Berlin 🌶🌶
April 2017
Ingrid sat by herself on a tall stool at the bar, cloaked in moody lighting and the midweek urge to sin. Slim pickings, Wednesday nights, even by her flexible standards. Her snake-green eyes took final stock of the male specimens scattered around the pub.
Too old… too fat… too bald… Gay?... Ugh, married.
Melted ice and a thin layer of amber sloshed about the bottom of her tumbler. Ingrid downed the remnants of her whiskey. At the end of the bar, one solitary man hunched in the shadows between a pair of pendant lamps. A few stools to Ingrid’s right, two women laughed over espresso martinis.
If only she had a girlfriend to gossip with, maybe this hunger for a body to possess wouldn’t consume her so deeply.
But she didn’t have one, and it did consume her, so Ingrid waved Remi over to pay her tab. The clock had struck ten PM. If she snuck early into one of Berlin’s many techno clubs, she could sweet-talk a horny raver before midnight. Better than nothing, although she would have preferred a grown-ass man in her bed.
Young ones tended to interfere with her morning routine.
“Can I trouble you with a refill?” the barkeep asked when he sidled up to her.
“No, thanks, Rem.” Ingrid fished out her wallet. “I was just leaving.”
“The gentleman over there insists.” Remi discreetly nodded in the general direction of the solitary man, and grabbed a clean glass to get Ingrid that refill.
Ingrid perked up. “Is he any good?”
“Well, I’d personally take him for a round upstairs, but I feel that’s not the sort of thing he’s into.” The barkeep winked.
“I trust your judgement.” Ingrid smiled and picked up her new drink.
The lone stranger did not look up as she approached him.
“I was just about to leave,” Ingrid began, one elbow propped on the countertop. “But I thought I’d pop over for a minute to find out…” She held up her glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Specks of ginger stubble peppered the man’s gaunt cheeks, a shade lighter than the mop of auburn hair on his head. His wide mouth and broad, wrinkled forehead hadn’t caught her fancy from afar, but up close, his square jaw and high cheekbones gave his face a chiselled finish.
The crow’s feet around his dark blue eyes deepened as he grinned. “You looked like you needed one. Well, another one.”
His big hands cradled a cut-glass tumbler, which he raised in solidarity. The crystal of his watch caught a glimmer from the suspended light. No wedding ring.
“Irish?” Ingrid asked.
He glanced at his whiskey. “Oh, yeah, absolutely.”
“No, I meant you.”
“How could you tell?”
Ingrid arched an eyebrow. “You mean, besides the hair and the accent?”
The Irishman chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Although I do have to say, I hadn’t expected to be found out so quickly in Berlin.”
“A silly expectation to have, in an Anglophone bar run by a guy named Remington.”
The Irish eyes darted briefly to the bartender. “So that’s his name.”
“Everybody just calls him Remi.” Ingrid sipped her drink. “How about yours?”
“My name?”
“Mhm.”
“You can just call me Eddie.”
Ingrid laughed. “Nobody calls you Eddie!”
Opposite ends of his face frowned and smiled at the same time. “How would you know?”
“Have you seen a mirror recently? You look like anything but an Eddie.”
‘Eddie’ stared down at the shrunken ice cubes in his glass. “Well, if it helps, it’s short for Edgar.”
“Edgar…” Ingrid pronounced the name slowly, letting it roll off her tongue as she tasted every letter. “That’s more like it.”
“Are you going to tell me yours now, or do I have to buy you another drink?”
Ingrid batted her lazy lashes into a bedroom-eyes look. “Why don’t you buy me a ride instead?”
Anchored against his stout shoulders, Ingrid swayed her hips on top of Irish Edgar, driving him as deep as he could go. His fingertips clutched at her torso and dug into her buttocks. One hand drifted up to squeeze her breast. Ingrid arched her back into it, breaking their precarious rhythm, and his cock slipped out of her.
A mournful moan escaped her lips. Before she could guide him back in, Edgar slid his palm between her legs and massaged her sex. His thick, solid thumb taunted her clit, middle finger poised against her puckered hole.
Edgar embraced her waist, and two of his long fingers sank into her slickness. Ingrid locked her arms around his neck. Mother Nature had endowed this man with all the best features in all the right places, and he’d learned how to use them to his advantage.
