Chapter Text
You risk another glance at your watch. More than fifteen minutes have ticked by since you last looked. Following your well-worn pattern, you dial his number again, only for it to go straight to voicemail. The familiar feeling of fear and mortification simmers inside you, rising like bile in your throat.
You've been stood up.
Being an hour late is enough proof that he isn't coming, leaving you to grapple with this new realization. You shut your eyes, searching for an answer. Rejection stings, heating the back of your lids, but you refuse to cry.
Not here.
Not tonight.
As you reopen your eyes, you catch Husk's gaze fixed on you. His brows are knitted in concern as he leans against the bar counter, arms crossed.
Husk has been tending the bar every single time you've set a date with your boyfriend. Lately, you've been frequenting it more often, usually without James. Your boyfriend always promised to meet you after work and never showed, his apologies as flimsy as the weak perfume not quite masking other women's scents clinging to his clothes.
Despite having a room at the hotel, you'd often stay over at your boyfriend's house, to a point where you'd often not get the chance to talk to the other residents. Yet, every dinner alone, you'd return to your room at the hotel, the evidence of infidelity hanging in the air of your shared apartment becoming unbareable. Many nights ended with you curled up on the bathroom floor, lamenting to a God whose presence you doubted.
You need out, and tonight is a brutal reminder of why.
Resigned to celebrate the end of two years with James alone, you raise your glass in a silent toast and take a deep sip, letting the merlot warm you from the inside out. As you set the glass down, Husk appears in front of you, one leg casually perched on the chair opposite yours.
"A good wine like that shouldn't be enjoyed alone, dollface. It's practically criminal," he says, his voice smooth and rich, turning simple words into a symphony.
"It seems like that's my only option tonight."
Husk sighs, his chest rising and falling, drawing your attention to the white dress shirt he wears, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the tuft of hair beneath. You've often fantasized about those arms enveloping you, usually with a glass (or more) of wine in hand. This is the closest you've been to him, and the scent of cinnamon laced with lime is intoxicating.
"Do you need anything?" Hearing him talk to you in his deep voice could lull you like a sweet, seductive lullaby.
"This wine will do for tonight, but thanks, Husk. Just kick me out when you're ready to close." His mouth opens, and you're sure he's about to say something more, but he merely nods before returning to the bar.
You're in no state to contemplate his words or why he apparently cares enough to utter them. Instead, you watch him work, noticing the way his arms flex as he shakes a drink for the few remaining guests. You slip off your heels under the table, unable to quell the warmth pooling inside you when his eyes meet yours, filled with longing.
When had that change occurred? He'd always just acknowledged your presence politely, no more, no less than any other guest. Now, though, his gaze seems to see right through your pencil skirt to the lace beneath. His eyes are like liquid fire, melting any resolve you might have had to return home and make peace with James.
You refill your glass with the final pour of wine, mourning the night's end. He has to close up, and, like it or not, you have to head back to your shared apartment to pack your things.
Cinnamon and lime assail your senses again, and you glance up to find Husk standing over you. He places a hand on your shoulder, sending warmth cascading through you. With a gentle nod, his other hand joins the first. You feel strangely connected to this man, as if this touch was meant to be.
His gaze rests on yours as he leans over you and you see the heat is still there. You also know you match it with a blaze of your own. Where the compulsion comes from, you have no idea, but you nod when his other hand rests on your free shoulder. It feels strangely natural, touching this man and having his hands on you. A cursory glance around the lobby says the any remaining hotel residents have gone to bed.
"They're long gone," he whispers, his breath hot on your skin.
You shiver at the knowledge that Husk and you are alone, his hands on you, rubbing your tense shoulders. By all accounts, it's an innocent enough moment, but your mind and body tell another story. They ache, throb, for this man whose thumb caresses under the collar of your shirt along your neck.
A moan escapes your lips and the tension increases in his fingers, thick and long. It's pleasure unlike you've ever known, and it's vanilla enough to happen in public. But James has never shown your body such ardent attention, such care, not even in the privacy of your bedroom.
"Do you feel better?" he asks. His voice is molasses, the accent magnified by the lust you're certain you're not imagining.
"Yes." It's all you can say without giving your absolute desire for this stranger away.
"Good." With that, his hands slip lower, his fingers brushing your chest along the line of the lace. He rubs, caresses your skin, and your head falls back, drunk with lazy pleasure. "You'll tell me if I should stop."
It's a command and you obey with a nod. You don't imagine asking him to stop would come any point soon, but you appreciate the thoughtfulness of his gesture. Only for the briefest of moments do you wonder if he does this often, soothe troubled single women with his expert hands, and it takes even less time for you to ignore the fact that you've put yourself into the camp of single women while James is still in the picture. You don't care enough to ask Husk, to ruin the moment that builds with each passing second.
His finger dips below the lace. Your back arches into his hand, pressing yourself into his palm.
The growl that escapes his chest is feral and should have been a warning of what's to come, but you can't hear much above the thrum of lust beneath your skirt. His hand squeezes your breast, before his other hand pushes you forward so your face is almost even with the table. While he fondles you with one hand, the other slides below the back of your blouse and unhooks your bra. He pulls you back against the chair, against his abdomen, but wastes no time with your neck, your shoulders.
His hands are all over you with desire, and when you make a move to rise, to stand so that you can face him, he pushes you back down on the chair.
