First Taste

The rain hammered against the cafe windows like a thousand tiny fists, and Lena couldn't stop staring at his hands. Jake's fingers wrapped around his coffee cup, strong and steady, and she knew exactly what they felt like wrapped around something else.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said, his voice low enough that the barista wouldn't hear. "You're gonna make me spill."

"Maybe I want you to spill." She bit her bottom lip, watching his eyes darken. "I've been thinking about it all day."

"About me spilling coffee?"

"About your cock, Jake." The word hung between them, dirty and electric. "About how it tastes."

His chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward, elbows on the small round table. The cafe was nearly empty — just an old man reading a newspaper in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone. Rain streaked the windows, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.

"You said you wanted to try something new," Lena whispered, her foot sliding up his calf under the table. "I meant it."

"Here?" His voice cracked slightly, and she loved it.

"Why not? No one's watching."

Jake glanced around, then back at her. His hand disappeared under the table, and she felt his fingers brush her knee. "You're serious."

"I'm always serious about your dick." She spread her thighs just enough, and his hand slid higher, palm hot against her inner thigh. "But that's not what I want right now."

"What do you want?"

"I want to taste you. Right here. Right now."

He pulled his hand back, reaching for his jacket instead. "The bathroom—"

"The bathroom's gross. I want to do it here." She nodded toward the space between them, the table hiding everything below the waist. "Under the table. Like we're teenagers."

His laugh was nervous, excited. "Lena..."

"Trust me."

He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly unzipped his jeans. Lena's heart hammered as she slid off her chair, disappearing beneath the table's edge. The world shrank to the smell of rain on his coat, the scratchy carpet under her knees, the heat coming off his body.

His cock was already half-hard when she pulled it out, and she wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling the pulse there. She looked up at him through the gap between table and tablecloth — his eyes were wide, fixed on her.

"Keep talking," she murmured, her breath ghosting over the tip. "Tell me if someone comes in."

"Fuck, Lena..."

She took him in her mouth, and his hips jerked. The taste of him — salt and skin and something purely Jake — flooded her senses. She moved slowly, deliberately, letting her tongue trace the vein along the underside. His hand found her hair, not pulling, just resting there.

"God, your mouth," he breathed, his voice strained. "So fucking good."

She hummed around him, and his thigh tensed under her palm. The rain drummed against the glass, covering the wet sounds she was making. She took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of her throat, and she relaxed into it, letting him slide further.

"Baby, I'm not gonna last," he warned, his fingers tightening in her hair.

She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing his tip. "Then don't."

His moan was barely audible, swallowed by the rain and the distant hiss of the espresso machine. She took him again, faster now, her hand working what her mouth couldn't reach. His breathing turned ragged, his hips starting to buck slightly.

"Lena, I'm—"

The bell above the cafe door jingled.

She pulled back instantly, sliding back into her chair as if nothing had happened. A couple walked in, shaking water from their umbrellas, laughing about something. Jake was fumbling with his zipper under the table, his face flushed.

When he finally looked at her, his eyes were wild. "You're going to kill me."

"Not yet." She licked her lips, tasting him still there. "But your place is only five minutes away."

He was already standing, throwing money on the table. "Then let's go."

She smiled, slow and wicked, and followed him out into the rain.