Find a Seat Right Next to Mine
Title: Find a Seat Right Next to Mine
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: AU: He's incredibly handsome and she's been sitting here alone for an hour with no one to talk to. She doesn't want to give him the wrong impression, but it also wouldn't be terrible to finish her glass of wine with a little bit of company. OR: Puck and Rachel have a one night stand.
Word Count: 6,900
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Her friends have this habit of cancelling plans at the last minute and leaving her sitting alone in restaurants and bars. It happens often enough and with so many different friends and groups of people that she actually thinks it's probably her and they're not exactly terrible people. Well, that's not entirely true. It's rude and disrespectful of them. Obviously everyone is busy, not just her, but when she takes time out of her insane schedule and initiates plans with friends, she doesn't think it's asking too much that they actually keep up their ends of the bargain.
So yes, she's mad. And a bit upset. And drinking this glass of wine right now is making her feel better, after having to give up their table of six when each and every one of them texted her - when she was already on her way here - to cancel plans and say they couldn't make it. So she's sitting at the bar alone, which, in New York, is basically a welcome mat for any random person to come up and assume you're interested in whatever it is they might be offering. Not that that's something she routinely has to deal with, but it's got her on edge anyway, and she's almost positive she's one bad pickup line away from flying into a rage that won't reflect kindly on her true personality.
She could have just turned around and gone home, but the wine list here is her favourite and she really wants to have a glass or two and try not to worry about what it is she's doing so wrong that makes people not want to spend time with her.
The lighting in here has always been a little brighter than most places she frequents, so she can actually see the faces of a lot of the other people in the room. The bartender - his name tag reads Amir - is very handsome and friendly and she's sure he makes an absurd amount of money for those two reasons alone, let alone the fact that he works quickly and efficiently and can answer just about any question someone might have related to anything on the drink menu.
God, she feels pathetic, sitting here analyzing the nuances of this random bartender.
There's a woman sitting at the other end of the bar. She's been there since Rachel came in, nursing a single martini and constantly playing with her hair. She's poured into a black dress and her makeup is flawless. And there's a group of guys younger than Rachel who have been drinking fancy beer like they're at a frat party, and she's confident she'd almost be able to guess which company they work for on Wall Street, but really, she's just trying not to pay too much attention to them, simply because that's obviously what they want.
She's on her second glass of wine when this guy walks in wearing jeans and a button-down, leather boots on his feet and his hair neatly combed to one side. He looks completely different than most of the other people in here, and Rachel watches him lean forward against the bar to order a glass of bourbon, neat, before he takes a look around.
Predictably, his eyes fall on the woman down the bar, making eye contact with her as she plays with the stem of her martini glass. Rachel finds herself chuckling out loud and shaking her head at the whole thing. She's a people watcher, likes seeing the ways in which people interact. She saw that one coming a mile away. She's seen that exact scenario play out before her in practically every bar she's ever been to in this city.
He gets his drink, thanks the bartender, then approaches the woman. Rachel feels a little badly for staring, but she's got nothing else to pay attention to at this point. Plus, it's entertaining to her, especially because she can't hear what's being said. The guy says something to the woman, who reaches out her hand for him to shake. She's got an awful handshake, does that limp fish thing Rachel's daddy always said was a sign of weakness and disinterest. The guy leans his elbow against the bar and they strike up a conversation.
Rachel watches the woman go from interested, to less interested, to completely checked out of the conversation within about two minutes. Either the woman knows exactly what she's looking for and he isn't it, or the guy's got a terrible strategy for talking to women.
It doesn't take him long to get the hint, which Rachel appreciates and actually likes a lot in a man. She hates seeing women out like this, feeling trapped in conversations they're too polite or too scared to end. This guy just says something to the woman which makes her smile - probably telling her he'll leave her to enjoy her evening, or something along those lines - and makes his way back around the bar, sitting a couple stools down from Rachel and setting his phone face down on the bar.
He's incredibly handsome and she's been sitting here alone for an hour with no one to talk to. She doesn't want to give him the wrong impression, but it also wouldn't be terrible to finish her glass of wine with a little bit of company.
Really, she's just interested to know how he thought that whole interaction was going to go. He's not exactly sitting here pouting, his tail between his legs. He's let it roll off his back like it was no big deal to be approached and rejected, however gently that may have happened.
"That didn't exactly go to plan," she finds herself saying, and he looks at her like she's crazy for a second, then his face is unreadable, almost blank, as he turns just the slightest bit. "I could've told you the second you said hello that wasn't going to work out well for you."
She worries she sounds like a complete bitch, but he gets up and walks over to sit down next to her. It's vastly different from how he approached the other woman. Rachel thinks he isn't even looking at her like she's any sort of prospective bed partner. Which, she'll admit, doesn't feel entirely great. But let's just say she's almost used to that.
"What tipped you off?" he asks, seemingly genuinely curious.
Rachel swallows the sip of wine she just took, angles herself towards him. "Her handshake. She wasn't being coy, she just didn't want to be rude." His brow furrows as he seems to think about it. "And whatever you said to her that made her look away? That's when you really lost her."
He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. "I told her what I do for a living." Rachel feels bad. He's gorgeous and dressed well, and she doesn't think he's exactly living pay check to pay check, if the Rolex on his wrist is any indication. "Jesus. How'd you get all that just from watching?"
He's actually interested. She's not telling him all this so he can more easily pick up women. She's really just making conversation. Granted, he doesn't exactly seem desperate to improve on his methods. Or talk to anyone else, for that matter.
Rachel smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "My father's a behavioural psychologist. When I was 13, he sat me down and told me all about body language and signs of interest and how to read men and their intentions. I think he meant to scare me, but really he just set me up with great tools for people watching." The guy chuckles and shakes his head a little bit. "I'm Rachel."
"Noah." He reaches out his hand and she shakes it firmly, watches his brow go up as he makes note of that. "I guess I need to work on my game a bit, huh," he says. "Been a while."
Rachel doesn't really know what to say to that. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He laughs bitterly and takes a drink. "My ex is moving her shit out of our apartment and I didn't wanna be there to watch her do it."
"I'm sorry," she says, and he just shrugs his shoulder, which she's figured out by now is really not indicative of how big a deal this event is. "How long were you together?"
"Three years," he tells her, glances over at her, but does't look away like she thought he would. "Then she decided to fuck another guy when she was on a business trip, so, you know. Ideal."
Rachel feels incredibly sorry for him. He's obviously going through a huge life change, and she thinks it's even more interesting that he let that rejection just roll off his back without getting too upset over it. Then again, if all his energy is going into thinking about having his heart broken, a two minute conversation with a random woman in a bar is probably not even registering as something to worry about.
"I'm sorry," she repeats, and he doesn't respond, so she decides not to say that to him anymore. Her glass is almost empty. He downs the rest of his and orders them each another. She doesn't mind. "Do you live nearby?"
She almost blushes, thinking about how that probably sounds. She's not propositioning him. He's just told her his ex is currently at his place.
"A few blocks."
"I wasn't…" She gives him a nervous smile and he just watches her. "I'm not trying to take advantage of your emotional vulnerability, or something like that."
Noah laughs loudly and turns a bit, his knee bumping against her thigh. "What makes you think I wouldn't let you?"
Oh.
