Girl Talk

Jayne Renault
10 mins read
Published over 3 years ago

“I did something,” she said.

She peered at me from over the rim of her glass, taking a deliberately slow gulp. Her bright green eyes widened in anticipation of my response. I just smiled and shook my head. 

In my books, Miranda is a total babe. She's fearless. She's brash. She's a little quirky. And she always had the best stories. What I like most about them is her delivery - you can never really tell if she is looking to be praised or reprimanded.

I swivelled on my bar stool without taking my eyes off of hers. “Well,” I said, humouring her, “tell me. What did you do?”

She stretched one hand behind her head, tousled her mess of thin blonde hair, and looked away from me. As if I was being too prying.

But her exasperated sigh turned into a giggle as she geared up to share what was sure to be another scandalous tale. With her other hand, she raised her glass as well as her eyebrows, and took another sip of mojito for a little boost of encouragement.

“So, you know how things have been getting a little hot and heavy with me and that Not-So-Serious Musician.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well,” she crunched on the ice cube she had been sucking on, “last night he came to meet me. The work thing, you know, that one we were hosting in the lounge upstairs last night,” again, not a question, “was finishing up. I’d been drinking a bit (obviously) with the clients by the time he showed up.”


The volume of the chatter increases with every step as he climbs the dimly lit staircase. 

Not-So-Serious Musician goes up the stairs to this so-called upstairs lounge. The event is winding down. At least, the formal festivities seem to be over and everyone has moved on to casual mingling. 

Her official duties here were done, which is why she had sent a text inviting him to join in the first place. 

He’s the kind of guy who rocks a bit of swagger, but if we're being honest, there’s still that inherent sensitivity and insecurity of an artist underneath it all. He’s timid. He's cautious. He’s brooding and complex.

She’s the one to make the moves most of the time. But these are the early and exciting stages of the relationship. She’s not frustrated with his shyness yet. That won’t settle in until later.

As per usual, Miranda looks bangin’ in the dress she is wearing. It’s a subtly bold pattern - dancing house-cats wearing aprons. Somehow, she pulls it off.

She’s got her hands in her dress pockets. He gets a little nervous when he sees her. He spots her before she sees him, and almost turns around to leave. But he hesitates long enough for him to catch her eye, so it's too late to turn back now.

She strides over to him with her trademark relaxed confidence and greets him with a soft, deliberate kiss on the cheek. He lets one hand settle gently into the curve of her lower back. The light fabric of her dress is smooth to the touch and he can feel the warmth of her body radiate through it.

She suggests that they grab a drink. He’d been drinking a bit before he showed up, and obviously so had she. It was more out of reflex than necessity. 

Tumbler glasses in hand, they chitchat about the day. She waits and wants for him touch her. She finds herself dreaming about the last time they had spent the night together. She imagines what he smelled like that night – well groomed and rugged mixed with sawdust and oil - and suddenly realizes she doesn't need to use her imagination anymore. She moves in a little closer and wraps her arm around his neck, breathing in his musk. 

She decides that she’s done waiting. She’s excited and horny and totally into him, but growing impatient with how lightly he treads around her.

“Wanna go for a walk?” she says. “I’m going this way.”

She tilts her head towards a doorway at the other end of the room. Her demeanour suggests a need for discretion. 

He seems confused at first, and watches her walk away. He looks around to see if anyone is paying attention, and finally follows her down the staff hallway. 

It’s even darker in the hallway than it was in the lounge because this area of the building has no reason to be occupied this late at night. He waits for his eyes to adjust. She giggles somewhere in the darkness. He follows the sound towards her. She flips a light on at the end of the hall. 

“Shall I give you a tour?” she jokes.


She hiccupped on her laughter. “It’s a joke because it’s just a series of dank offices and supply rooms.”


He timidly accepts the offer, and she takes him further down the hallway. She leads him into a room full of shelves lined with decades of folders upon folders, paper ghosts from a time before the dawn of electronic storage. 

It was cool and dry and smelled like sun-bleached dust.

“This is where stuff goes to die,” she explains to him jokingly. 


“And I mean... Girl. That should have been my big hint right there,” she added, crunching on another ice cube.


She playfully pushes him up against the shelf. Soft kissing turns gradually into more passionate exchange of tongues and saliva. He loosens up and lets his hands wander over and under her dress.

She lets her hair down. Loose blonde curls tumble down her back as he kisses her neck and along her collarbone. She holds his head in her hands. Guiding? Encouraging? Probably both. Her hands move down the length of his torso, and she squeezes his ass.

She leans her hips into his. 


“By now, he’s getting hard,” she said with a wink. “Obviously.”


He pulls away and trades places with her, pushing her back into the shelves. He pins her arms up above her head by the wrists and continues to kiss and suck from lips, moving all the way down between breasts. He lifts her cat-print dress up over her head and tosses it onto the floor. His hands cup under her butt and he lifts her right up. 

Liplocked, her legs wrap around his waist and he carries her over to the wide window sill at the far end of the room. 

He rests her on the ledge, and presses her bare back into the cool window with his kiss.


“And it was effing cold, man,” she added, shivering at the memory. I laughed out loud and shook my head.  

The bartender brought us our next round. “Thank you." She twirled the straw around in her glass. "But no, seriously. I legit squeaked right into his mouth.”


