WIP - Caroline and Colt

Just so you know I'm not completely goofing off and that I really do have a book in the works, here's a quickie peek. A ROUGH peek, yet to be edited even once much less twice or thrice and still without a book title, so have pity on it please! :D

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Thanks to a shuffling sea of line dancing drunks she almost overlooked him. At a corner table whose additional chairs had been stolen by the more sociable patrons of the bar sat a broad shouldered cowboy in a neatly pressed button up shirt. One long leg jutted off to the side, starched blue jeans with the center crease leading straight to a scuffed but clean cowboy boot. Unlike the other tables with their usual debris of empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays, his was bare save for the tumbler he now toyed with and the half empty bottle of Don Julio 70 that she suspected he brought with him. Both conspicuously out of place in the ballcap and beer crowd, and yet somehow perfectly immersed within it, he commanded all of her attention now. The shadows created by the questionable lighting of the bar and the low stance of his straw cowboy hat cast his face into question but there was no mistaking the intense, almost predatory gaze his eyes held her with, and it caused a series of shivers to cascade down the back of her neck.

Caroline's heart picked up the pace, it's thumping drowning out the assorted bottle clinks and chair scoots and eight ball cracks that filled the room. Time stretched out as they studied each other, just two strangers assessing each other in a crowded room, and then he was on his feet and moving towards her. Her lungs constricted even as her pussy began to open up, eagerly offering it's invitation to the tall stranger, his boots making a dull thunk against the worn wooden floor that seemed to reverberate between her thighs.

She expected him to ask her to dance, or maybe ask if he could buy her a drink, but he came to a stop beside her table and simply looked down at her, saying nothing which excited her more. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, as if he knew something funny that she didn't, and then he turned on one heel and walked away, thunk thunk thunking his way back to the narrow hallway at the far end of the bar that led to the restrooms. Not once did he pause, never did he look back, but she knew what he expected and offered no argument. She made her way across the crowded dance floor, past the pool tables where her boyfriend of nine months was playing “Where's the Pool Cue” with a faded barfly old enough to be his mother, and finally into the men's bathroom that the silent stranger had turned in to.

He was waiting for her. She knew he would be. Reaching around her, he slid the long door bolt in place, then grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face the grimy mirror above the sink. In it's reflection they studied each other, and Caroline noticed the sheen of perspiration across her forehead and chest, the dampness there giving hint to the wetness between her slightly wobbly legs. Hooking up with strange men in backwater bars wasn't her thing, had never been her thing, and the naughtiness of it all, the danger even, sent a fire through her belly and lent a greedy arch to her spine.

His hand wrapped in her ponytail, pulling her firmly against him. In the mirror she watched his other hand slide up her belly to cup her left breast, gently at first, then with a hard squeeze that caused her to gasp. As she pressed her ass insistently against the hard rod barely restrained within his jeans the corner of his mouth twitched upward, and then he pushed her against the sink, bending her body over it and pressing her face against the mirror with one hand. The other grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it up, tucking it in her bra strap before slipping a finger between her thighs to stroke the dripping lips.