Rachel sighs, straightens her posture. "You didn't even see me when you walked in here. Your eyes went straight to her." She gestures subtly across the bar. "Which makes sense, given the amount of cleavage you can see compared to…" She looks down at her own chest, covered modestly by the high neck of her black dress. "I'm just a woman sitting alone at a bar. She's the kind of woman you see and want to take home with you."
Noah grins at her and shakes his head, leans a little closer. Rachel feels her heart beat racing a little.
"I noticed you. I noticed you first. You're just so fucking beautiful I didn't think there was any chance in hell you were here by yourself."
Coming from anyone else, she'd absolutely think it was a line. He sounds incredibly genuine, and that's the danger, right? Because maybe he's just saying what he thinks will get her into his bed and he doesn't mean a damn word of it. There's just something in the tone of his voice that has her believing it's true.
That's the exact moment she realizes she's probably going to get herself into trouble with this guy.
The next words out of her mouth shouldn't be, "Maybe you don't need to work on your game after all," but that's what she says, and he smirks and raises his glass to his lips.
"Yeah? It's working for you now?"
He says it so confidently, and she knows if any other man said that to her, she'd roll her eyes and he wouldn't have a chance.
She just lets out a quiet laugh, glances at him, and says, "I think you've got your confidence back," and watches as he chuckles.
"What's your deal?" he asks, and she knows what he means, but she thinks he could elaborate, lest she talk solely about herself for the next hour or so. "I mean why are you here alone?"
She doesn't really want to tell him about her terrible friends or her pathetic social life. There's always this little voice in the back of her head telling her that if she talks about her struggles to keep people in her life, it'll make the ones currently there want to leave, too. It's a thing. She's working on it. Therapy.
"My friend stood me up," she says, because one person sounds better than admitting five people didn't want to spend time with her.
"Friend? Or friend," he asks, with finger quotes, and Rachel rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and plays with the stem of her wine glass.
"I'm single," she says, looks at him from the corner of her eye. He's just watching her. "That's what you wanted to know, right?"
He laughs quietly, nods quickly. "Yeah, it's what I was getting at. Do you not…"
Rachel waits to see if he's going to finish. She was hoping to at least lead him to believe there may be some man somewhere who might hit on her. Given what he said to her a few minutes ago, she should've just kept her mouth shut and stopped talking after going him her relationship status.
"I can't say I'm used to this," she admits, hoping it doesn't sound pathetic. "Handsome men don't just walk up to me every day and say nice things."
Noah just looks at her for a moment like he's trying to process that. "I have no fucking clue why not," he tells her in this voice that makes her chest feel hollow, and brushes his knuckles up the outside of her thigh til they meet the hem of her dress, then back down to her knee.
She wants to tell him he doesn't have to say that or anything like it, but she's getting the impression that he's not the kind of guy who says things he doesn't want to say anyway. And then when she thinks about it, she decides that even if it's a line, she doesn't really care, because he's making her feel pretty amazing about herself on a night she could've easily just spent wallowing.
"Where do you work?" he asks, and keeps doing that thing with his knuckles on her bare skin.
See, this is the part that usually scares people away.
"Um." She laughs a little and watches him for a reaction. "I'm a sports agent." His brows go up and his lips part a little. Rachel just smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "I'm good at what I do."
Because if there's anything she's sure of, it's that. She's got the pay check and client roster to prove it.
"Shit." He laughs a bit, raises his glass and clinks it against hers. "Gotta say, not what I expected."
She gets that a lot. "What did you expect?"
He grins at her again, so she tries to prepare for whatever thing he's about to say that'll push her a little closer to wanting to sleep with him.
"I dunno. Not that. That's like, super hot." Rachel laughs and shakes her head. "C'mon. Gorgeous woman who knows about sports is like, the fantasy."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "There are plenty of women who know about sports. Millions."
His hand moves over her thigh, fingertips brushing the soft skin at the inside, left bare with how her legs are crossed. She locks eyes with him.
"Not all of 'em look like you do."
She lets out a breath that sounds shakier than she was hoping it would. Noah reaches over and drapes his free arm over the back of her chair, leaning in closer to her. She loves it.
He checks his watch quickly, tips back his drink and sets the empty glass on the bar. He looks right at her again, says, "Drink up."
"Why?"
"You're coming home with me, aren't you?"
He asks it totally teasingly, like he knew the answer before he said it, and Rachel thinks he's smart, because there's absolutely no way, at this point, they aren't ending this night together. No, she doesn't know when she decided that. Maybe the second his hand landed on her thigh, warm and sure and confident. She's beyond attracted to him, and this is so not her style, to go home with a guy she met in a bar. She's had exactly one one night stand, and that was in college, and she ended up dating the guy for six months after, so she doesn't even think that actually counts.
Rachel takes a long drink of her wine, says, "Yes," and loves the way his eyes darken.
He pays for her drinks, which he really doesn't need to do and she tries to stop him, but he's adamant. And he doesn't help her into her coat, but he stands there patiently as she fastens all the buttons. Actually, he checks out her legs as she does it, makes absolutely no attempts to hide what he's doing. Then as they're walking out of the bar, he sets his hand on the small of her back and guides her through the door, and she doesn't care how cliché it is, it's one of her absolute favourite things a man could do.
She has no idea where he lives, how far it is and if they'll need a taxi. Once they're outside, he keeps his arm around her waist and tells her it's only a few blocks and he's up for the walk if she is.
And she thinks there's something confident about that, too. At any point on this walk she could change her mind and say she's going home, and he's either sure she's not going to do that, or he's doing this for that reason, giving her plenty of time to back out.
Then she remembers this is New York and no one's foolish enough to take a cab a measly three blocks when they're perfectly capable of walking.
She thinks back to the bar and him checking his watch, and she puts two and two together and realizes he was probably just making sure his ex would be gone and it was safe to go home.
God, she's way too turned on by that, too. He's choosing her. She's his rebound, and that's fine because it feels good to be the first one he's with after his breakup, the first woman in his apartment after his girlfriend has left. Maybe she's selfish for thinking all that, but his hand is dangerously close to her ass, and she's almost positive she's allowed to think however she likes. Particularly because she's already turned on and they're still a block away.
He pulls his keys out of his pocket and they start up the steps of this old brick apartment building that's really quite gorgeous. She doesn't know what he pays, obviously, but she could probably ballpark it based on the neighbourhood alone. Once she gets into his place she'll get even closer to a figure. Not that it matters, just without knowing what he does - and she still doesn't even feel compelled to ask - it's interesting to think about. It's keeping her mind from racing.
They take the elevator to the sixth floor and he's saying something about how he may have to replace a few key pieces of furniture. Rachel reaches over, loops her arm through his, smiles, and thinks that as long as he has a bed, she really couldn't give a damn.
When he opens the door and switches on the light, she sees that his apartment is stunning. Exposed brick on one wall, framing a white fireplace. There's a sofa, but no chairs, so she thinks those probably just left with his ex. There's a dark wood coffee table cluttered with remote controls and a few coasters, and a vinyl record she can't see the name of from here. The open plan means she can see his kitchen, all dark countertops and stainless steel.
"Want anything to drink?" he asks nonchalantly, tossing his keys onto the counter and then turning to face her. She slips her feet out of her heels - which feels amazing, if she's being honest - and walks towards him. He looks like he wants to devour her, and at this point, she knows she wouldn't even try to stop him.
Which is why she's been a ball of nerves since they stepped off the elevator.
