Open Doors

Martini glasses done… Keg is… working. Perfect.

What else, what else? I look down at my notebook and the mess of checkmarks and scratched-out to-do list items.

Oh, those industrial fans. Shit, did those get delivered…?

Wait. What the hell? The piece of art I hung over by the bar yesterday is missing.

Oh my god, are you serious? You moved it, didn’t you? God, this is so typical of you. Making changes without asking me literally the day before our soft opening.

You’re crouched down beneath the liquor shelves, probably being your typical perfectionist self and messing with tiny details instead of ensuring that we’ll have a fully-functioning bar people can come to tomorrow.

“Hey, what happened to the painting above the bar?”

“What, that tacky coffee shop art?”

I toss my notebook down on the table and try not to scowl at you, but that’s no easy task. Of course, you’d hate the painting I chose. I knew it.

“Tacky? You think my taste in art is tacky?”

“Okay, tacky’s the wrong word. It’s just… clashing with the rest of the decor.”

“No, no. You meant tacky.”

“Look, I know you’ve got the final say at the end of the day—”

“Yeah, I do. I own the place, after all.”

“But you can’t just be tossing up whatever random piece of art you find on the walls! You’ve got designers who’ve worked their asses off making this place look good and you’re wasting your money if you’re going to undermine them.”

I hired you because you’re the best at what you do. Operating bars and restaurants has been your bread and butter for years. You’re a star in the industry and I know how lucky I was to get you on board helping me get my bar up and running. But, oh my god, we just can’t agree on anything…

You and I… we get along just fine outside work. I actually like you. You do a ton of activist work which is super cool. And, actually, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to you.

You’re 100% my type, which makes being annoyed with you that much harder.

What’s weird is that when we’re not at the bar, like when we run into each other at shows or a coffee shop or whatever, I feel like you’re always looking at me. Like in a ‘checking me out’ kind of way.

But at work? Forget it. We’re oil and water.

“I’m sorry. We’re being ridiculous, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are being ridiculous! As if all the things to be concerned about right now, it’s a fucking wall hanging.”

It’s always been my dream to open a lesbian bar and I think the pressure of it all is finally settling in now that we’re a day away from opening.

You look at me with an amused grin and my hardened outside starts melting a little despite how hard I’m trying to keep it up.

“C’mon. You know I’m here to make your vision come true. And I’ve got the bar’s best interests at heart. Right?”

“Yes, I know that, but… your minimalist taste… clashes with my creative vision…”

You move to stand even closer to me as you lay your hands against my shoulders, as if calming a petulant child. It’s somehow both obnoxious and exciting. We’ve never really had physical contact before.

Your eyes darken a little and… I can’t read what you’re thinking or feeling anymore. The tension that was just between us is still there, but it’s changing into something else… something just as heavy… but different…

You put your mouth very close to my ear.

“Yeah… well… how about you let me be in charge for a little bit, huh?”

“What… what are we doing…?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s just… the bar, you know…”

“You need to relax. And I want to help you do that. So, how about you just do what I say? Let me be the boss for a little while…”

You lift your hand to cup the side of my face and kiss me harder.

I’ve never been one to submit. Not to lovers, not to anyone, really. It’s the reason I’ve always worked for myself.

I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I’m enjoying it.

“Get on the counter.”

I slide up onto the cool granite countertop and you stand between my legs, hardly breaking our kiss. Your hands grab my thighs and pull them tight around you.

After endlessly snapping at each other, taking out our frustrations on each other, all the tension of months and months of work… all of it just boiling over…

“Everyone already went home, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, it’s just us.”

You grab a square ice cube out of the bin beside you and slowly slip it between your lips.

Your eyes focus on my mouth as you tongue the ice, teasing me, daring me to do something.

Slowly, you lean forward and press your lips against mine.

The cold of the ice is a shock against my lips. Even more so when you push the ice cube from your mouth to mine.