Her hands now free to move around, she feels his back muscles clench and release under the fabric of his shirt. She reaches down between them and tugs at his belt. He watches as she unbuttons and shimmies his pants down past his hips. They fall on their own to a pile around his ankles. 

She rubs her palm over the erection trying to press through the fabric of his boxers. 

“Wanna help me out here, or what?” she coos. 

He presses one hand on the windowpane to brace them both as the other pushes his waistband down enough to release his penis. She shifts her hips as far forward on the ledge as she can without sliding right off. 

He eyes her up and down with hungry admiration, kicking his pants off his feet. Cock in hand, he is about to enter her.

“Ah, ah,” she tuts. “I’m not ready yet.”


"They’re always in such a hurry to stick it in,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I like a good, quick fuck sometimes just as much as the next girl, but come on. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right."


She spreads her legs wide and presents herself to him.

“I need a little more from you first.” She pulls his face towards her for another deep kiss and, with a gentle nudge to the back of his head, suggests he move a little lower.

He eagerly takes the hint and kneels down on the pile of discarded clothes at their feet, meeting her pussy at eye level.

She feels his breath on her freshly waxed vulva and strokes his hair with both hands. She disregards the pressure of the wood underneath press back into her tailbone.

“That’s it,” she purrs. “Good boy.”

He gently nips up and down her labia before finally wetting her with his tongue. She leans fully into the window behind her and rests one ankle on his shoulder as his tongue slips in a little deeper. He dances around her clit, tickling at the edges.

“Mm, you’re such a tease,” she says. “I love that.”

He continues his soft and deliberate exploration of her pussy with his lips.

“I love when you use your fingers too,” she suggests.

She feels his smile press against her. The hand he was using to stroke himself moves up to meet his mouth. His strong thumb rubs the edges of her labia and she melts a little deeper into the window.

“Yeah,” she swoons. “Just like that.”

Her hips quake a little.


“Because all of a sudden, I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to hold myself in that position much longer!”

“Yeah, I was wondering when that was going to happen,” I said.

“But I didn’t want him to stop yet,” she said, picking at the leftover chips on the plate. “And turns out it was the right call.”


He slides one finger inside her and he continues to lap at her lips. He slides a second finger in and flicks a little harder at her clit. She feels a shiver erupt from her lower back and wraps both legs around his neck, urging him to continue.

Struggling not to fall now, her back arches away from the window and her hips inch upward. He spots her tailbone with his free hand, and does his best to follow her through the rise without letting her fall.

Her eyes close and her mouth drops open. She silently releases what had been building since she sent that first text a couple hours prior. He slides her fingers out and stands to hold her as she comes down.

She wraps her arms around his neck and strokes the back of his head.

“Now,” she breathed without opening her eyes, “I’m ready.”

She kisses him once, twice, and reaches down between their pressed hips. With her helping hand to guide him, he slowly enters her. She leans back into the cool glass of the window behind her. Her knuckles whiten as they grip the sill while he thrusts. 


“The window is obviously a couple of floors up from street level, but like,” she put the glass back down onto the coaster, “the idea of people walking by looking up and seeing me totally butt-naked in that picture frame window?” She cooled herself with an imaginary fan. “Super hot.”


He leans his forehead on to the glass as he slows his rhythmic penetration. With her gyrating subtle circles around him, he could feel every ripple inside her. He stopped for a moment to feel her pulse play with his own.

She pushes him off and turns around, encouraging him to take her from behind. He re-enters. She wraps a hand up behind her to caress the back of his head and pull him in closer. He bites into her shoulder, burrowing through her hair into that sweet spot on her neck. He places his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing as he plunges a little harder. He breathes hard and dives deeper. She has her hands on either side of the window frame to brace herself, pushing back into him. 

She presses her cheek to the glass and reaches down between her legs with one hand, feeling the swell of anticipation press back into her fingertips as she rings around her clit. 


“And then!” she looked disdainfully down at her glass. A mint leaf was stuck in the straw. She gave up and placed the glass back down on the table. 

“Then, he goes and gets all sappy with me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear about me being his girlfriend, while he’s still fucking me from behind, and it just ruined everything.”

“So it  ended there?” I asked. “Just like that?”

“Well no,” she said just as the bartender placed two more drinks along with a couple of shots of whiskey on the bar in front of us. “I mean, I finished, obviously.” 

She pushed one of the shots closer to me. 

“And he seemed to be having a hard time getting off. Maybe he drank too much, I don’t know. Either way, I didn’t push the matter because I got what I wanted.” She shrugged. “But then when we were getting dressed, he used the “girlfriend” word one more time, right? And I was like, 'Oh, honey… No… This? This thing will never be that. Sorry.'”

She raised her eyebrows signalling the end of her story, and burst out laughing. The bartender snickered, and I couldn’t help but join in. 

“Fuck, I’m awesome.” She shook her head, and raised her shot glass to me. “Cheers.”


More by Queen Jayne:

The Birthday Bash
Chicago Rare
Comings and Goings
Compliance Risk
Condemned Desire
Conservation Area

Devotee
Diamonds and Pearls
The Edge of Glory
Expressions of Grief
For Dommestic Use Only
Hey, Babe.
Just Dessert

Lucky Shot
Marked
Summer Heat
Strangers on a Train
Up Top

QJ
Written by
Queen Jayne Renault

comma chameleon. word witch. smut queen.