"I'm not…This isn't something I do. Is that what happens now? You give me another drink and pretend…"
She stops, looks to her feet, and her breath catches when he sets the bottle of bourbon he took from the cupboard onto the counter top and walks towards her. She glances up just in time to see him grinning and stopping in front of her.
He sets his hands surely on her hips and god, he smells incredible this close.
"Pretend what?" he asks. His eyes are solely on her lips.
With a burst of confidence that comes out of absolutely nowhere, she rests her hands on his biceps and looks up at him through her lashes. "That we both don't know exactly how badly I want you."
He mutters, "Fuck," and his fingers dig into her hips a little more. Why isn't he just kissing her already? "Rachel."
She lets out a little whimper at the sound of her name, tries to pull him closer, but he doesn't budge. She knows herself, knows she'll absolutely whine in the next two minutes if he's not at least trying to take her clothes off by then.
She knows he's not going to make a move. He's enjoying watching her squirm a little too much for her liking. So she takes a step back, walks to the kitchen and pours some bourbon into each of the glasses he set out, picks them up and glances over her shoulder at him before she walks down the hall to find his bedroom. He's not far behind her, gets there just in time to see her flip the light switch with her elbow and step into the room. It's gorgeous, bed frame the colour of the coffee table in the living room, pale gray duvet and white sheets. It looks comfortable. She doesn't care.
She sets the glasses down on the bedside table and watches him as he stands there with his hands on his hips. She's daring him to say or do something. She knows he's not so rusty that he doesn't understand what's supposed to happen next. No, he's just waiting to see what she'll do, how far she'll take this 'her in control' thing before she gives it back to him.
That's so sexy it's making her insane.
"You're unbelievable," he tells her, stepping towards her.
He's right in front of her when she sets her hands on his waist, then slides them around to his back and pulls him to her so their bodies are pressed together.
"You haven't even seen me naked yet."
His hands are on her cheeks then, tipping her head back so he can kiss her. It's that kind of desperate kiss, where he's inhaling as he moves his mouth against hers. He's good at this, thank god. It never even crossed her mind until right this second that he might not even be good in bed, but…Dammit, the way he's kissing her, teasing at her lips with his, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip but never pressing it into her mouth, one hand in her hair and the other arm curved around her waist…
What was she saying?
He lies her back on the bed, rests his knee on the mattress and then seems to give up on that idea and nudges her legs apart and fits himself between them. She doesn't care at all that he's doing it, because it feels so good that it makes her moan a little into his mouth, hands clutching his shirt at his back. At this point she feels like she wants to be out of her clothes an hour ago.
She's feeling a little bold, takes his bottom lip between her teeth just to see what he'll do. He lets out this groan from the back of his throat, and his arm buckles a little before he catches himself and holds himself up. Safe to say that won't be the last time she'll be doing that this evening. She reaches up between them to attempt to undo the buttons of his shirt, but she can't do it without looking. Or while he's curling his tongue around hers. She pushes at his chest just enough that he'll pull back, but not enough to make him think she's stopping him. Once she gets the first two buttons undone, he loses patience and leans back down over her, kisses her lips, then down the line of her jaw and to her ear. He scrapes his teeth over her earlobe, kisses down the side of her neck, and that's when she feels his hand sliding up the side of her thigh. She bends her leg, which brings him closer to her, and they both moan at the feeling. He's hard, and she wants him, and these buttons are inciting a frustration inside her that is about to manifest in her shouting out a curse.
"Noah," she whines, and he presses his hips up against her. "God. Please take your shirt off."
She sounds exactly as impatient as she feels, and she could not possibly care less.
He grins, pushes off her and stands up, watches her lean up on her elbows as he undoes the rest of the buttons and shrugs his shirt off. She absolutely bites her lip when she sees his body. She sits up all the way, reaches out to run her hand up the middle of his stomach. He's breathing heavily. She loves that, too, that she's having this effect on him.
When she reaches for his belt buckle, he lets out this breath that is so intensely sexual it makes her literally want to spread her legs. She works the buckle open, then the button, and pulls the zipper down and uses her hands to push his pants down his legs. Her heart is racing. Noah reaches for her arms and tugs her up so she's standing in front of him, kisses her hard, tongue slipping into her mouth. She can feel how hard he is, pressed against her stomach. She also feels like she's burning up and wants to get out of her dress right now, so she pulls away, turns around and gathers her hair in her hand to expose the zipper of her dress to him. He leans down to kiss her neck and down her shoulder as he tugs the zipper down, then pulls the dress down off her arms and it pools at her feet.
She just realized she's wearing a teal bra and pink panties, and they don't match whatsoever, but she wasn't exactly planning on this happening.
Noah runs his hands down her sides, then one moves down her stomach, over her hip and between her legs over her panties. Her head falls back against his shoulder.
"You're so sexy," he murmurs in her ear, and she's trying to listen, she is, but it's difficult when she's feeling him against her back, between her legs, and his breath against her skin. "I'm gonna make you come so fucking hard."
She whimpers, grabs his wrist to stop him, though that's incredibly difficult to convince herself to do. He sets his hands on her hips immediately when she turns to face him, and when he tries to get her to lie back on the bed again, she just shakes her head and watches him swallow thickly.
She steps out of her dress, and he his pants, and then she turns them around and rests her hands low on his stomach.
She says, "Sit down," as she pushes his boxer briefs down off his hips without looking.
He does as he's told, mutters, "Oh my god," to himself as she gets on her knees between his legs. He puts his hands on his head, pushes them through his hair as she slides hers up his thighs.
The thing is, she loves this. She absolutely thinks it's one of the most intimate and rewarding things you can do with someone. What? She's goal-oriented. If the goal is to make him absolutely crazy for her, she knows the things that will get him there. Also, she loves the power of this, of controlling his pleasure. So when she takes his length in her hand and circles her tongue around the tip and he lets out a strangled sound he's obviously trying to hold back? Well, that just won't do. She isn't interested in him holding back.
One of his hands moves into her hair when she takes him into her mouth, tongue sliding against him the whole way. His thigh is clenched tight under her hand and she squeezes there, too, lets her nails drag lightly down his skin.
Yes, she's done this before. She's perfected it. No, her exes have not complained about her desire to practice.
She can't stop wondering what he's thinking about her as she works him with her mouth, her tongue, uses her hand. He's obviously enjoying this; his hips press up every now and again, and he's making noises that prove to her she's making him feel good. And he's called her baby twice already since she started going down on him. And his fingers thread through her hair, tugging incredibly lightly now and again. So she's sure he's thinking good things, but she also just…She likes the validation. Aside from the rush that comes when she brings a man to orgasm.
He moans, says, "Stop," and tips his head back, so he misses the pout on her face when she releases him. "Jesus Christ, you're fucking amazing at that."
She gets up, sets her hands on his thighs and leans down to brush her lips against his. "I love it."
She can't read the look on his face, but it's not a bad one, she knows that much.
"Wanna get married?"
Rachel laughs out loud, feels him smiling when she kisses him, then moves her knees onto the bed so she's straddling him, and lets him push her as close to him as she can be. God, she's so wet. She slips her arms around his shoulders and continues kissing him, just sitting there on top of him, his hands moving up and down her back. He makes quick work of her bra clasp, so she shrugs out of that and his hands move to her breasts, squeezing gently before he looks back up at her.
"Baby," he murmurs when she kisses down his neck. "Please, please can I fuck you?"
She doesn't want to whimper, it's just that she loves that he's asking, that his voice is strained and he sounds like he couldn't possibly think of anything but being inside her right now.
