Free Never Have I Ever by August Clearwing

another round of drinks. His hungry eyes watched as I closed the distance between us, my dress swinging on my hips with a little more confidence now. I blocked the view of any prying eyes with my body as I stood beside him and retrieved the panties from my clutch.
    “Very good girl,” he said as I passed them to him. “I’m impressed.”
    By the time I sat back down they were already slipped into his pocket.
    “Never have I ever done that before,” I said.
    “That list of Nevers will continue to grow shorter the longer you’re with me.”
    “Yours too I hope.”
    Not a single moment of silence passed between us the remainder of our evening at the bar. Our conversations ran the gamut of vacations and life-goals to our opinions on our friends and everything in between.
    An hour later our second round of drinks was long gone, but our conversation continued to grow. The longer we talked, the more I wanted him. It was as simple as that. Judging by his face, he felt the same way.
    That was when he suggested, “It’s getting late. I say we take this discussion back to my place.”
    “Where do you live, anyway?” I asked as he took my hand to stand me up.
    “Downtown,” he replied. After a beat he added, “L.A.”
    “Oh. I drove here. Should I follow you?”
    “No need. Where did you park?”
    “Just around the corner here.”
    “Give me your keys.”
    I pulled them from my purse and handed them over. He left me at the entrance of the club for long enough to take them to the bartender. I watched the silent discussion from where I was. After a couple of nods from the bartender, Noah tapped on the bar. My keys were left sitting there.
    “Taken care of,” he assured me as he returned. I gave him a quizzical look. “It will be at my building by morning.”
    “That’s convenient.”
    And it was. We traveled down highway one ten from Pasadena to downtown Los Angeles. The entire ride I was consciously aware of the bareness between my legs. I sort of squirmed a little against the cool leather of the seat in his car. He noticed it, enjoyed it even. The confidence radiating from him gave that much away.
    Amid the skyscrapers in the hustle and bustle of Saturday night was Noah’s building. There was a valet service out front. The doorman even tipped his hat to us as we passed him. We walked through the lobby, and I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw him push the button for the top floor in the elevator.
    The apartment Noah lived in was just as impressive as the floor selection suggested. There was a short step down from the front door. Dark hardwood floors gave way for an open floor plan with barely any doors. To the left was the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances accented marble countertops. An island in the center of the wide space held a wine rack and room enough for three barstools.
    After a short step down from the kitchen it splayed open into the living room where an L-shaped leather couch and postmodern chairs surrounded a short coffee table. On the right, floor to ceiling windows reached out for a perfect view of the Loss Angeles skyline and out into the Pacific Ocean. The view was only broken by a faux stone fireplace in the center. A large flat screen TV was affixed above the mantle where photo collages rested in a place of honor.
    Beyond the living room was a sliding door cutting an angle into the wall which more than likely consisted of the master bedroom. Darkness lay down a hallway directly beside the room, though I could make out the shape of two other doors. I assumed that one was a second bedroom and the other possibly a guest bath.
    Noah closed the door behind us and set his keys on an end table beside the entryway.
    “Make yourself at home,” he said. He removed his suit jacket and folded it over the back of the sofa, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before he took a bottle of red wine from the wine rack.
    On his hip, plain as day, was strapped a forty five.
    “You own a gun.” It was