You feel his lips hot on your neck then, as a whisper reaches your ears.
"Stand up."
Another command you obey without thinking twice. He pulls you up, those strong arms you've imagined are wrapped around your midsection, unbuttoning your blouse.
"I need to clean up," Husk tells you. "But I don't want you to leave." As if you'd go anywhere but onto his cock, which you can see is hard, and filling his jeans. "Stay here so I can watch you while I work. Keep yourself wet for me."
You nod. He smiles, and you're blown away by the kindness in his eyes. He's doing you the exact favor you've needed at the exact moment you've needed it, and you've never been more grateful. The strangeness of the scenario registers as a distant thought, but never bubbles its way to your consciousness.
You stand, hands on the table, arms pressing your breasts together, hips gyrating against the inches-thick wood tabletop, a thank you for what he's done for you. While he cleans glassware, wipes the bar top, his eyes never leave your body. His smile never leaves his face.
When he disappears behind the counter to refill the liquor, you gather your plates and bowl from the delicious meal you've enjoyed alone, feeling your own juices flow from your underwear. You're more than wet for him, and only half-sane with desire.
The merlot he'd suggested when you first arrived showed he knew your tastes even then. You walk them to the kitchen, which sparkles, awaiting the day to come. You hate to leave the dirty dishes for the morning shift, so you turn the nozzle on the faucet to hot and wait while it warms up.
A gasp escapes your lips when chilled hands find your breasts, still unclothed, and squeeze.
They wheel you around, only the slightest hint of annoyance on the face in front of you.
"You didn't listen," he tells you. You bite your bottom lip. You don't want to disappoint him, not after all he's given you, including the promise of the remainder of the night, so you reach down, put your hand on .
"I thought cleaning up would be the least I could do after the delicious dinner and wine. Not to mention the dessert." You wink, and are met with half a grin that belies mischief.
"Why don't we both clean up, then? You look dirty. I can help with that."
You nod, your pussy throbbing hard enough for you to spread your legs around his thigh as he pulls you close. He tears the shirt from around your shoulders and drops it on the ground, followed by your bra. The water still running, Husk frees the spout from its base and turns down the heat only a fraction. He turns you so that your ass is pressed against his erection and lets the spray douse your chest, run down your legs. The water is hot, but not scalding, and you barely notice as it pools at your feet before disappearing down the drain.
"Take this off," his voice demands, pushing you from him. He nods at the skirt that is soaked and bunched around your waist. You reach behind and unzip it as Husk's mouth, hot and cavernous, closes around your breast. You arch your back into him as the skirt falls to your feet and you are laid almost bare in front of your bartender, your savior who's turned your night around.
All that's left is a thin shred of lace between you and the girth that presses against your stomach. His smile breaks free in ardent appreciation of your body, a sight you hadn't seen on a man's face in over five years. It's as exciting as the slip of his finger between your legs. When another finger slips in beside the first, you moan. This is too much. You have been dormant for too long, and now, buzzed with wine and lust, you are awake, alive with nerves.
With a swift pull, the lace shreds in his hands, and he wastes no time placing his mouth where his fingers had been. His tongue pulls at your swollen clit, sucking at it until your legs quiver with delight. While his tongue explores you, hot water still rains down over you, he puts three fingers inside you, tugging at the sensitive area behind his tongue. Husk lets a chuckle free when you cry out.
"Come," he breathes into your pussy. Another demand you can't refuse. You nod, but he doesn't see you, his face buried back in your folds. His hands cup your ass, bringing you closer to him, and with a final sucking motion, you roll over the edge with him, your hands fisted in his hair. The faucet still rests on the edge of the sink facing you, and as he lifts himself up the length of your body, peppering your taut stomach and breasts with kisses.
"Good God, I've wanted to do that ever since you first walked in here with that prick."
"Really?" you ask, surprised. You'd noticed him the first time you'd sat at the bar waiting for James, who'd shown up disheveled and smelling like Chanel No. 5 over an hour late to your first date at Michaels, but you had no idea the hot as fuck bartender had paid you any notice.
"You were in a skirt like this one and your piece-of-shit boyfriend didn't get to you until I'd already fucked you twice in my mind."
As if he hears you talking about him, you hear your phone trill with the song you'd chosen for James years ago, some romantic ditty that doesn't remind you of him in the least. Husk laughs again.
"What will he do if you go home smelling like me?" To add insult to injury, he runs his tongue along your collarbone.
You sigh, realizing that probably wouldn't be enough to rouse James from his stupor and pay attention to you. You were DOA and this proves it.
"Nothing, sadly. I doubt he'd notice, to be honest."
"Good. Then you're staying with me."
You turn back around to face him, a playful smile tugging at your own lips. It feels good to smile again, yet another rarity these days.
"Oh, really?"
"I'd have a hard time sending you home with torn panties and soaked clothes. I want you beside me tonight so I can wake up and do this again with you."
You have to admit, it sounds pretty good to you. The idea of his hot, hard body behind you as you sleep.
"Okay, you've got me there. I'll stay. But only if you promise to bring up another bottle of that merlot."
Husk nods, then takes off to the bar. You laugh to yourself, thinking what a strange night it's been. You'll collect your things from James' house the next morning, and fully move into the hotel.
It's worth it experiencing what dating could, and should be like. More than worth it.