She breathes out, "Yes," but it's weak and she isn't even sure he hears, so she tries again. "Yes. I want you, Noah."
He lifts her up with him when he stands, turns around and presses her back against the mattress again. She moves so she's back against the pillows, and he leans over her, grabs the sides of her panties and pulls them down her legs. He presses his fingers against her, moans against her mouth when he kisses her, tells her how wet she is for him as if she can't feel that for herself. As if she doesn't know exactly how much going down on men affects her. He's rubbing slow circles against her, not quite where she needs it, though she thinks that's deliberate, too. Then, when he slips his fingers into her and she cries out, tears his mouth away from his and tosses her head back and swears that if he isn't fully inside her within the next minute she may cry.
He can either tell, or has the same idea (likely the latter) and reaches for a condom. it means he's not on top of her any more, and she doesn't like that at all. She pushes her hands into her hair and realizes she hasn't even asked him his last name, but she really doesn't give a damn now, when he's sitting back on his legs, rolling the condom down his length and then looking at her just as she's licking her lips.
"Shut up," she says when he grins wolfishly and leans back over her. "God, Noah, you know exactly how sexy you are."
He says, "Yeah," all cocky, reaches between them and guides himself into her.
The noise she lets out is neither quiet nor particularly flattering, she thinks, but then he's groaning against her neck, saying, "Fuck, Rachel," and so she gains back some of her cool.
She's not sure she's ever been with a man who was so blatantly attracted to her as this one is.
He pulls back, presses back in until he's fully inside her and she's deliciously full, legs spread apart to accommodate him, fingertips digging into his skin as he begins to move slowly above her. She's had some sex. She's had some good sex. But something about this is so far above and beyond any of her previous experiences. In fact, she thinks it might be the mystery of it, the fact that she's known him just a few short hours and yet he's somehow able to pull these feelings from her, get her this wet, make her this crazy. She meets the rhythm he sets, presses her hips up and licks his earlobe when he drops his head at the feeling of her moving with him.
It's absolutely insane, because they've only just barely started this, but she's absolutely in love with the way he kisses her as he fucks her. And she loves this position, she does, and it feels so good. It's just her mind is racing, wondering what it would feel like to have him pressing into her from behind, or to straddle his hips and sink down onto him. And the fact that she's imagining a whole sex life with him that will never play out tells her she's thinking a little too hard instead of just feeling the slide, the pull, the stretch of him moving in and out of her.
Something about him tells her he's the type who'll refuse to come before she does. Maybe it's that he recently got out of a relationship and feels like he has something to prove, or that he stopped her going down on him earlier, but she can just tell.
But that doesn't stop her from being absolutely surprised and disappointed and whining when he pulls out after a while and immediately presses two fingers inside of her. He's on his knees, leaning over her, and kisses her ones, then speaks into her ear.
"You wanna come on my cock." She whimpers and nods, squeezes her thighs against him. Yes, she does, so why isn't he inside her? His fingers feel amazing, but now that she's had him, she just… "I want you to fuck me."
Rachel moans his name and jerks her hips up, but finds no relief to the tension that's been building. He pulls his hand away and kisses her forehead, moves off her and lies down on his back, and oh god, she wastes no time moving so she's on top of him. She pushes her hair back and rolls her hips against him a few times, just to tease him like he's been teasing her.
When she sinks down onto him, she absolutely loves that she can see one of his hands fisting the duvet hard, his eyes closed and his muscles taut. He reaches for her hand, presses her fingers against her, and she knows this isn't going to take long. She loves being on top, loves watching him, and controlling the pace is one of her favourite things to do.
Noah jerks his hips upward as she starts touching her clit, and she moans and presses her free hand against his chest to steady herself. It's not particularly gentle, but he really doesn't seem to care at all, because he just continues to press his hips up as she moves above him, and he's so deep inside her she can't promise she won't scream when she feels him come.
She says his name twice in a row and he mutters something she doesn't quite catch. She's so close it really isn't going to take much to make her let go. She feels his thigh quake, his fingers dig into her hips, and he grits out her name and, "Come," and Rachel has always been fairly good at doing what she's told.
She lets go moments later, leans forward so he's bumping up against her clit as she grinds slowly on top of him. She's definitely loud and he seems to like it, grips her hips with both hands and jerks up into her a few last times before he's coming, too, with a groan and his head thrown back on the pillow. It just makes her own orgasm last a little longer, aftershocks trembling through her and making her whimper into his ear as she leans down so they're pressed right together.
They stay like that a few moments. Actually, a few moments longer than a few moments. Rachel's sensitive, clenching around him, and not ready to move. Noah's still beneath her, breathing heavily and seemingly not in any rush to get her off of him.
He breathes out, "Fuck," all drawn out, and Rachel as a suspicion that it's been a long time since sex was like that for him, and yes, she's absolutely proud of that.
"That was so good," she says quietly, a kiss to the skin of his neck between each word. They're both overheated and she knows her hair is a mess and there're probably red marks on her skin from his hands. She doesn't really care about that; they'll fade. She pushes a hand through her hair and sits up, scraping her nails down his chest as she grins at him. "Okay?"
Honestly, he's looking a little spent.
"Mm," is all he says, and Rachel knows she should move, but she also absolutely loves the feel of him warm inside her. She lifts off of him anyway, flops onto her back next to him and lets out a sigh. She hasn't had many orgasms like that in her life, and certainly none recently. "Good?"
She just nods, smiles and turns to look at him.
If she didn't think she was overstaying her welcome, she'd suggest they wait a bit and do it again.
After tying off the condom and tossing it, he lies back in bed and scratches his hand across his stomach, then looks over at her.
"That was fucking unreal," he says, and Rachel smiles, leans over and kisses him, and isn't bothered at all that he's clearly going to fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Hell, she would, too, if she weren't terrified of waking up in the morning and having an awkward encounter with him where it's clear he doesn't want her there.
There's a chance she's paranoid, but she'd rather leave now feeling incredible than stay until morning when there's a chance things will be different in the light of day.
"For me, too."
"I know," he says, all confident, brow raised even as his eyes are closed. God, how this man can be so sexy even half asleep is amazing to her.
Rachel kisses him again, gets up and covers him over with a blanket. He doesn't perk up when she stands from the bed, and when she comes out of the bathroom after a few minutes, he's clearly fast asleep there, hand up on the pillow beside his head and her nail marks on his chest. Whoops.
She steps into her underwear, pulls her dress on and zips it, and debates waking him before she goes, but decides to just leave him. She kisses the corner of his mouth gently, pounds back the bourbon she poured earlier and didn't drink, and leaves the empty glass on the table next to the bed. She switches off the light as she leaves the room, and turns the others off as she walks through the apartment.
She slips her feet into her shoes and checks her hair one last time in the mirror near his front door, debates writing her number on a scrap piece of paper and leaving it on the counter next to his keys, but decides against it.
She's an easy woman to find. If he wants to see her again, he can put in the effort. And if all this was, was a really amazing one night stand with a stranger he found he had incredible chemistry with, so be it.
Rachel tiptoes into the hall, pulls the door closed behind her and checks that it's locked, and heads towards the elevator. When she steps outside in the cool air, the street is quiet and she gets her bearings, walks towards the nearest intersection and throws her arm in the air to hail a cab.
