? He wasn’t that good looking. But there was something, a tingle between her legs, a slight blush to her décolletage. This man was not a boy, it was certainly clear. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Why don’t you take me back to your place Elle? I can feel how tense you just got, let me relax you,” James said, his hand placed on her black skirt, and pushed her legs apart a little.

“O-ok, J-j-ames,” she stuttered back. What was she doing? Elle thought, he’s said no more than a hundred words to me.

He dropped some notes on the bar and grabbed her hand, leading her through the crowd to the door. He practically dragged her into a taxi. She hadn’t been this nervous in years.

They sat in the back of the taxi, his fingers began to roam on her body. She moaned a little when he put his tongue in her mouth, he was so dominant. She was giving herself to him, he didn’t even need to ask, he demanded and she obeyed.

They fled the taxi, James again shoving a handful of notes into the driver’s hand. In the lift up to her apartment on the 10th floor he owned her again, his big hands on her breasts, hers on his firm arse.

They practically fell out the lift, hands all over each other.

He kissed her hard against the wall outside her apartment. His lips on her mouth, her neck, the top of her breasts. He bit the side of her neck, and she shuddered. Too long, she thought, it had been too long.

They entered the apartment, mouths still locked together.