Photo: unsplash / kevin rinaldo
I was hungry for something, and he delivered.
By SheSaid — Written on Feb 10, 2017
As I drunkenly fumbled to pick up the sticky wine glasses and spilled Doritos littering my coffee table from a night of revelry with girlfriends, a shrill beep erupted in my living room.
My heart momentarily sped up as I shot my eyes around the room to find its origin.
“Bleeeeeeep!”
There it was again.
A light flashed frantically on the intercom mounted to the wall opposite me. Someone was trying to get in.
Oh shit. The pizza. I’d completely forgotten I’d hungrily dialed for a margherita with extra cheese before the girls had left an hour earlier. I let out an embarrassed chuckle and walked over and pressed the building door key.
Moments later a knock echoed from the other side of my door. I swiped up the money balanced on the edge of my kitchen counter and flung it open without looking up, still counting the change in my Doritos-stained hands.
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“Hi, you ordered a margherita and garlic bread?” came a male voice in a devastatingly sexy English accent, immediately commanding my attention.
I looked up and saw a man who looked mid-20s nervously balancing a pizza box and sweaty paper bag of garlic bread out in front of him with the focused intensity of someone on their first day of the job.
“That’ll be $22.60,” he said, accidentally making momentary eye contact with me, revealing a set of perfect sky blue eyes that temporarily left me dumbfounded. I scanned my brain to try to remember what I was supposed to be doing.
“Sorry, it’s late, so don’t worry about the tip… This is my first week on the, er, job…” he blurted into the awkward silence, his voice trailing off into a nervous mumble at the end.
“Oh right! Of course, you want to be paid!” I laughed, thrusting the crumpled pile of notes and coins into his hand as I took the limp box from him to see a crooked name badge dangling from his top pocket.
“James… Is that your real name?” I asked, suddenly aware of the fact the last time I checked my appearance was two bottles of rose wine and a tequila shot ago.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” he replied, suddenly puffing out his chest as if feeling a renewed sense of confidence now he was free of my rapidly cooling pizza.
“It’s just that the pizza guys sometimes just grab any old name tag, so they have one on when you meet them. It’s hardly ever people’s real name,” I replied, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing it up and wondering if my logic was even correct.
“Oh yeah, they do that. But I’m really James,” he said, punctuating the sentence with an embarrassed grin, this time making purposeful eye contact with me, his pupils dilating like ink blots in bright pools of blue.
“I’m sorry, I’m really, really drunk right now!” I interjected, feeling the need to explain my orange-tinged hands and likely mascara-strewn face.
“It’s okay,” he laughed nervously. “You’re the most entertaining customer I’ve had all night. And you’re my last job.”
“Well, congratulations on making it to the end of your first week! Wanna have a drink with me to celebrate? I might as well finish what’s left of the wine at this point!” I giggled awkwardly, impressed by my own sudden burst of confidence.
“Sure, why not?” he said, pushing an imaginary piece of hair behind his ear, highlighting a silver stud nestled in his tragus. I quickly stole the moment to take the rest of him in. His chiselled jawline was speckled with a deep brown five o’clock shadow that trailed off down his neck to a taught, broad chest heaving noticeably beneath a grease-stained white T-shirt. I suddenly found myself imagining what he looked like underneath it.
Another bottle of wine later and inhibitions well and truly down, James plonked himself down on the couch beside me, closing the space between us so our outer thighs locked together, before grabbing the bottle from the table to empty the final dregs into our glasses.
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“So this is probably not a good idea…” he said suddenly, gently pressing the stem of my refilled wine glass into my hand.
“What’s not a good idea?”
“Well, you’re a customer. And the boss told me when I started never to get my honey from where I make my money,” he answered, interrupting his own punchline with a dorkish chuckle, his piercing blue eyes once again catching me off guard.
