Her Type

Jillian did not have a type, she liked who she liked.

Loved who she loved.

Her head was on Adam’s lap, and he held her close. In the mirror opposite them, she could barely see him. Adam’s face was obscured by his beard and his long hair. Both of which she loved. He looked like he did not belong to the now, he looked like a modern hippie. She looked foreign on his lap, her hair pulled up and her formal work clothes.

Jillian could not really escape her job, but for the moment she was free. She had taken a company car to the bar and not their apartment, to be free with Adam.

Adam was a writer. He spent most of his days writing in the corner of their neighborhood bar which she was the co-owner of. It was almost like their auxiliary home. When she walked into the bar, he tucked his long brown hair behind his ears and rubbed his beard. Jillian took off her shoes, and crawled into their booth beside him. He pulled her close to him, and she curled up beside him. A glass of house red was placed on the table for her imminent arrival.

She was happy—her wine was on the table and her head was on Adam’s lap. Jillian felt when his hands left her for his other love…the sound of him tapping away on the keyboard soothed her nonetheless, she did not feel jealous.

She could possess him as his MacBook could not, she could become one with him. His MacBook could only feel the pressure of his fingertips—which was almost enough pleasure. But he could be one with her.

Pulling her legs up under her, she gripped his thigh, then let her hand trail up over his stomach and chest. Her fingers slipped inside of his shirt between buttons, and she let her fingers drift through his chest hair. Jillian loved the feeling of the hair on different parts of his body. She sat up, and even though she wanted to put her head on his shoulder, she did not. Her fingers ran over his beard, the same way he had run his fingers over it when he saw her.

This was why she did not have a type. She never liked men with beards until Adam. She had always liked very clean-cut guys, like most of the financial types that she worked with. But when she met Adam—who did not have a beard at that point, but very heavy stubble—she wanted him the moment she saw him. Never in her life had she felt such a strong desire for anyone, but she did with him. And when he grew a beard, it was sexy to her because it was his.

He put his fingers over hers, and she saw their fingers entwined in the mirror, and Jillian continued to caress his beard. She felt him respond to her touch as if her hands were lower, his breathing deepened. His beard was an erogenous zone for him, maybe because she sort of fetishized it.

Sort of…

Hector came over and handed her a plate with all of the things she liked to nibble on while she was in the bar. That was the closest that she ever wanted to feel to being served, and it was not even being served with Hector because he was a friend. It was their bar.

It was how she met Adam in the first place.

“Thank you, my love,” she said and took the plate from him.

Adam was so focused on his work that he did not even look up from his keyboard as she fed him olives and salami. He sucked her fingers when he did, and she closed her eyes with bliss.

Hector smirked at her from the bar. He was always teasing her about her domestic bliss.

“I would never have pictured you with that guy,” he had said to her when she and Adam first got together.

“I told you I did not have a type,” she said as she helped him set up the bar.

“You used to have more of a type, I think.”

Hector used to be her type. She had met him at her previous job until he left to start the bar. He used to practically run a bar out of his place until she convinced him that he needed to do it for real. She helped him, and they opened Hectic--why not a play on his name? She had lived with him in that faux apartment bar, and now she owned the real bar with him. But that seemed like such a long time ago.

Everything seemed like a long time ago except Adam; she mused as she caressed his beard.

This is the first story in a series.