Dipped In Holly

HOLLY

"Favorite color?" I ask him.

"Blue."

"Of course it is," I snort. "Every man's favorite color is blue."

"Yours?" he asks me. I can hear the smile in his voice from across the bar. He's closing everything down. The bar closed about thirty minutes ago, and he sent everyone home. He asked me if I wanted to stay.

I said yes.

"Green. But not the bright lime green. Like a forest green, or a sage green." I sit up from the booth I'm lying in and watch the way his back moves as he wipes down the shelves behind the bar.

I pull my eyes away, looking around at the decor of the place without people cluttering up the place.

It's bathed in deep reds and warm wood. It has a speakeasy-type feel with glowing Edison bulbs and heavy velvet curtains blocking the view to the street outside.

"How old are you?"

He turns around and looks at me, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the counter.

"I just turned fifty," he says, narrowing his eyes on me and smirking, waiting for my reaction.

I shrug and stand up, walking over toward him.

"Wizened," I say with a smile, teasing him.

"Hah!" he barks out, throwing the rag into a bin.
"Old," he says, watching me slowly walk the length of the bar, running my fingertips on the glossy wood.

"Vintage." My smile grows as I look at him. Whatever dance we're doing, I like it.

I like the way my heart beats faster under his gaze and my skin heats with a delicious warmth that spreads into other places, places I would most definitely like to feel the soft scratch of his beard.

"Ancient," he counters as I round the corner and enter into his space. He's gone still, watching me with his eyes but keeping his arms over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Established," I murmur as I get within touching distance of him. His eyes lick up and down my body, and I swear I can feel them as if his hands were on me. I want them on me.

We've been playing this game of tug-of-war for the past half hour, and I'm ready to let go and have him pull me in.

"Experienced." His voice has taken on a whole new tone, and it causes the butterflies in my stomach to go crazy.

He moves slowly as I approach him, turning so that my back is against the counter and his arms are caging me in.

The clean scent of his aftershave invades my senses and makes my head dizzy.

"Oh, yeah?" I ask him, my voice only wavering a little. "How experienced are we talking here, old man?" My voice is teasing, but his eyes aren't. They're trained on me like he's the hunter and I'm his prey. "Could you change my tire? Check my oil?"

"Baby girl," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through my body as he presses a hand to my stomach, letting it trail lower as he speaks.

I can't look away from his eyes no matter how nervous I am. He has a hold over me as he pushes his body even closer. "I could take apart everything under your hood and put it back together better than I found it."

His hand dips under the band of my skirt, and his fingers dance over the soft lace of my panties.

I'm embarrassed at how wet I am and have been ever since I saw him in the hallway.

He runs his fingertips over the fabric covering my slit before teasing the sides.

"Holly," he says, leaning forward and brushing his lips over my cheek. I sigh and drop my head back, hoping he'll move his mouth to my neck. "If I dip my fingers inside of these lacey panties, am I going to find you wet for me?"