Tara Sivec - Passion and Ponies

Gulping down the rest of my vodka and Seven, I slam the glass on the top of the bar and turn to face the douche bag sitting next to me.

“Your van? What is this, 1987? Get your hand off of my thigh before I break your fingers,” I tell him.

Why did I think going to a bar alone would be a great way to forget about my troubles? As soon as this guy sat down next to me I thought, perfect! A hot guy! And then he opened his mouth.

“Awwww, don’t be like that, baby.”

Alright, that’s it. No one calls me baby.

Clenching my hands, I take a deep breath, not even caring that I’m most likely going to be kicked out of here the moment my fist connects with his face

I turn my body on the barstool right as he lifts up his glass of beer, signaling to the bartender to get him another. He’s so drunk that he can’t hold his hand steady and the amber liquid in his glass sloshes all over the place while he waves his hand in the air. I watch in horror as beer splashes all over the top of my teal Taylor leather Bette Mini Coach tote.

“You got beer on my Coach,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off of my brand new purse.

“Yo! Bartender! Another beer!” douche bag shouts, completely ignoring me.

“YOU. GOT. BEER. ON. MY. COACH!”

My voice is much louder this time as the rage washes through me. It’s one thing for this guy to grope me and talk like a moron, but no one defiles my Coach purse.

“Calm down, baby. It’s just a purse-”

My arm flies out before he can even finish his sentence, my elbow connecting with his throat. He drops the glass, both hands flying to his throat and he clutches tightly to it while he coughs and sputters.

“You bitch!” he manages to shout in between coughs.

Before I can even think about threatening to cut off his balls, a hand shoots in between us, grabs onto the front of the guy’s shirt and hauls him off of his barstool.

Swiveling around on my seat, I see Tyler pull the guy’s face right up to his own and speak in a calm, cool manner.

“Apologize to the lady.”

Douche bag looks over at me and gives me a dirty look.

Tyler’s hand clutches tighter to the front of the guy’s shirt and he roughly yanks him closer. “I said, apologize to the lady, before I shove my knee in your balls.”

I should be irritated that Tyler just waltzed in here and took over a situation I could easily handle, but right now, watching him be this big, bad ass protector is making me so hot I can’t sit still.

“Sorry,” douche bag mumbles.

Tyler shoves the guy away and he stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet and bumping into a couple of customers. Tyler turns to face me and closes the distance between us, sliding in between my thighs. Without a word to me, he grabs the drink the bartender refilled during the commotion and chugs it. I stare at his throat and watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows, biting my lip to stop myself from leaning over and licking his skin.

I will not have sex with Tyler, I will not have sex with Tyler.

“So, what’s the deal? Were you on a date or something?” he asks, placing the now-empty glass back on the bar.

“Were you following me? I was doing just fine on my own, I didn’t need your help,” I snap, wincing when I hear how bitchy I sound.

He just shrugs, his hand reaching towards my face. I jerk back right before he touches me and give him a dirty look.

“Relax, princess, I was just going to move a piece of hair off of your cheek.”

I hate it when people call me princess. I really hate it when Tyler calls me princess. So why the fuck do I feel like I’m on the verge of a spontaneous orgasm?

“And no, I wasn’t following you. I had a bad day and didn’t feel like going home. My parents are most likely there doing weird as fuck sex therapy shit and I’m not in the mood to see them,” he explains. “Also, I know you can handle yourself. I stepped in for that dude’s protection, not yours. I did it for my own sanity, too. I was afraid you’d break a nail on his face and then I’d have to listen to you bitch and moan all night long about your manicure.”

I stare at him for a few minutes to see if he’s telling the truth. When his gaze on me doesn’t waver, I sigh loudly. “Well, I wasn’t on a date. My mom pissed me off so I packed a bag and went to stay with Gavin and Charlotte. They were most likely getting ready to do some weird as fuck sex shit and I didn’t feel like sticking around while Gavin licks my sister’s ass.”

Tyler laughs, resting his elbow on the bar, inching his way further between my legs until I can feel the material of his jeans rubbing against my inner thighs.

“What did your mom do to piss you off?”

