The Edge of Want - Chapter 2: The First Taste | Free Erotic Story

The Iron Tap was a tomb after closing, the last drunk ushered out into the night, leaving only the hum of the neon sign and the faint drip of a leaking tap. Ezra flipped the lock on the door, the click loud in the silence, and turned to find Lila still there—perched on a stool, legs crossed, whiskey glass empty. She hadn’t moved to leave, and he hadn’t asked her to. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken shit neither of them wanted to name. “You’re slow tonight,” she said, sliding off the stool, her boots hitting the floor with purpose. She stepped closer, hips rolling, her tank top clinging to her tits like a second skin. “Thought bartenders were supposed to hustle.” He tossed the rag onto the counter, closing the gap until he was in her space—close enough to smell the whiskey on her breath, the faint musk of her sweat. “Thought you’d be halfway home by now, Voss.” Her lips twitched, a challenge flickering in her eyes. “Maybe I’m not done with you.” That was it—the match to the gasoline. He grabbed her, hands clamping onto her hips, and shoved her back against the wall. She hit it with a grunt, then surged forward, crashing her mouth into his. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a fucking collision. Teeth clacked, tongues tangled, wet and sloppy and hungry. She tasted like whiskey and heat, and he groaned into her, his cock jumping to life in his jeans, straining against the denim. Lila fisted his shirt, yanking him closer, her nails digging into his chest through the fabric. She bit his lip—hard enough to sting—and he retaliated, sucking her tongue until she moaned, the sound vibrating straight to his balls. His hands slid down, gripping her ass, kneading the firm flesh through her jeans. She arched into him, pussy pulsing with need, and he felt it—the heat radiating from her cunt, even through the layers. “Fuck,” he growled, breaking the kiss to drag his mouth along her jaw, her neck, nipping at the ink that curled there—a serpent, black and winding. She tilted her head back, giving him access, and he took it, sucking a bruise into her skin while his fingers dug harder into her ass. She shoved him back, just enough to get leverage, and spun them so his back hit the wall instead. “My turn,” she rasped, voice rough with want. Her hands went to his belt, tugging it open with a jerk, but she didn’t unzip him—not yet. She dropped to her knees, and his breath caught, dick throbbing as she looked up at him, red lips parted, eyes dark with power. “Don’t move,” she ordered, and fuck if he didn’t obey, his hands flattening against the wall as she popped the button on his jeans. She didn’t pull them down—just reached in, palming his cock through his boxers. He was hard, leaking already, the tip slick against the fabric, and she smirked, rubbing him slow and firm. “Big boy, huh?” “Jesus, Lila,” he hissed, hips twitching as her fingers squeezed his shaft, thumb brushing the head where it pulsed. His balls ached, heavy and tight, begging for more, but she kept the pace torturous, teasing the length of his penis with clinical precision that drove him nuts. She stood abruptly, yanking him off the wall and shoving him toward a table in the backroom—a rickety thing littered with empty bottles. He stumbled, caught himself, and she was on him again, pushing him down until he sat, then climbing onto his lap. Her thighs straddled his, her pussy grinding against his dick, the friction making her clit throb through her jeans. She grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the table, and rocked harder, her tits bouncing in his face. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he said, voice wrecked, feeling the damp heat seeping through her pants. He yanked one hand free, fisted her tank top, and pulled it down, exposing her breasts. No bra—just bare, perfect tits, nipples hard and pink. He latched onto one, sucking deep, tongue flicking the bud until she gasped, her grip on his other wrist faltering. Her cunt clenched, arousal soaking her panties, and she ground down on him, chasing the pressure on her clit. His cock was a steel rod beneath her, the outline obscene through his open jeans, and she wanted it—wanted to rip his boxers off and sink onto his dick until he split her open. But not yet. This was about control, about making him beg first. He switched to her other nipple, biting gently, and she moaned louder, hips stuttering. His free hand slid between them, cupping her pussy over her jeans, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit. “You’re dripping for me,” he murmured, voice low and filthy, and she hated how right he was—how her vagina ached to be filled, how her body betrayed her dominance with every shudder. “Shut up,” she snapped, but it came out breathy, weak. She shoved his hand away, grabbed his face, and kissed him again—messy, desperate, tongues fucking each other’s mouths. His dick twitched against her, precum staining his boxers, and she felt the power shift, slippery and hot between them. They broke apart, panting, her forehead pressed to his. Her pussy throbbed, empty and needy, his cock still trapped but screaming for release. The bottles on the table rattled as she shifted, and for a second, they just stared—chests heaving, lips swollen, both teetering on the edge of something they couldn’t take back. “Next time,” she whispered, sliding off him, legs shaky as she adjusted her top, “you’re gonna beg.” He grinned, feral and raw, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’ll see who begs first.” She walked out, ass swaying, leaving him hard and aching against the table, the taste of her still on his tongue.