Ingrid whimpered into his mouth as he kissed her, hot and hard and hungry for her. His thumb never abandoned the apex of her pleasure, chasing her to the edge of her sanity. The fingers inside her curled against her most sensitive pressure points, and she rode them into oblivion, until…
Until – suddenly – he was gone, and her mouth gaped open with a deep gasp. A cruel chuckle vibrated in his chest. Ingrid gulped.
“That’s it,” he muttered in her ear, gliding her hips along his erection. “This is what you want, isn’t it? Tell me.”
“Yes,” she barely breathed. “Fuck, yes…”
The heat of his flesh filled her up in a way his fingers never could. She possessed him whole now, body and mind. Harvested the essence of his ecstasy for herself, to quench the carnal craving etched into her entrails.
Ingrid cried out in Edgar’s arms. He held her close as she slackened, helping her unfold her legs to wrap them around his waist. In-between laboured breaths, she found one of his hands and raised it to her face.
“You have such beautiful fingers,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.
“Oh, yeah? These fingers that taste like you now?”
She grinned. A faint discolouration around the base of his ring finger gave her pause. Of course. But it didn’t matter now. She’d care about it in the morning. Right now, these fingers belonged to her. The smooth, perfectly manicured fingers of a rich man who looked after himself.
She sucked them clean and licked her lips. “It’s a good thing you’ll have a back-up, in case the other guy ever gives out.”
He laughed, cradling her at his chest. Her head, nuzzled against his shoulder, tilted back so she could kiss his chin. Her lips travelled along his jawline, to his earlobe. His found her cheek, and her nose, and her neck. The length of her collarbone.
She melted into his soft, sensual kisses, and the tender touches on her sizzling skin. Oh, he knew, he knew too well how to let her down gently after flinging her high.
“Let’s take a little break, shall we?” he whispered in her ear. “I need a shower before round three.”
Her breasts pressed up against his pecs, sweaty and smeared from their lovemaking. “We need a fucking shower, alright.”
His mouth became a white-toothed gash across his face as he grinned. Instead of looking scary, however, it gave him an air of rugged handsomeness.
“Give me a few minutes,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll come get you.”
Ingrid disentangled herself, and fell flat on the bed. His thigh muscles rippled as he headed for the hallway, and his firm buttocks bounced with every step he took. She sighed contentedly among the crumpled sheets.
“You fucking lucky bitch,” she mumbled to herself.
Her exhausted eyelids grew ever heavier with each fluttering blink. She forced her brain to focus on the running sink faucet, and the water splashing around the bathtub. For a split second, she drifted off on the waves.
Then his Irish brogue resurrected her.
“D’ye think you can walk?”
Ingrid laughed. She clambered out of bed like a newborn deer, but she wouldn’t let him have it. Her quivering legs stalked towards him. Edgar met her halfway and swept her off her feet.
“Let’s wash you up, shall we?”
He carried her to the bathtub and grabbed the showerhead. Warm water rained first on her knees, then on her thighs and her hips. Ingrid straightened up, so water trickled through her hair, and rubbed her breasts clean. Edgar savoured the view, until she rose to kiss him, palms flattened on his chest. He met her kiss with his sharky grin.
The tub boosted her height, but it separated their bodies, so she hung the showerhead up and made room for Edgar to climb in. With unbearable slowness, he stepped in one leg at a time, and stood under the water.
He shut his eyes, and tipped his head back, and generally pretended to be taking a proper shower, all by himself. Ingrid wouldn’t be outmanoeuvred. She slid to her knees before him, bringing her mouth so close, her breath alone made him shudder.
Her tongue darted out for a taste test, and every muscle in his body stiffened at once. Their wicked gazes clashed. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.
There was still such a long way to go until morning.
They slept until seven AM, when Ingrid’s alarm trilled on the nightstand.
“Shit.”
She slapped at her phone until it quietened, and tried to push herself up. Her palm just about missed the edge of the mattress, so she rolled over, curling up at Edgar’s chest, pillowed on his arm. He kissed the top of her head. Ingrid purred like a spoiled cat.
“Good morning,” Edgar whispered.
She pulled herself closer to his body, and felt him between her thighs.
“Good morning,” she grumbled.
He twirled strands of her hair between his fingers. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you.” Her lips wrapped around every syllable, fighting a smile.
His gave in to a trademark sharky grin. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Edgar brushed the hair back from her temple with a rhythmical movement, lost in her dark green gaze, like in a dense forest at dawn. The deep ocean blue of his irises, sunken among folds of tired skin, looked bright and clear as day in comparison.
“Thank you,” he found himself saying.
Ingrid rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and chuckled.