And just like that, I open up to Tyler, the one person I never thought I would let my guard down around. I tell him about my fashion blog and how my mom shit all over my excitement with it. I tell him how much I hate working at Seduction and Snacks and how I hate where my life is going. He orders both of us another couple rounds of drinks without ever taking his eyes off of me, hanging on my every word and interjecting with little pieces of advice every now and then.

Before long, I’m buzzed and everything he says makes me laugh. My hands rest casually against his chest as he tells me about meeting his real father and something inside of me shifts. It happens so suddenly that I have to catch my breath. My heart speeds up and my hands start to sweat as I feel Tyler’s heart beating under my palms. It takes me a minute to realize I’m not having a fucking heart attack. What I’m having is a moment of clarity – Tyler Branson is genuinely a nice guy. A nice guy with a huge penis, a six pack and eyes so blue they look like someone took a blue crayon and colored them in.

He’s immature at times, a complete smart-ass and into some kinky shit, but he’s nice to me no matter how much of a bitch I am to him; no matter how hard I try to push him away.

Son of a mother fucking bitch, I think I’m falling for Tyler.

 - Tyler -

“Oh, yeah, that’s it. Right there! A little more to the left. Lick my Christmas ornaments.”

Ava’s mouth stills on my dick and she looks up at me. If my penis wasn’t stuffed in her mouth, I have a feeling she’d be yelling at me for something. Her mouth is so warm and wet that I really couldn’t care less what she yells at me about right now. She’s giving me a blow job in the women’s bathroom of the bar and I am not about to tell her to pipe down with the attitude, especially when I feel her graze my dick with her teeth. Nope, never piss off a woman who holds your manhood and the lives of your future children in between her chompers.

She sucks me hard into her mouth and I smack my hands down on the wall of the bathroom stall we’re in. As good as this feels, I need to stop her. I’d much rather be between her legs when I come and I have a feeling she’s already pissed about the fact that she’s kneeling on a bathroom floor right now.

Leaning forward, I slide my hands under her arms and haul her up from the floor, pressing her back against the wall and sliding my hands up her bare thighs. I stare into her eyes as my hands continue to move until they are wrapped around the soft, smooth flesh of her ass.

“Fuck, you’re not wearing any underwear?” I mutter as she leans forward and slides the tip of her tongue across my bottom lip.

“I was, but I took them off a little while ago when I went to the bathroom. I slipped them in the pocket of your coat that’s still hanging over the chair by the bar,” she tells me.

Ava reaches her hand in between our bodies and wraps it around my dick, stroking me while I knead her ass and pull one of her legs up around my hip.

Once her leg is secure, I quickly reach into my back pocket for one of the condoms I stuck in there before I left the house. I told her a little white lie when she asked me if I followed her. Charlotte called me after Ava left her and Gavin’s place and asked if I’d keep an eye on Ava and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. Even though Ava swore she’d never have sex with me again, I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep that promise.

I quickly rip open the condom with my teeth. Ava takes it from me and easily rolls the thin rubber down the length of my cock. I sigh in pleasure as she lines me up and in one hard thrust, I’m fully inside of her, both of us groaning. I don’t waste any time – I immediately start pounding into her, the bathroom stall shaking with the force of my thrusts.

“Take that purse off of your shoulder, it’s in my way,” I complain, grabbing onto the strap as I hold myself still inside of her.

She smacks my hand away and gives me a dirty look. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much this bag cost? I’m not putting it anywhere near that floor. People have pissed on that floor.”

I slowly grind my hips against her and try reaching for the purse again. She closes her eyes and moans, but even with her eyes closed she knows what I’m doing and her hand latches onto my wrist in a death grip.

“Touch that bag and you die. A slow, painful death where I cut off your balls and make you eat them.”

Her eyes are still closed and she hums in approval when I jerk against her. This time, I’m not trying to distract her with my awesome sexual moves; I’m honestly fucking afraid of her. That little jerk was a reflex when I thought about my balls being detached from my body and force-fed to me. You can make all the jokes you want about balls being delicious and loving the feel of balls in your mouth, but it’s not funny at all when we’re talking about my sweaty, hairy balls.