One More Drink

"With one of my student's uncles."

Jonathan immediately began making exaggerated kissing noises.

Claire ignored him.

"He's gorgeous."

"Single."

"An engineer."

"And ridiculously handsome."

I narrowed my eyes.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing."

"Then why didn't you date him?"

She shrugged.

"I'm not his type."

That alone sounded suspicious.

Claire was beautiful.

Short blonde hair.

Golden skin.

The kind of woman who attracted attention without even trying.

Men practically lined up for her.

Of course...

None of them knew she loved boxing and fighting games.

Jonathan looked hopeful.

Claire pointed a finger at him.

"Don't even think about it."

"He's straight."

"I checked."

"He was curious about Blair."

I groaned.

"What exactly did you tell him?"

"That you're sweet..."

"...quiet..."

"...a little shy..."

"...and beautiful."

Jonathan couldn't resist.

"And a virgin!"

Bia burst into laughter.

Claire shook her head.

"I didn't tell him that."

"Relax."

"But..."

She smiled.

"Tuesday."

"Eight o'clock."

"Eden Restaurant."

"It's already arranged."

I stared at her.

"You planned my date without asking me?"

She smiled innocently.

"You're welcome."

Jonathan leaned closer.

"If men knew you were still a virgin..."

"...you'd never have a moment's peace."

Unfortunately...

He was probably right.

The drinks kept coming.

Beer.

Martinis.

Tequila.

A cheese board appeared somewhere along the way, accompanied by jams we'd barely touched between stories, laughter, and endless teasing.

Jonathan spent the entire evening drinking juice after unanimously losing the competition.

By the time the bar began emptying, I was completely drunk.

The room swayed gently around me.

My hair had long since escaped its clip, and the back of my neck felt unbearably warm.

Our final round was sparkling water.

Jonathan ordered an Uber with multiple stops while muttering dramatic complaints under his breath.

We staggered toward the exit, clinging to one another like a collapsing bridge.

Bia was dropped off first.

Then it was my turn.

Claire would spend the night at Jonathan's apartment.

Her own place was too far away, and she'd long ago learned to keep an overnight bag at each of our homes—just in case.

As soon as I walked into my rented apartment, I kicked off my shoes, took off my coat and tossed it onto the sofa, and headed straight for the shower. I let the water run to warm up while I undressed.

My drunken mind drifted to a man, Mr. Relentless. I look at myself in the mirror; I’m a glass of milk that, when it catches the sun, turns red instead of tanning. I have a relatively nice pair of breasts, but I’m very short and my thighs are too thick. I’m not a perfect shape, like an hourglass; I’m more of a… pear shape.

I’m not the kind of woman he’s used to, nor am I his type, no doubt. But then what was that in the elevator? It was probably just another woman he wanted to sleep with and then discard, without caring about my feelings.

I would never allow that!

We’re from completely different worlds; he’s the open-relationship type, and I’m more into a committed relationship, cuddling, and marriage.

So it couldn’t have been me who put him in that mood, so grumpy.

Impossible.

Steam begins to fill the bathroom, giving me goosebumps. I unhook my bra and slip off my panties.

I step under the shower; the hot water warms me like a blanket, soaking my hair, which begins to slide down my back.

The water runs down my erect nipples, forming two cascades. My thoughts are fixed on that man, on that night in the locker room, imagining him lying there touching himself, grabbing his cock and thrusting into himself faster and faster.

I feel the heat filling my belly; the desire to be touched by him is evident in the growing wetness between my legs.

Without realizing it, I’m already touching myself, sliding my middle finger inside me, my palm brushing against my clit.

In my mind, it’s his hand between my legs.

I arch my back and push my head back, leaning against the wall.

I grab my breast with my other hand, sliding my finger in and out of myself, stimulating me even more.

I imagine his dick, thrusting hard, soaked because of me.

My breathing speeds up and moans escape my throat.

I pull my finger out and start massaging my clit with my index finger, feeling a chill run through my body and push me to the edge. I masturbate, thinking it’s my boss fucking me with his hands.

I blame the alcohol, even though I know it’s not to blame at all.

I speed up and pinch my nipple, exploding into orgasm.

As soon as I recover, I wonder, what would it be like to have an orgasm with his penis inside me?