It's 2:30 am by the time she gets home. She falls asleep wondering if he's woken up yet to find her gone.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: AU: He's incredibly handsome and she's been sitting here alone for an hour with no one to talk to. She doesn't want to give him the wrong impression, but it also wouldn't be terrible to finish her glass of wine with a little bit of company. OR: Puck and Rachel have a one night stand.
Word Count: 6,900
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Her friends have this habit of cancelling plans at the last minute and leaving her sitting alone in restaurants and bars. It happens often enough and with so many different friends and groups of people that she actually thinks it's probably her and they're not exactly terrible people. Well, that's not entirely true. It's rude and disrespectful of them. Obviously everyone is busy, not just her, but when she takes time out of her insane schedule and initiates plans with friends, she doesn't think it's asking too much that they actually keep up their ends of the bargain.
So yes, she's mad. And a bit upset. And drinking this glass of wine right now is making her feel better, after having to give up their table of six when each and every one of them texted her - when she was already on her way here - to cancel plans and say they couldn't make it. So she's sitting at the bar alone, which, in New York, is basically a welcome mat for any random person to come up and assume you're interested in whatever it is they might be offering. Not that that's something she routinely has to deal with, but it's got her on edge anyway, and she's almost positive she's one bad pickup line away from flying into a rage that won't reflect kindly on her true personality.
She could have just turned around and gone home, but the wine list here is her favourite and she really wants to have a glass or two and try not to worry about what it is she's doing so wrong that makes people not want to spend time with her.
The lighting in here has always been a little brighter than most places she frequents, so she can actually see the faces of a lot of the other people in the room. The bartender - his name tag reads Amir - is very handsome and friendly and she's sure he makes an absurd amount of money for those two reasons alone, let alone the fact that he works quickly and efficiently and can answer just about any question someone might have related to anything on the drink menu.
God, she feels pathetic, sitting here analyzing the nuances of this random bartender.
There's a woman sitting at the other end of the bar. She's been there since Rachel came in, nursing a single martini and constantly playing with her hair. She's poured into a black dress and her makeup is flawless. And there's a group of guys younger than Rachel who have been drinking fancy beer like they're at a frat party, and she's confident she'd almost be able to guess which company they work for on Wall Street, but really, she's just trying not to pay too much attention to them, simply because that's obviously what they want.
She's on her second glass of wine when this guy walks in wearing jeans and a button-down, leather boots on his feet and his hair neatly combed to one side. He looks completely different than most of the other people in here, and Rachel watches him lean forward against the bar to order a glass of bourbon, neat, before he takes a look around.
Predictably, his eyes fall on the woman down the bar, making eye contact with her as she plays with the stem of her martini glass. Rachel finds herself chuckling out loud and shaking her head at the whole thing. She's a people watcher, likes seeing the ways in which people interact. She saw that one coming a mile away. She's seen that exact scenario play out before her in practically every bar she's ever been to in this city.
He gets his drink, thanks the bartender, then approaches the woman. Rachel feels a little badly for staring, but she's got nothing else to pay attention to at this point. Plus, it's entertaining to her, especially because she can't hear what's being said. The guy says something to the woman, who reaches out her hand for him to shake. She's got an awful handshake, does that limp fish thing Rachel's daddy always said was a sign of weakness and disinterest. The guy leans his elbow against the bar and they strike up a conversation.
Rachel watches the woman go from interested, to less interested, to completely checked out of the conversation within about two minutes. Either the woman knows exactly what she's looking for and he isn't it, or the guy's got a terrible strategy for talking to women.
It doesn't take him long to get the hint, which Rachel appreciates and actually likes a lot in a man. She hates seeing women out like this, feeling trapped in conversations they're too polite or too scared to end. This guy just says something to the woman which makes her smile - probably telling her he'll leave her to enjoy her evening, or something along those lines - and makes his way back around the bar, sitting a couple stools down from Rachel and setting his phone face down on the bar.
He's incredibly handsome and she's been sitting here alone for an hour with no one to talk to. She doesn't want to give him the wrong impression, but it also wouldn't be terrible to finish her glass of wine with a little bit of company.
Really, she's just interested to know how he thought that whole interaction was going to go. He's not exactly sitting here pouting, his tail between his legs. He's let it roll off his back like it was no big deal to be approached and rejected, however gently that may have happened.
"That didn't exactly go to plan," she finds herself saying, and he looks at her like she's crazy for a second, then his face is unreadable, almost blank, as he turns just the slightest bit. "I could've told you the second you said hello that wasn't going to work out well for you."
She worries she sounds like a complete bitch, but he gets up and walks over to sit down next to her. It's vastly different from how he approached the other woman. Rachel thinks he isn't even looking at her like she's any sort of prospective bed partner. Which, she'll admit, doesn't feel entirely great. But let's just say she's almost used to that.
"What tipped you off?" he asks, seemingly genuinely curious.
Rachel swallows the sip of wine she just took, angles herself towards him. "Her handshake. She wasn't being coy, she just didn't want to be rude." His brow furrows as he seems to think about it. "And whatever you said to her that made her look away? That's when you really lost her."
He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. "I told her what I do for a living." Rachel feels bad. He's gorgeous and dressed well, and she doesn't think he's exactly living pay check to pay check, if the Rolex on his wrist is any indication. "Jesus. How'd you get all that just from watching?"
He's actually interested. She's not telling him all this so he can more easily pick up women. She's really just making conversation. Granted, he doesn't exactly seem desperate to improve on his methods. Or talk to anyone else, for that matter.
Rachel smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "My father's a behavioural psychologist. When I was 13, he sat me down and told me all about body language and signs of interest and how to read men and their intentions. I think he meant to scare me, but really he just set me up with great tools for people watching." The guy chuckles and shakes his head a little bit. "I'm Rachel."
"Noah." He reaches out his hand and she shakes it firmly, watches his brow go up as he makes note of that. "I guess I need to work on my game a bit, huh," he says. "Been a while."
Rachel doesn't really know what to say to that. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He laughs bitterly and takes a drink. "My ex is moving her shit out of our apartment and I didn't wanna be there to watch her do it."
"I'm sorry," she says, and he just shrugs his shoulder, which she's figured out by now is really not indicative of how big a deal this event is. "How long were you together?"
"Three years," he tells her, glances over at her, but does't look away like she thought he would. "Then she decided to fuck another guy when she was on a business trip, so, you know. Ideal."
Rachel feels incredibly sorry for him. He's obviously going through a huge life change, and she thinks it's even more interesting that he let that rejection just roll off his back without getting too upset over it. Then again, if all his energy is going into thinking about having his heart broken, a two minute conversation with a random woman in a bar is probably not even registering as something to worry about.
"I'm sorry," she repeats, and he doesn't respond, so she decides not to say that to him anymore. Her glass is almost empty. He downs the rest of his and orders them each another. She doesn't mind. "Do you live nearby?"
She almost blushes, thinking about how that probably sounds. She's not propositioning him. He's just told her his ex is currently at his place.
"A few blocks."
"I wasn't…" She gives him a nervous smile and he just watches her. "I'm not trying to take advantage of your emotional vulnerability, or something like that."
Noah laughs loudly and turns a bit, his knee bumping against her thigh. "What makes you think I wouldn't let you?"
Oh.
Rachel sighs, straightens her posture. "You didn't even see me when you walked in here. Your eyes went straight to her." She gestures subtly across the bar. "Which makes sense, given the amount of cleavage you can see compared to…" She looks down at her own chest, covered modestly by the high neck of her black dress. "I'm just a woman sitting alone at a bar. She's the kind of woman you see and want to take home with you."