You reach for the hem of my t-shirt and pull it over my head. I’m not wearing a bra today, mostly because I’ve hardly been home for more than a few hours over the last two weeks.

Your fingers pinch my left nipple and you push your tongue between my lips.

“I think you need someone to boss you around once in a while…”

“Yeah? And you think… that should be your job?”

“I think so, yeah. Keep your hands on the counter. Don’t move.”

I plant my hands flat beside me on the counter. You hold my jaw in one hand. Slowly turning my head to the side…

“Good girl.”

Your fingernails dig into my thighs. Goosebumps rise along my arms and I can’t help but push my hips towards yours. Being forced to slow down is only making me want to go faster.

“You have no idea how good you look right now…”

Your mouth trails down and you kiss right between my breasts.

“I have a rule that I never hookup with co-workers…”

“So break the rules once in a while.”

Your fingers pull at the waistband of my pants and drag them down, my thong sliding down my legs along with them.

And suddenly, you’re pushing two fingers deep inside of me.

The muscles in your arm flex against me.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

“Too rough?”

“Not rough enough.”

You kiss me hard and your teeth scrape against my bottom lip. Every part of my body is buzzing, desperate for more.

Your fingers brush over my clit as you pull out and again as you thrust in. A flair of pleasure mixed with pain erupts in me as you take my nipple into your mouth, hard.

I wrap my legs tight around your waist and lay back against my elbows.

“Oh my god, you feel so good… fuck, keep going, keep going…”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need— I need you to fuck me…”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

You’re teasing me, just trying to get a rise out of me. But I find myself kind of loving it.

Your hips push hard into mine and you add a third finger into my pussy.

“Mmm, someone’s wet for me. You like being bossed around, huh? You like it when someone’s rough with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I like it rough…”

“You sound like you might be close to cumming? Are you? You close?”

“F-fuck, yeah, I’m getting close—”

“Well, that doesn’t matter, because I haven’t given you permission to cum, have I?”

My whole body spasms with desire. The low growl of your voice in my ear… I love this feeling. I love feeling like you fucking own me.

“On your knees. You’re gonna make me cum first.”

You pull down your underwear and I push my face between your legs. I’m so turned on it almost hurts.

Your hand curls around the back of my head and holds me in place as I push my tongue through your folds.

“There you go… fuck yeah, that’s… ohhh my god, that’s fucking good.”

My knees are aching against the hard floor, but I don’t care. All I want is to feel you cumming inside my mouth.

“Go inside. Put your fingers in me…”

My fingers plunge into your wetness and I shift my tongue to your clit. Your pussy squeezes tight against my fingers.

You lean forward with your hands against the countertop and buck your hips against my mouth.

“Ohhh, fuck, fuck, I’m close…”

Your whole body moves with your orgasm and your wetness fills my mouth. I slowly pull my fingers out and get to my feet.

“Very good. I guess you deserve to cum now.”

My lower back collides gently with the bar as you push forward. Your fingers find my clit within seconds and press gently up against it.

“Oh, shit… shit…”

“Yeah, you can cum now. I’ll make you cum.”

You kiss up my neck and along my jaw, and take my head in your hands.

“You’re so wet…”

You roll your fingers over my clit again and again…

“Fuck—fuck—”

“Ohh there you go! You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god, keep going, keep going…”

My fingers dig into the bar behind me. My legs are shaking beneath your weight pressing against me.

I brace both my arms against the bar. Fuck, I feel like my knees are going to buckle.

“Mmm, that was so hot.”

Your arm snakes around me, holding me up. I can’t remember the last time I came so hard…

“You okay?”

“Yeah… didn’t realize how badly I needed that…”

“You are under a lot of pressure right now.”

We slowly gather our clothes and dress, exchanging little glances now and then.

“Look, I… I really do like you. Maybe we can… do this again sometime. Or, something.”

I smooth your dishevelled hair with my hands.

“I’d like that. As soon as we get this bar up and running.”

“On one condition.”

“I’m listening.”

“My painting stays.”

“I knew you were going to say that!”