Breath

Easy Access (Mike McCready)

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Female First Person POV, SMUT! warning

Uh...this involves ass stuff, so please don't read if you're not into that.

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Mike is wearing a dress. A pretty pink dress that hits mid-thigh and exposes his slender legs. If it wasn't for the leather jacket he had decided to wear, I would be getting a good view of his pale shoulders right now, covered only by delicate straps. The necklace is cute, the tube socks even cuter. He's delectable, and I want to eat him whole.

I sit in the corner of the bar watching him. The way he's perched on his stool jiggling his leg up and down has forced his dress to creep up his thighs. A flash of underwear makes me choke on my drink. They're not special, just simple cotton briefs, but they are women's, meaning he had gone the whole nine yards dressing up for tonight. The revelation brings a small smirk to my face, and I take another swig of alcohol.

Mike is barely tipsy at three beers in - I've been counting - so I've been carefully measuring my own consumption also. I need enough to boost my confidence but not alter my senses.

I want so badly to take him, to make him mine. When I walk the streets, I want to grip his hand tightly and not let go. I want to run my fingers down his spine while everyone sees us. I want to hold him against me until his body has molded to fit mine. And I want to jerk that fucking dress up over his ass, bend him over the bar, and spread his legs.

I want, I want, I want.

After a few more minutes of fantasizing, he looks my way and our eyes lock. My heart pumps in anticipation. Despite feeling like I could faint, I lift my drink toward him as a simple salute and pray he'll take that as an invitation to come over.

The universe must be in my favor tonight because he sends me a flirty smile and hops off his stool. As he strolls toward me, I straighten my posture and lean into the worn vinyl cushion of my booth.

"Hey," he drawls. "What's up?"

His voice seems a bit higher than usual, and vivid blush spreads from his neck down the slopes of his collarbone. I can't help but get a bit excited imagining what the rest of his body must look like.

"Nothing. Just sitting here. I saw you come in about an hour ago," I say, raising my brow at him.

Mike looks a little taken aback and fiddles with the sleeves of his jacket. "Yeah, uh...I would've come over sooner, but they wanted to catch up," he explains, nodding his head toward his friends at the bar.

"It's fine," I grin. "You're here now. Want to sit down?" I pat the spot next to me and scooch to the side.

He looks a bit sheepish as he clambers into the booth. "Sorry, really. I didn't mean to ignore you."

He's such a sweetheart. Maybe he wouldn't feel so sorry if he knew what I've been thinking about him this whole time.

"I said it's fine, Mike." I pat his knee in assurance and can feel his legs part slightly at my touch. Still fiddling with his sleeves, he stares at a random spot on the wood table and bucks his knee into my hand. I wonder if he's oblivious to what he's doing or not.

"How have you been?" He finally tears his gaze away from the table and looks at me.

I sink my fingers a little deeper into the skinny flesh above his kneecap. "Good. Real good, actually."

"Yeah?" There's a touch of surprise in his voice. "That's great. I, uh...well, you know." He laughs darkly. "I've been better."

My heart sinks. He and I don't know each other very well, but his struggle with addiction isn't exactly a secret.