A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

At Play | October 8, 2009

We were playing a few nights ago. It was more than fun.

It was…involved.

I decided to meet Conall at Burning Ground rather than have him come and get me as usual.

I walked in and I swear I heard him hold his breath for a second.
Which is good, really, because I was going to some effort for an effect as it were. His eyes connected with mine and I smirked before looking away. Like I hadn’t really seen him, like I was actually looking around, for someone else.

I kept walking as I pretended he wasn’t there, staring at me. His eyes running over the shiny, red, patent heels I was wearing, up along my black fishnet stockings. Blocking most of me with my highly fashionable overcoat.

I almost laughed as I walked past him, where he was standing around with other people. Most of whom I didn’t recognize. As I slowly untied the belt around my waist and slid my coat off my shoulders. I walked to the coat room and deposited the coat. Ensuring my heels tapped loudly along the floor, echoing my confidence as I kept ignoring Conall. Giving him, now, only a view from behind.

I was wearing a short enough, black dress to taunt him.

I went to the bar, it was at least three deep. A busy night, the crowd were eager and full, the music was loud and pumping. You could feel the bass reverb through the floor up into you. Connecting you instantly with a beat, as if your body need further rhythm pounding it’s senses. Making you even more restless than you already are for the nights festivities to truly begin.

I was waiting in the crowd, amongst them, surrounded by warm bodies, smelling a mixture of musk, cinnamon, spice and all manner of delicious flavors when I was pushed into, bumped from behind. I turned my head to look over my shoulder around the same time he pressed his hardening groin into my bottom.

Conall murmured at me.
“Just keep looking ahead, like your actually waiting to be served a drink.”
So I turned my attention back to the bar.

I felt the press of his fly seam of his jeans against me. His chest pressed up against my back. Hard, heated up. His right hand slipped around the top of my thigh, as people around us continued to stand in a crush, waiting to be served. Trying to capture the bar attendant’s attention.

Conall’s hand snaked around under the front of my dress.
I bite back a strangled gasp.

He was looking over my shoulder at the bar. As if he was any other patron just wanting a drink. “You’re going to be lucky if I don’t do you here and now.”

“You call that lucky?” I muttered through smiling teeth, watching the movement of the bar attendant and trying to open up my leg stance more in the space I was in, unsuccessfully.

He would have replied, only then the bar attendant finished serving the people in front of us and looked up at us both, expectantly. Like he, was on a schedule.

Conall pressed harder into me and leaned right over my shoulder at the same time, holding up his free left hand with money in it and yelling a drinks order at the bar attendant who nodded his head at us, to indicate he understood.

“I’m gonna be generous. I know how much you love the club scene during lunar week. You just got here, but you had me waiting for an hour. Then you walk in like you own the joint and everyone should bow down to you…Your making me harder every second. I’ve ordered you a drink. You get to have your drink, and then I get to have you.”

I would have responded but it was difficult to think beyond his touch even amongst the crowd we were engulfed in. Breathing normally and trying not to looked flush, was hard enough as it were.

He pulled back when the drinks were placed in front of us. The sudden loss of his body heat and connection was instantly maddening. I could’ve hit him. Probably should have. Prick tease.

I pushed my way back through the throng of the crowd to him, as he turned, smiled and handed me my drink. Conall raised his beer bottle to my champagne glass. His eyes ran over my outfit again and he said “With the heels and fishnets on.”


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