"I guess the snow is seasonal, but fuck it if I'm not ready for spring."
"I hate being cold," she said, nodding at me pleasantly.
I knew it wasn't much of a pick-up line, but I also knew I didn't have to try that hard. When it's twenty degrees out, and the bar is warm and dark, every stranger is a friend, and every smile is a seduction.
"I'm drinking a Manhattan with a splash of amaro in it. In case you want to warm up."
"I'm drinking a daiquiri pretending I'm somewhere warm, but it's not working. Let me have a sip."
I paused for a moment because, nowadays, sharing a drink with a stranger at the bar feels like an alien habit. But I remembered how common it was, even among dudes drinking dark beer in corner bars, so I slid my glass towards her, and she moved to the seat next to me.
"That is good," she said, drinking half of it in one gulp. "Order me one, and maybe both of us will survive until spring."
I nodded to the bartender, she winked at me, and soon my new friend and I were toasting to sunnier days over strong drinks.
When she touched my arm, I leaned closer, and when I grazed her hand, she didn't move it. We slid closer and closer to one another while all around us, the other patrons appeared lost in their own worlds.
Our knees touched.
Her hair brushed my face.
She smelled of summer afternoons, and I was warm for the first time in days.
"If you were planning on taking advantage of me after this drink, your plan is totally working," she whispered. She closed her eyes when I brushed a strand of hair behind an ear.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I said. "But mostly I was hoping I could interest you in some body heat. Not to sound cheesy, it's just fucking cold out."
"I'm not going outside," she said.
For a moment, I thought I had shot my shot and missed, but the expression on her face told a different story. Her hand in my lap didn't hurt either.
"Well, I'm not in a hurry to leave," I said, touching her knee beneath the hem of her skirt. When I moved it higher, she parted her legs, and we breathed the same air as we teased each other beneath the bar. When she brushed my suddenly hard cock with a fingernail, she smiled.
"Do you think they'd mind if we made out at the bar?"
"Making out is one thing, but they'd need a permit for what I want to do to you."
"And what do you want to do to me?" she asked, firmly rubbing her hand against my bulge.
I took another sip of my drink before leaning in and taking her hair in my tight fist. I pulled her closer, just hard enough to elicit a sigh, and paced my lips to her ear.
"I want to drag you into the bathroom, bend you over the sink, lift this pretty skirt, and fuck you until I come."
She didn't open her eyes for a long time. Nor did I let go.
When I finally released my grasp on her, she looked up.
"What kind of a slut would I be if I let a stranger come in me just like that?"
"Think how warm you'd be," I said.
"So very wrong," she said.
"The sluttiest," I said.
"I'll get up first," she said.
Without another word, she polished off her drink, stood, and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. I put a coaster on top of both our drinks, adjusted my erection so I wouldn't make a scene as I got up, and then followed closely behind her.
We were on each other like ravenous dogs the second I locked the door behind me. I kissed her hard as I pushed her against the sink, and her hands made deft work of my jeans. I shoved her panties down as she bit my neck and stroked my cock, and we never said a word.
When I spun her around, she stood on her tip-toes and bent over. I slid two fingers inside her, tasted them with rapt adoration, and then fucked her for all I was worth. Her sigh when I entered her encouraged me, and soon she rubbed her clit as I pounded her from behind.
The mirror misted.
The temperature rose.
Her ass turned red in my grip.
In less than two minutes, I leaned forward, kissed the back of her neck, and came deep inside her. She moaned into her arm, struggling not to make too much noise, and she kept rubbing as I filled her again and again.
When I pulled out, she sighed but didn't move. I took out my phone, snapped a photo of her gorgeous ass, swollen lips, and cum-stained thighs, and then watched as she stood up. She returned her underwear to its correct position, smiled at me, and then walked out the door like nothing had happened.
I took my time washing my hands and brushing my hair before I returned to the bar.
She greeted me with a silly grin and two more Manhattans. I kissed her cheek, and she laughed and took my hand. She slapped me away when I kissed her fingers, and I smiled like a love-struck idiot.
"You two enjoy yourselves?" the bartender asked.
We froze for a minute, blushed brightly, and nodded our heads.
"It's the drinks," I said, raising my glass. "They're just too damn good, and it's too damn nice in here to go out in the snow.
She nodded and smiled as she dried a glass.
"We get a lot of first dates in here, but you two seem to be hitting it off better than most.
Piper looked at me, and I looked back at her before taking her hand in mine. She squeezed it tightly as both of us smiled sheepishly.
"It's not technically a first date," I confessed.
"Second?" she asked.
"We've been married three years," Piper told her. "It's just so damn cold out, we didn’t want to leave."
"And two blocks is so far to walk in the snow."
"And the drinks are so good."
"And the bathroom so private."
The bartender laughed as we sipped our drinks but didn't toss us out or reprimand us for our lack of discretion. The evening passed quietly with giggles and blushes, and we reveled in the warmth of each other.
When we finally got up to face the cold (and the two-block walk home), Piper leaned over the bar and whispered something I couldn't hear. The bartender raised a brow and winked at me, and then we trudged out into the snow, hand in hand like two bemittened icicles clinging to something unseen.
"What did you tell her?" I asked as the wind blew around us.
"Oh, nothing," she yelled over the noise of the plow. "I just said she should join us next time."
"We're never going back," I said.
"Oh, she was down for it. Even bought us that last round."
I shook my head as we sludged down the sidewalk under the yellow street lamps. She squeezed my hand, and I wondered if there was any truth in what she said and if it mattered either way.
By the time we got home, we were drunk and tired.
And yet, despite the wind, the snow, and the icy ground, both of us were warm.
The Warmth Of A Stranger
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