Noah grins at her and shakes his head, leans a little closer. Rachel feels her heart beat racing a little.
"I noticed you. I noticed you first. You're just so fucking beautiful I didn't think there was any chance in hell you were here by yourself."
Coming from anyone else, she'd absolutely think it was a line. He sounds incredibly genuine, and that's the danger, right? Because maybe he's just saying what he thinks will get her into his bed and he doesn't mean a damn word of it. There's just something in the tone of his voice that has her believing it's true.
That's the exact moment she realizes she's probably going to get herself into trouble with this guy.
The next words out of her mouth shouldn't be, "Maybe you don't need to work on your game after all," but that's what she says, and he smirks and raises his glass to his lips.
"Yeah? It's working for you now?"
He says it so confidently, and she knows if any other man said that to her, she'd roll her eyes and he wouldn't have a chance.
She just lets out a quiet laugh, glances at him, and says, "I think you've got your confidence back," and watches as he chuckles.
"What's your deal?" he asks, and she knows what he means, but she thinks he could elaborate, lest she talk solely about herself for the next hour or so. "I mean why are you here alone?"
She doesn't really want to tell him about her terrible friends or her pathetic social life. There's always this little voice in the back of her head telling her that if she talks about her struggles to keep people in her life, it'll make the ones currently there want to leave, too. It's a thing. She's working on it. Therapy.
"My friend stood me up," she says, because one person sounds better than admitting five people didn't want to spend time with her.
"Friend? Or friend," he asks, with finger quotes, and Rachel rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and plays with the stem of her wine glass.
"I'm single," she says, looks at him from the corner of her eye. He's just watching her. "That's what you wanted to know, right?"
He laughs quietly, nods quickly. "Yeah, it's what I was getting at. Do you not…"
Rachel waits to see if he's going to finish. She was hoping to at least lead him to believe there may be some man somewhere who might hit on her. Given what he said to her a few minutes ago, she should've just kept her mouth shut and stopped talking after going him her relationship status.
"I can't say I'm used to this," she admits, hoping it doesn't sound pathetic. "Handsome men don't just walk up to me every day and say nice things."
Noah just looks at her for a moment like he's trying to process that. "I have no fucking clue why not," he tells her in this voice that makes her chest feel hollow, and brushes his knuckles up the outside of her thigh til they meet the hem of her dress, then back down to her knee.
She wants to tell him he doesn't have to say that or anything like it, but she's getting the impression that he's not the kind of guy who says things he doesn't want to say anyway. And then when she thinks about it, she decides that even if it's a line, she doesn't really care, because he's making her feel pretty amazing about herself on a night she could've easily just spent wallowing.
"Where do you work?" he asks, and keeps doing that thing with his knuckles on her bare skin.
See, this is the part that usually scares people away.
"Um." She laughs a little and watches him for a reaction. "I'm a sports agent." His brows go up and his lips part a little. Rachel just smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "I'm good at what I do."
Because if there's anything she's sure of, it's that. She's got the pay check and client roster to prove it.
"Shit." He laughs a bit, raises his glass and clinks it against hers. "Gotta say, not what I expected."
She gets that a lot. "What did you expect?"
He grins at her again, so she tries to prepare for whatever thing he's about to say that'll push her a little closer to wanting to sleep with him.
"I dunno. Not that. That's like, super hot." Rachel laughs and shakes her head. "C'mon. Gorgeous woman who knows about sports is like, the fantasy."
Rachel rolls her eyes. "There are plenty of women who know about sports. Millions."
His hand moves over her thigh, fingertips brushing the soft skin at the inside, left bare with how her legs are crossed. She locks eyes with him.
"Not all of 'em look like you do."
She lets out a breath that sounds shakier than she was hoping it would. Noah reaches over and drapes his free arm over the back of her chair, leaning in closer to her. She loves it.
He checks his watch quickly, tips back his drink and sets the empty glass on the bar. He looks right at her again, says, "Drink up."
"Why?"
"You're coming home with me, aren't you?"
He asks it totally teasingly, like he knew the answer before he said it, and Rachel thinks he's smart, because there's absolutely no way, at this point, they aren't ending this night together. No, she doesn't know when she decided that. Maybe the second his hand landed on her thigh, warm and sure and confident. She's beyond attracted to him, and this is so not her style, to go home with a guy she met in a bar. She's had exactly one one night stand, and that was in college, and she ended up dating the guy for six months after, so she doesn't even think that actually counts.
Rachel takes a long drink of her wine, says, "Yes," and loves the way his eyes darken.
He pays for her drinks, which he really doesn't need to do and she tries to stop him, but he's adamant. And he doesn't help her into her coat, but he stands there patiently as she fastens all the buttons. Actually, he checks out her legs as she does it, makes absolutely no attempts to hide what he's doing. Then as they're walking out of the bar, he sets his hand on the small of her back and guides her through the door, and she doesn't care how cliché it is, it's one of her absolute favourite things a man could do.
She has no idea where he lives, how far it is and if they'll need a taxi. Once they're outside, he keeps his arm around her waist and tells her it's only a few blocks and he's up for the walk if she is.
And she thinks there's something confident about that, too. At any point on this walk she could change her mind and say she's going home, and he's either sure she's not going to do that, or he's doing this for that reason, giving her plenty of time to back out.
Then she remembers this is New York and no one's foolish enough to take a cab a measly three blocks when they're perfectly capable of walking.
She thinks back to the bar and him checking his watch, and she puts two and two together and realizes he was probably just making sure his ex would be gone and it was safe to go home.
God, she's way too turned on by that, too. He's choosing her. She's his rebound, and that's fine because it feels good to be the first one he's with after his breakup, the first woman in his apartment after his girlfriend has left. Maybe she's selfish for thinking all that, but his hand is dangerously close to her ass, and she's almost positive she's allowed to think however she likes. Particularly because she's already turned on and they're still a block away.
He pulls his keys out of his pocket and they start up the steps of this old brick apartment building that's really quite gorgeous. She doesn't know what he pays, obviously, but she could probably ballpark it based on the neighbourhood alone. Once she gets into his place she'll get even closer to a figure. Not that it matters, just without knowing what he does - and she still doesn't even feel compelled to ask - it's interesting to think about. It's keeping her mind from racing.
They take the elevator to the sixth floor and he's saying something about how he may have to replace a few key pieces of furniture. Rachel reaches over, loops her arm through his, smiles, and thinks that as long as he has a bed, she really couldn't give a damn.
When he opens the door and switches on the light, she sees that his apartment is stunning. Exposed brick on one wall, framing a white fireplace. There's a sofa, but no chairs, so she thinks those probably just left with his ex. There's a dark wood coffee table cluttered with remote controls and a few coasters, and a vinyl record she can't see the name of from here. The open plan means she can see his kitchen, all dark countertops and stainless steel.
"Want anything to drink?" he asks nonchalantly, tossing his keys onto the counter and then turning to face her. She slips her feet out of her heels - which feels amazing, if she's being honest - and walks towards him. He looks like he wants to devour her, and at this point, she knows she wouldn't even try to stop him.
Which is why she's been a ball of nerves since they stepped off the elevator.
