our knees were touching as we sat face to face. Not a difficult question, but then again this was the one chance in my life to be totally anonymous. The freedom of it was hitting me, filling me with a dark excitement. I could tell her whatever I liked. Be whoever I liked. Let her befriend me, show me the city, show me her friends.
‘I’m Clara.’ OK, so I’d run out of original ideas. After all, I’m never going to see her again. I shrugged my jacket off and flung it onto the back of my stool. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
The alcohol started to take hold, heating up my veins. I was going to loosen up, and enjoy myself. I bent my elbow to rest it on the bar. I drew my hand slowly inside the loose collar of my blouse and caressed my warm skin.
‘You alone here in the States?’ she asked, watching the way my hand was moving.
‘Yeah. On business. And now I’m snowed in and can’t get home.’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘You got somewhere to stay?’
If I had told her I was staying right here, at the Library Hotel, she wouldn’t have to come to my rescue and there wouldn’t be any adventure.
I shook my head and a shy blush rose perfectly naturally to my cheeks. At the same time my fiddling fingertips brushed lower, onto my warm breast swelling under the flimsy camisole. She couldn’t have missed it. This lightest of touches sent a bolt of excitement sizzling through me. I hadn’t realised how horny the intimate, closed atmosphere of the bar – and the growing intensity between the two of us – had made me. Still looking at Delilah I spread my fingers over my breast under the camisole and when I felt my nipple perk up eagerly against the palm of my hand I slowly started to rub it.
Delilah’s eyes flashed directly at what my hand was doing. She shifted on her chair and smiled. Her mouth was wide, her teeth a perfect white row. She started to mirror the action, except that her hand moved over the surface of her sparkly dress, tracing the small swell of her own breast.
‘Why don’t we get disgracefully drunk together and then later if you like I can show you the real New York,’ she murmured, running her tongue over her lower lip in such an outrageously clichéd yet thoroughly sexy gesture that my pussy squeezed with longing and I could hear my breath rasping in my ears. ‘I wouldn’t want you to be all alone tonight.’
‘Yes,’ I answered thickly, pinching my nipple until it was hot.
‘Yes to what?’ she asked, dragging the cocktail shaker across and filling our glasses.
I glanced over my shoulder. The barman was still talking to the cougars, polishing the same wineglass over and over as if he had been hypnotised. The only other customers seemed to be a couple of businessmen drinking whisky in the corner.
‘Yes please. To everything.’
She leaned a little closer, uncrossed her legs, and her white hand shot out and flipped undone the buttons on my blouse.
‘So. No one’s looking. Show me what you’re doing to yourself, darling.’
My blouse had fallen softly open. She could see my hand, still lightly caressing my breast.
I sat up straighter, and ran my tongue across my dry mouth. ‘Like this?’
‘Oh yes, just like that. Now let me see you stroke the other one.’
I had some more to drink then lifted my hand, cold from the cocktail glass, to my other breast, and pushed them together. She hitched her stool closer to me so that her legs were on either side of mine, trapping me there, and she lifted my camisole right up so that my breasts, and my kneading hands, were exposed.
The music stopped briefly. The few beats of silence seemed endless. We both froze. Then it started again, a more rhythmic sound, heavy on the bass, and Delilah’s tongue poked between her white teeth as her very long, white fingers took my hands away from my breasts and pushed them down to rest on her thighs.
I felt tipsy, and hot, and helpless.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Touch me, Clara. You’re so gorgeous, and I’m creaming myself here. I want you to touch me.’
My hands slid up her thighs, under the little dress, and rested on the crease at the top. I didn’t know what to do next, but my God, she’d started something. There was a devil hopping about inside me. And the fact that there were other people here, who could turn and see what was happening at any moment and see two women mesmerised by each other, about to do incredible things to each other, that just excited me more.
She didn’t rush me. She let me rest my hands there on her thighs, my fingers spreading open, treading on her, testing the feel of her skin, the give of her flesh, while she pulled my blouse right off me and ripped the camisole easily to one side. There was unveiled lust in her eyes now. My breasts bounced out. Both nipples were dark-red points, sore with the rubbing against my camisole and intoxicated with the soreness.
Her hands came up and slowly they came towards me, and when they touched my breasts it was so electrifying I nearly leaped out of my skin with shocked pleasure, pushing my body into her hands, arching my back to offer her my breasts. I tried to inch my bar stool closer with my feet hooked round the bars, but my knickers were stuck to the seat, my sticky pussy rubbing through the silk against the leather. I rubbed myself harder and there was the shock again, hotter this time, urging for more. My tight skirt rode further and further up until the stocking tops and then my knickers were plainly visible.
She pretended not to notice. Instead she squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples harder, and then suddenly she leaned forward, balanced herself with her hands on either side of me, and took one nipple between her white teeth.
I thought I was going to go mad. She bit the nipple really hard, making me squeal with the pain, but it was gloriously wicked and I started to push against her face as she bit me then started to suck me, and the movement still had me rubbing against the leather of the seat, getting wetter. This way I could raise myself slightly off the stool so that my pubes were only just making contact. This was private pleasure. This was something I had done before. After all, you can do it whenever you want, yes? On a plane, on a bus, in a cab, in a restaurant, in the office, wherever there are people close enough to see if only they looked.
And usually no one can tell what I’m doing, which is half the fun, but when she pulled away, her lips wet with sucking, my nipple elongated and sore, the ice woman Delilah could perfectly well see my spread legs and the slow sliding of my fanny.
Her voice petered into a little gasp as she grabbed the seat of her own stool, and started to copy me, pushing her bottom hard back across the seat, and forwards again. The tiny muscles in my pussy were really convulsing now.
I held onto her thighs as she slid herself back and forth, and inched my fingers into her crack. Dampness started seeping through my knickers as the silk wrinkled away from my pussy. She bit her lip hard as she rubbed herself faster. I felt the cool leather meeting my sex lips and I nearly squealed out loud as they spread open, my little clit peeping out and retracting as it, too, made contact with the hard seat. Delilah could tell what was happening. I wanted her to see my knickers in the shadow of my skirt, and she was gyrating her hips under my hands, grinning at me, both of us in a private circle of excitement.
‘Clara,’ she hissed, her face suddenly close to mine. ‘I need fucking!’
I
