Tempest || tyler owens

(3) Cape Cod

My fingers trace the rim of the glass of whiskey in front of me. A faint smile touches my lips as I pick the glass up, swirling the amber liquid around for a moment before downing the contents. I grimace for a moment, allowing the taste to pass before ordering another.

"A Cape Cod for the fine lady next to me!" I turn, eyebrows raising as possibly the most attractive man I've ever seen sits down on the stool to my right. His dirty blonde hair is neatly yet messily styled, framing his sun kissed skin perfectly. My brows raise as our eyes meet and I'm surprised to find that his irises are the most stunning shade of green I have ever seen.

"A Cape Cod?" I question, turning my body so that I am facing him, "What gives you that impression?"

"You don't seem like you're from here." He replies coolly without missing a beat, "Neatly pressed slacks, blazer, and a nice white shirt, you're definitely from the East Coast." He hypothesizes, listing off my articles of clothing on his fingers.

The tender delivers my whiskey and I'm slow to grab it, "Seems like you caught me."

"That also seems like your third glass of the night." I blink in surprise as I take a sip of my drink, not even trying to shoot it this time. I'm intrigued by the man in front of me. It's been a long time since I've actually gotten laid.

"You've been watching me?" It's more of a statement than a question, but it's a question nonetheless. I can only pray I'm coming off as flirty and mysterious, but with my luck, I'm definitely not.

The man leans closer to me, as if he's about to tell me a secret, "Well, everyone's been watching you, miss...?"

He's obviously waiting for me to say my name, but I don't. Instead, I take yet another sip. If I tell him my name is Bex Paxton, there's a good chance he'll know my parents, if I tell him I'm Tempest... well, there's an even greater chance he'll know me. According to Javi, my 'legend' lives on, even five years later. I force myself not to shudder at the thought. Suddenly, the three glasses of whiskey don't seem like such a good idea as I now feel like I'm going to vomit. Thankfully, I haven't run into anyone I know since my flight landed a few hours ago, and with my now brown hair, it's hard to spot me if you aren't looking. But, starting to tomorrow, everyone will be looking and wondering why the 'great' Tempest is back.

Thankfully, a Cape Cod is placed in front of me, and after downing the rest of my whiskey, I take the red drink gladly. I'm happy to report that I'm perfectly buzzed and about to be a little more than buzzed once the third glass kicks in.

"Any particular reason you're here?" The man asks, I look back up at him, my mouth forming into a line at his words.

Shrugging, I take a sip, "Dumped my boyfriend yesterday, I flew halfway across America, so thought I could use a drink or two before I truly start my week." I don't usually trauma dump, but the whiskey as loosened my tongue, and I doubt I'm ever going to see this man again.

"Or four." He points out, green eyes flashing mischievously towards the drink in my hand.

"Or four." I agree, not stopping the grin from spreading across my face, "You getting anything?" An invitation, one that I hope he accepts.

Leaning on the bar, the man matches my grin, "I don't think I could talk to you if I haven't had a drink," He pauses, "or four." He admits, and I find myself strangely relieved that he's not sober. I crinkle my nose, that's a stupid thought, why would he be sober at a bar?

"And why's that?" I question, taking a drink, my brown eyes never leaving his of green.

His ears tinge pink as he replies, "Because I think you're beautiful." I almost drop my drink in surprise at his words, my cheeks burning red at the compliment, "And I wanted to see if you'd like to come back to my hotel room with me."

We never make it to his hotel room.

He ended up pulling his strangely moded red truck to the side of the road, throwing me into the backseat where his lips now rove over mine. I gasp for air, my fingernails dragging down his back as he pushes me deeper into the plush seats. His hips thrusting against my pelvis in frantic movements, circling and rocking into me as his lips attach to my neck, sucking and biting, rewarding me for every gasp and moan as my hips buck to meet his. My fingers tangling into his hair, holding him to my neck as he continues to grind on me.

My back is now fully pressed to the drivers side door, my hips angled towards the passenger seat, with him atop me. Ravishing me. His lips meet mine once more, tongues colliding as his hand slides down my stomach, dipping into my pants line.

"Please." I beg when he pauses for permission, "Please." I repeat breathlessly. He doesn't waste a second, and my head is thrown back involuntarily as his fingers enter me, curling in just- I moan at the feeling, grinding into the palm of his hand which is currently stimulating my clit. He brings me to the edge, his fingers swift and brutal as he deepens our kiss. I can't get enough, I need him.

Tugging at his jeans, he seems to get the memo as he practically tears my slacks and panties away, shagging off his jeans and boxers. I don't even have time to see... him, before the crinkle of a condom wrapper fills the car.

And then he's inside of me.

I gasp at the feeling, at the angle as he pushes himself deeper and deeper. I see stars, my fingers clawing at his back as he situates himself before pulling out. And then pushing back in. My hips meet his and I gasp at the feeling, at the sensation, so unlike anything I have ever felt before. He continues to kiss me brutally, his lips never wavering from mine as the sounds of skin slapping skin fill his truck.

I cum first, and hard. Release barreling down my spine, and for a moment, I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't do anything but feel as euphoria washes over me, more powerful that any drug I have taken in the last five years.

He's quick to follow, and with a few sloppy spurts, he's heaving, pulling out as he cums. I let my head thud against the car door, my mind finally catching up to my body.

The sex mixed with the alcohol has made me tired, and before I know it, my eyes are drooping, "The Hilton, room 204." My words are slurring, "Keys'n my back pocket." My eyes are now fully closed, "Welcome to-" I sigh, "stay if you want."

I don't even fight my body as sleep overtakes me. Dimly, I'm reminded that I don't even know his name. And maybe I should be worried, but a part of me just doesn't care. I don't even care if he's a serial killer because I just had the best sex of my life and that's all that matters.

The last thing I remember is him pressing one last kiss to my jaw before his weight leaves me, probably returning to the drivers seat.

I dream of tornados and eyes of green.