I didn’t know whether it was his adorable dorkiness, the irresistible British accent, or just the wine talking, but I found myself longing for him in a way I hadn’t felt before – my chest swelling with a warm spread of nervous energy as an intense ache began to radiate within me.
I took his wine glass from him and rested it back on the table, grabbing his hand in mine and slipping my lips over the tip of his ring finger, slowly sliding it all the way down into my mouth, then just as slowly removing it, using my tongue to savour every inch while he watched on in startled delight. His bright blue eyes were wide and intense now, his lips parted, his breathing slow and heavy.
I figured he was at least 10 years younger than me, and I was a customer on his first week on the job, so it certainly wasn’t a good idea, as he’d rightly pointed out. Plus I’d just started dating a new guy I’d started to develop strong affections for and wasn’t keen on adding any extra complications to my life.
Realistically, at best, this would be a regrettable drunken one-night stand. But none of the logic seemed to matter in that moment. He was my conquest, and I had to have him.
I closed my eyes and slid my fingers around the nape of his neck, silently urging him to take the lead, which he did, in a teasingly sexy, long, slow enjoyment of my lips that sent the nervous electricity charging through me so that my legs trembled enough for him to stop and take note.
“Let’s go back to the bedroom. I want to go back to your bedroom,” he said, looking back at me with an urgency in his eyes.
We didn’t need to talk after that.
As James pushed me back onto the bed a hunger ignited from within me that felt unstoppable. I kissed him deeply and longingly, then he grabbed my skirt roughly and yanked it down, unzipping his pants, pulling my panties to the side and plunging inside me so hard my head slammed back into the bedhead. I greedily unpeeled his tight white T-shirt as he thrusted again, sending me hurtling back into the headboard once more as a delicious warmth spread through my body.
His chest was smooth and hard, his strong arms beckoned to be caressed. I ran my hands down them, gently digging my nails in as he used his teeth to wrestle my tank top down, his other free hand manoeuvring my bra off.
“I’ve been thinking about doing this with you since I first met you,” he whispered, already hungrily circling an outline around my breasts with his tongue.
“Really? Didn’t we just meet tonight though?” I answered, suddenly confused.
“No, a few months back I helped you with your groceries when you were getting out of the car, I was on my way to football practice at the time and you looked like you were struggling, you don’t remember?”
“Really? No, sorry, I definitely don’t…are you sure it was me?”
He stopped and looked at me for a second.
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“Of course!” he laughed.
“How could I forget? You were on the footpath in front of the apartment building, wearing a bright green dress, and Jesus, it looked good on you,” he said, offering a warm, oddly familiar smile that made me want to know more about him.
Suddenly it occurred to me that this couldn’t just be a one-night stand. Something was flickering between us that couldn’t be extinguished in a single encounter. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew then that I wouldn’t be content going back to being a customer just yet.
We spent the rest of the night devouring one another’s bodies with a feverish intensity that left us both glistening in sweat and heaving, draped exhaustedly over the edge of the bed, our skin imprinted with marks of passion that burned crimson and tingled with a strange contented pain as the first rays of sunlight began to trickle through my blinds.
My eyelids fell shut, heavy with booze and sleeplessness, and I woke up later to find him gone, resolving to accept the likelihood I’d probably never see him again. And that was probably for the best.
A painfully hungover shower and two cups of coffee later, my phone let off a ping. It was a message from James, I’d forgotten I’d given him my number.
‘Just so you know, I woke up with the biggest smile on my face this morning, I hope you did too,’ it read.
I laughed and shot back a text.
‘I sure did. But I’m so embarrassed of how drunk I was! I wish we could have a sober do-over. Guess that’s a bit weird now you’re back to work though, I don’t want to get you in trouble!’
‘Trouble’s my middle name!’ came a text back.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed by that?’ I teased.
‘Er, yes?’ he texted back.
‘I’d be more impressed if you took me for dinner afterward!’ I jested.
No reply.