“Don’t fucking thank me. Or what…” She stared at him. “Do you think you have to pay me by the hour, or something? I would have charged you in advance, if that was the case.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” He smiled. “Although you never did give me your name.”
“You don’t need my name.” Yawning, she stretched out her arms, and legs, and hauled herself upright.
He rose on an elbow, unfazed. “Then how should I save your number?”
“Smooth, but you don’t want my number.”
“I just asked for it, of course I want it. Or can I just swing by anytime, without calling ahead?”
Ingrid laughed, still raspy with sleep. “No, Edgar, you won’t swing by.”
“Now that’s just not fair.”
“What, that I don’t want to be your booty call?”
“No.” He sat up. “It’s not fair that you’re calling me by my name, and I can’t call you by yours.”
Ingrid threw off the blanket and made for the bathroom. Edgar gave her five minutes of privacy before he joined her. She stood under the shower, slicking back her thick, wavy tresses as the water soaked them through. He pushed her against the wall when he stepped into the tub, and dropped to his knees, hands firmly on her hips.
“What are you doing?” she asked, half-guessing already and shivering with anticipation.
He grinned up at her. “I’ll make you scream my name, and beg for it, until you realise you do want me to have your number.”
A retort brewed on the tip of her tongue, but she knew it would drive him away. At that point in time, she would have really preferred it if he stayed.
He could always go later.
Ingrid closed her eyes and braced herself. Edgar could be ruthless, as she’d learned after a whole night spent at his mercy. But his ruthlessness equated to pleasure in her every nerve, every time, without fail – and he enjoyed the process as much as she did.
His fingers worked in tandem with his tongue, poking and prodding and pinching, while her thigh rested on his shoulder. She squirmed, and begged, and whimpered… He did not relent, until he sapped her strength.
“We’re not done,” he murmured over her lips, as he hoisted her up and supported her weight against the wall. “Still can’t have your number?”
Her weak head shook from side to side. He positioned himself and plunged in to the hilt, grunting.
“Edgar…” Her arms encircled his neck.
He pulled out and pressed her spine harder against the cold tiles. “Say it again.”
“Edgar,” she cried out, clawing at his shoulder blades.
Edgar fucked her without mercy, as if his rough, urgent thrusts could imprint his name on her muscles. But then the wave crashed, and his tenderness returned. He kissed her, and caressed her, and helped her bathe as she hobbled under the shower.
Delicate to a fault, and she had to bar all words to keep herself from ruining the magic of his aftercare.
“You’re suddenly too quiet,” Edgar said at last, while she towelled her hair dry in the bedroom. He’d zipped up his jeans and was putting his shirt on. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” She smiled. “You did everything right. Now go home to your kids and love them.”
He froze with his watch loose on his wrist. Slim leather straps framed a royal blue dial, encased in silver. His beautiful fingers fastened them up, as he resigned himself to reality.
“How did you know?”
“Come on, look at yourself. You’re what, forty?”
Ingrid hung her towel around her neck.
“You wore an expensive dress watch on a night out with jeans. Force of habit, I imagine. Or maybe the only one you’ve got on you at the moment. You probably wear it with equally expensive suits on a daily basis, so you’ve been rich a while. A man like you doesn’t make it to your age without a wife and kids.”
Edgar quirked an eyebrow. “I take it your name is Sherlock?”
“Nice try.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Judging from how tense you got just now, I’m guessing you’re not even divorced.”
He frowned. “If you knew all along, why did you let me take you home?”
Ingrid’s chuckles sputtered out into a sigh.
“You started it. And you never once said no. And you’re not wearing your wedding ring. Fair game, as far as I’m concerned. But occasionally, I do have a conscience, although not much of a heart.”
She led the way to the front door.
“It’s been a pleasure, Edgar. Really. But I think it’s best if you don’t swing by again.”
“I see.” He grabbed his coat off the hallstand hook and carried it on his forearm. “Well, it was… nice… meeting you.”
“Ingrid,” she added. “My name’s Ingrid, so you don’t drive yourself mad over it.”
“It was nice meeting you, Ingrid.”
They stood close together for a minute. He wasn’t much taller, his Adam’s apple bobbed on her eye level as he gulped. Then he kissed her on the cheek and left, his countenance heavy with words his mouth failed to utter.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Ingrid heaved a deep breath. Under normal circumstances, she would not have let such a rare specimen out of her grasp. Except homewrecker was not a moniker she would have liked to add to her collection.
Not right now, anyway. Not anymore.
