Page 2 of His Gilded Cage

She leaned in close and slipped her arm inside of mine. Our wrists crossed as if we were a bride and groom toasting at our wedding. Beads of sweat covered the mounds of her breasts. I could smell the musk of her perfume mixing with the tequila in my shot glass.

I wanted to slide my cock between her tits.

Still I remember feeling a faint flicker of hesitation. A small voice in my head whispered to me.

It would be so easy to go home Marco. Pay your bill. Grab a cab. Leave alone.

Alone.

This was the core of my problem.

I felt lonely that night and I don’t do loneliness well. There was nothing for me in my condo but a room full of expensive furniture and a cold, empty bed. I couldn’t bear to be alone in the dark with nothing to keep me company but my insomnia and regret.

I need this I told myself. My body and mind needs this release then I will sleep.

Or you can walk away now, do the right thing and learn to be alone in the darkness. You can grow the fuck up and act like a man.

I almost snorted out loud at this inner dialogue. Grow up and walk away from an ass like that?

Fuck no.

“To this night,” she said, her lips almost brushing against mine. I was hard and throbbing from the heat between us.

I didn’t care that she was a stranger. I didn’t care that her long black hair made me think of Carmella and the last time I’d felt the softness of her touch. I thought of nothing but my want. I was the sum of my need. My mind knew nothing but the throbbing of my cock, the pulsing of blood in my veins.

“To this night,” I whispered.

“Come on Guapo,” the curvy woman whispered nodding at our full shot glasses.

I nodded and together we threw back our drinks in perfect time.

The liquor stung and filled my belly with heat and fire.

“This way,” the woman whispered, her fingertips sliding between mine. She took my hand.

I stumbled along the counter, my feet tripping against bar stools as I followed. The ground had grown uneven but my cock pulled me forward like the stupid son of a bitch I had become. I followed into the darkened storage room behind the bar.

She closed the door and faced me. Moonlight filtered in through a single high window. Bottles of liquor and bar supplies filled the wooden shelves lining the walls.

The white of her tank top and my linen shirt glowed blue in the light. We faced each other, breathing. I felt that rush of desire that seizes me when I know I’m going to fuck. There is this surge of power. It rolls through my body like a drug numbing all of my doubts and fears.

In those days, a beautiful woman was my drug of choice, the only therapy that made me feel complete. Women were the antidotes to my suffering.

The bartender spun on her toes. She wore strappy sandals and tiny jean shorts with loose threads that brushed against her thighs.

“You like what you see, Guapo,” she teased, reaching out to brush against my shirt.

“Very much.”

“Would you like to fuck me,” she said, sliding her white tank top off over her head.

“Very much,” I said. I felt breathless and turned on, my voice low and gravely.

Moving closer, she undid my belt. The sensation of her fingertips against my skin sent shivers through my body. I closed my eyes, losing myself in her touch. Her hand slid inside my pants and found my hardness. She stoked me as I breathed.

“You feel ready, Guapo,” she murmured, slowing her strokes.

I nodded and reached into my back pocket for a condom.

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