I went to the kitchen and made myself another coffee to try to shrug off the last of my hangover, sat in the puddle of afternoon sunlight spilling in through my living room window to drink it, then checked my phone again.
‘I’ve booked us a table at Olivio’s at 8. It’s the best Italian in town. Meet at my place, we can walk from there. I’ll send the address’ read the message.
My skin prickled with excitement. I went to my underwear drawer and rustled out the tiny pair of French lace panties I’d bought myself as a treat earlier in the week, took off my plain cotton bottoms and slid them on.
By the time I arrived at James’s house to go to dinner, the delicate scalloped outline of my French panties just visible under the thin veil of my pink silk pencil skirt, something insatiable was stirring within me.
When the door opened I suddenly saw him in a new light. Standing there in a tight green tank accentuating the tiny emerald flecks in his eyes, he was no longer the cute pizza guy, or a drunken sexual conquest, or even a guy I was much too young to be involved with. He was just a man. And suddenly I wanted him more than ever.
“I can’t wait till after dinner. I have to have you right now,” I whispered into his ear, thrusting open his belt buckle, unzipping his pants and kneeling down in front of him, taking him in my mouth with greedy delight.
This time everything felt heightened; even as I had him inside me I found myself wanting him more than ever. I guided him back onto the floor, slid my panties off, climbed on top of him and whispered into his ear, “I want you. I want you. I WANT YOU” before thrusting back onto him so hard my eyes momentarily rolled back, sending my vision foggy.
He responded with equal amounts of enthusiasm, securing his hands around my waist to plunge himself deeper and deeper inside me before lifting me up and throwing me down onto his bed on my hands and knees. I couldn’t get enough. I dug my nails deep into the crevices of his ruffled sheets and gave as good back as he was giving me, the pleasure inside me reaching a near painful crescendo that begged release as he tugged on my hair, grabbed my hips and drove into me. barely concealing his hunger for me.
He flipped me over onto my back later and entered me again. This time I found myself confessing in his ear, “I don’t want this to end just yet. Do it slow and gentle now. Savour me.”
James responded with a gentle, passionate kiss, then slowly worked his way down my body; kissing, licking and enjoying every inch of my flesh before burying his head between my legs, pushing his fingers deep within folds of warmth and gently curling them over inside me as if beckoning me to come to him, bringing me to a whole-body climax that made the ceiling swirl like a galaxy above my head and my ears ring out a low-pitched buzz.
“I’d be lying if I said I was happy to stop and go back to just being your customer now,” I shocked myself by divulging, between exhausted heavy breaths as we recollected ourselves later, lying naked in the twisted sheets.
A pregnant pause hung in the air like wet laundry on a clothing line on a humid day. I immediately regretted letting my post-coital high get the better of me and started to sew together words in my head that would believably convey I was joking earlier.
“Well…I’d be lying if I, er, well, if I said that too,” James suddenly replied matter-of-factly, his posh British inflection echoing Hugh Grant, an endearing nervousness still behind his bumbled phrasing. His eyes held still on mine, reflecting the fading light escaping from between his bedroom curtains.
The nervous energy bloomed inside me again. I had so many things I wanted to tell him then; how his kind touch had renewed something within me. How he was a drug to me now and I didn’t care if it was a bad idea to keep seeing one another or not. And how good I felt when his piercing blue eyes looked back into mine, making me thirst for him in a way I hadn’t quite experienced before.
I rolled over so he couldn’t see the smile broadening across my face, and squeezed my eyes shut to bask in it for a moment before returning to reality; where he was a 25 year-old pizza guy, and I was his customer, and life was already messy and complicated enough than to naively believe our dalliance would be anything more than a fleeting memory in a month’s time…
I still order pizza from the place James works at if the craving strikes me now. He’s back to being the pizza guy, and I really am happy being back to being just a customer again.
As far as his boss knows anyway.
This article was originally published at SheSaid. Reprinted with permission from the author.