"I'm not…This isn't something I do. Is that what happens now? You give me another drink and pretend…"
She stops, looks to her feet, and her breath catches when he sets the bottle of bourbon he took from the cupboard onto the counter top and walks towards her. She glances up just in time to see him grinning and stopping in front of her.
He sets his hands surely on her hips and god, he smells incredible this close.
"Pretend what?" he asks. His eyes are solely on her lips.
With a burst of confidence that comes out of absolutely nowhere, she rests her hands on his biceps and looks up at him through her lashes. "That we both don't know exactly how badly I want you."
He mutters, "Fuck," and his fingers dig into her hips a little more. Why isn't he just kissing her already? "Rachel."
She lets out a little whimper at the sound of her name, tries to pull him closer, but he doesn't budge. She knows herself, knows she'll absolutely whine in the next two minutes if he's not at least trying to take her clothes off by then.
She knows he's not going to make a move. He's enjoying watching her squirm a little too much for her liking. So she takes a step back, walks to the kitchen and pours some bourbon into each of the glasses he set out, picks them up and glances over her shoulder at him before she walks down the hall to find his bedroom. He's not far behind her, gets there just in time to see her flip the light switch with her elbow and step into the room. It's gorgeous, bed frame the colour of the coffee table in the living room, pale gray duvet and white sheets. It looks comfortable. She doesn't care.
She sets the glasses down on the bedside table and watches him as he stands there with his hands on his hips. She's daring him to say or do something. She knows he's not so rusty that he doesn't understand what's supposed to happen next. No, he's just waiting to see what she'll do, how far she'll take this 'her in control' thing before she gives it back to him.
That's so sexy it's making her insane.
"You're unbelievable," he tells her, stepping towards her.
He's right in front of her when she sets her hands on his waist, then slides them around to his back and pulls him to her so their bodies are pressed together.
"You haven't even seen me naked yet."
His hands are on her cheeks then, tipping her head back so he can kiss her. It's that kind of desperate kiss, where he's inhaling as he moves his mouth against hers. He's good at this, thank god. It never even crossed her mind until right this second that he might not even be good in bed, but…Dammit, the way he's kissing her, teasing at her lips with his, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip but never pressing it into her mouth, one hand in her hair and the other arm curved around her waist…
What was she saying?
He lies her back on the bed, rests his knee on the mattress and then seems to give up on that idea and nudges her legs apart and fits himself between them. She doesn't care at all that he's doing it, because it feels so good that it makes her moan a little into his mouth, hands clutching his shirt at his back. At this point she feels like she wants to be out of her clothes an hour ago.
She's feeling a little bold, takes his bottom lip between her teeth just to see what he'll do. He lets out this groan from the back of his throat, and his arm buckles a little before he catches himself and holds himself up. Safe to say that won't be the last time she'll be doing that this evening. She reaches up between them to attempt to undo the buttons of his shirt, but she can't do it without looking. Or while he's curling his tongue around hers. She pushes at his chest just enough that he'll pull back, but not enough to make him think she's stopping him. Once she gets the first two buttons undone, he loses patience and leans back down over her, kisses her lips, then down the line of her jaw and to her ear. He scrapes his teeth over her earlobe, kisses down the side of her neck, and that's when she feels his hand sliding up the side of her thigh. She bends her leg, which brings him closer to her, and they both moan at the feeling. He's hard, and she wants him, and these buttons are inciting a frustration inside her that is about to manifest in her shouting out a curse.
"Noah," she whines, and he presses his hips up against her. "God. Please take your shirt off."
She sounds exactly as impatient as she feels, and she could not possibly care less.
He grins, pushes off her and stands up, watches her lean up on her elbows as he undoes the rest of the buttons and shrugs his shirt off. She absolutely bites her lip when she sees his body. She sits up all the way, reaches out to run her hand up the middle of his stomach. He's breathing heavily. She loves that, too, that she's having this effect on him.
When she reaches for his belt buckle, he lets out this breath that is so intensely sexual it makes her literally want to spread her legs. She works the buckle open, then the button, and pulls the zipper down and uses her hands to push his pants down his legs. Her heart is racing. Noah reaches for her arms and tugs her up so she's standing in front of him, kisses her hard, tongue slipping into her mouth. She can feel how hard he is, pressed against her stomach. She also feels like she's burning up and wants to get out of her dress right now, so she pulls away, turns around and gathers her hair in her hand to expose the zipper of her dress to him. He leans down to kiss her neck and down her shoulder as he tugs the zipper down, then pulls the dress down off her arms and it pools at her feet.
She just realized she's wearing a teal bra and pink panties, and they don't match whatsoever, but she wasn't exactly planning on this happening.
Noah runs his hands down her sides, then one moves down her stomach, over her hip and between her legs over her panties. Her head falls back against his shoulder.
"You're so sexy," he murmurs in her ear, and she's trying to listen, she is, but it's difficult when she's feeling him against her back, between her legs, and his breath against her skin. "I'm gonna make you come so fucking hard."
She whimpers, grabs his wrist to stop him, though that's incredibly difficult to convince herself to do. He sets his hands on her hips immediately when she turns to face him, and when he tries to get her to lie back on the bed again, she just shakes her head and watches him swallow thickly.
She steps out of her dress, and he his pants, and then she turns them around and rests her hands low on his stomach.
She says, "Sit down," as she pushes his boxer briefs down off his hips without looking.
He does as he's told, mutters, "Oh my god," to himself as she gets on her knees between his legs. He puts his hands on his head, pushes them through his hair as she slides hers up his thighs.
The thing is, she loves this. She absolutely thinks it's one of the most intimate and rewarding things you can do with someone. What? She's goal-oriented. If the goal is to make him absolutely crazy for her, she knows the things that will get him there. Also, she loves the power of this, of controlling his pleasure. So when she takes his length in her hand and circles her tongue around the tip and he lets out a strangled sound he's obviously trying to hold back? Well, that just won't do. She isn't interested in him holding back.
One of his hands moves into her hair when she takes him into her mouth, tongue sliding against him the whole way. His thigh is clenched tight under her hand and she squeezes there, too, lets her nails drag lightly down his skin.
Yes, she's done this before. She's perfected it. No, her exes have not complained about her desire to practice.
She can't stop wondering what he's thinking about her as she works him with her mouth, her tongue, uses her hand. He's obviously enjoying this; his hips press up every now and again, and he's making noises that prove to her she's making him feel good. And he's called her baby twice already since she started going down on him. And his fingers thread through her hair, tugging incredibly lightly now and again. So she's sure he's thinking good things, but she also just…She likes the validation. Aside from the rush that comes when she brings a man to orgasm.
He moans, says, "Stop," and tips his head back, so he misses the pout on her face when she releases him. "Jesus Christ, you're fucking amazing at that."
She gets up, sets her hands on his thighs and leans down to brush her lips against his. "I love it."
She can't read the look on his face, but it's not a bad one, she knows that much.
"Wanna get married?"
Rachel laughs out loud, feels him smiling when she kisses him, then moves her knees onto the bed so she's straddling him, and lets him push her as close to him as she can be. God, she's so wet. She slips her arms around his shoulders and continues kissing him, just sitting there on top of him, his hands moving up and down her back. He makes quick work of her bra clasp, so she shrugs out of that and his hands move to her breasts, squeezing gently before he looks back up at her.
"Baby," he murmurs when she kisses down his neck. "Please, please can I fuck you?"
She doesn't want to whimper, it's just that she loves that he's asking, that his voice is strained and he sounds like he couldn't possibly think of anything but being inside her right now.
She breathes out, "Yes," but it's weak and she isn't even sure he hears, so she tries again. "Yes. I want you, Noah."
He lifts her up with him when he stands, turns around and presses her back against the mattress again. She moves so she's back against the pillows, and he leans over her, grabs the sides of her panties and pulls them down her legs. He presses his fingers against her, moans against her mouth when he kisses her, tells her how wet she is for him as if she can't feel that for herself. As if she doesn't know exactly how much going down on men affects her. He's rubbing slow circles against her, not quite where she needs it, though she thinks that's deliberate, too. Then, when he slips his fingers into her and she cries out, tears his mouth away from his and tosses her head back and swears that if he isn't fully inside her within the next minute she may cry.
He can either tell, or has the same idea (likely the latter) and reaches for a condom. it means he's not on top of her any more, and she doesn't like that at all. She pushes her hands into her hair and realizes she hasn't even asked him his last name, but she really doesn't give a damn now, when he's sitting back on his legs, rolling the condom down his length and then looking at her just as she's licking her lips.
"Shut up," she says when he grins wolfishly and leans back over her. "God, Noah, you know exactly how sexy you are."
He says, "Yeah," all cocky, reaches between them and guides himself into her.
The noise she lets out is neither quiet nor particularly flattering, she thinks, but then he's groaning against her neck, saying, "Fuck, Rachel," and so she gains back some of her cool.
She's not sure she's ever been with a man who was so blatantly attracted to her as this one is.
He pulls back, presses back in until he's fully inside her and she's deliciously full, legs spread apart to accommodate him, fingertips digging into his skin as he begins to move slowly above her. She's had some sex. She's had some good sex. But something about this is so far above and beyond any of her previous experiences. In fact, she thinks it might be the mystery of it, the fact that she's known him just a few short hours and yet he's somehow able to pull these feelings from her, get her this wet, make her this crazy. She meets the rhythm he sets, presses her hips up and licks his earlobe when he drops his head at the feeling of her moving with him.
It's absolutely insane, because they've only just barely started this, but she's absolutely in love with the way he kisses her as he fucks her. And she loves this position, she does, and it feels so good. It's just her mind is racing, wondering what it would feel like to have him pressing into her from behind, or to straddle his hips and sink down onto him. And the fact that she's imagining a whole sex life with him that will never play out tells her she's thinking a little too hard instead of just feeling the slide, the pull, the stretch of him moving in and out of her.
Something about him tells her he's the type who'll refuse to come before she does. Maybe it's that he recently got out of a relationship and feels like he has something to prove, or that he stopped her going down on him earlier, but she can just tell.
But that doesn't stop her from being absolutely surprised and disappointed and whining when he pulls out after a while and immediately presses two fingers inside of her. He's on his knees, leaning over her, and kisses her ones, then speaks into her ear.
"You wanna come on my cock." She whimpers and nods, squeezes her thighs against him. Yes, she does, so why isn't he inside her? His fingers feel amazing, but now that she's had him, she just… "I want you to fuck me."
Rachel moans his name and jerks her hips up, but finds no relief to the tension that's been building. He pulls his hand away and kisses her forehead, moves off her and lies down on his back, and oh god, she wastes no time moving so she's on top of him. She pushes her hair back and rolls her hips against him a few times, just to tease him like he's been teasing her.
When she sinks down onto him, she absolutely loves that she can see one of his hands fisting the duvet hard, his eyes closed and his muscles taut. He reaches for her hand, presses her fingers against her, and she knows this isn't going to take long. She loves being on top, loves watching him, and controlling the pace is one of her favourite things to do.
Noah jerks his hips upward as she starts touching her clit, and she moans and presses her free hand against his chest to steady herself. It's not particularly gentle, but he really doesn't seem to care at all, because he just continues to press his hips up as she moves above him, and he's so deep inside her she can't promise she won't scream when she feels him come.
She says his name twice in a row and he mutters something she doesn't quite catch. She's so close it really isn't going to take much to make her let go. She feels his thigh quake, his fingers dig into her hips, and he grits out her name and, "Come," and Rachel has always been fairly good at doing what she's told.
She lets go moments later, leans forward so he's bumping up against her clit as she grinds slowly on top of him. She's definitely loud and he seems to like it, grips her hips with both hands and jerks up into her a few last times before he's coming, too, with a groan and his head thrown back on the pillow. It just makes her own orgasm last a little longer, aftershocks trembling through her and making her whimper into his ear as she leans down so they're pressed right together.
They stay like that a few moments. Actually, a few moments longer than a few moments. Rachel's sensitive, clenching around him, and not ready to move. Noah's still beneath her, breathing heavily and seemingly not in any rush to get her off of him.
He breathes out, "Fuck," all drawn out, and Rachel as a suspicion that it's been a long time since sex was like that for him, and yes, she's absolutely proud of that.
"That was so good," she says quietly, a kiss to the skin of his neck between each word. They're both overheated and she knows her hair is a mess and there're probably red marks on her skin from his hands. She doesn't really care about that; they'll fade. She pushes a hand through her hair and sits up, scraping her nails down his chest as she grins at him. "Okay?"
Honestly, he's looking a little spent.
"Mm," is all he says, and Rachel knows she should move, but she also absolutely loves the feel of him warm inside her. She lifts off of him anyway, flops onto her back next to him and lets out a sigh. She hasn't had many orgasms like that in her life, and certainly none recently. "Good?"
She just nods, smiles and turns to look at him.
If she didn't think she was overstaying her welcome, she'd suggest they wait a bit and do it again.
After tying off the condom and tossing it, he lies back in bed and scratches his hand across his stomach, then looks over at her.
"That was fucking unreal," he says, and Rachel smiles, leans over and kisses him, and isn't bothered at all that he's clearly going to fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Hell, she would, too, if she weren't terrified of waking up in the morning and having an awkward encounter with him where it's clear he doesn't want her there.
There's a chance she's paranoid, but she'd rather leave now feeling incredible than stay until morning when there's a chance things will be different in the light of day.
"For me, too."
"I know," he says, all confident, brow raised even as his eyes are closed. God, how this man can be so sexy even half asleep is amazing to her.
Rachel kisses him again, gets up and covers him over with a blanket. He doesn't perk up when she stands from the bed, and when she comes out of the bathroom after a few minutes, he's clearly fast asleep there, hand up on the pillow beside his head and her nail marks on his chest. Whoops.
She steps into her underwear, pulls her dress on and zips it, and debates waking him before she goes, but decides to just leave him. She kisses the corner of his mouth gently, pounds back the bourbon she poured earlier and didn't drink, and leaves the empty glass on the table next to the bed. She switches off the light as she leaves the room, and turns the others off as she walks through the apartment.
She slips her feet into her shoes and checks her hair one last time in the mirror near his front door, debates writing her number on a scrap piece of paper and leaving it on the counter next to his keys, but decides against it.
She's an easy woman to find. If he wants to see her again, he can put in the effort. And if all this was, was a really amazing one night stand with a stranger he found he had incredible chemistry with, so be it.
Rachel tiptoes into the hall, pulls the door closed behind her and checks that it's locked, and heads towards the elevator. When she steps outside in the cool air, the street is quiet and she gets her bearings, walks towards the nearest intersection and throws her arm in the air to hail a cab.
It's 2:30 am by the time she gets home. She falls asleep wondering if he's woken up yet to find her gone.