**The bar hummed with low music and the clatter of glasses, the kind of place that smelled like spilled beer and bad decisions. Character B had been nursing the same watered-down soda for forty minutes, legs crossed tight on the stool, telling themselves they weren’t desperate. Just… done waiting.** The dry spell had stretched into months. No touches, no heat, no one’s breath on their neck. So when the tall stranger two seats down finally leaned over with a lazy grin and asked if they could buy B a real drink, B didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Whiskey sour. Make it strong.” The stranger’s hand was already signaling the bartender when a familiar voice cut through the noise like a blade. “B.” B’s stomach dropped. That voice. *That* voice. They turned slowly, and there stood Character A—ex-lover, ex-everything—looking unfairly good in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing those forearms B used to dig their nails into. A’s eyes locked on them with that same intense stare that always made B’s thighs clench. “Can we talk?” A asked, voice low. Not a request. Not really. Before B could spit out the *fuck no* they’d rehearsed in the shower for weeks, A slid onto the stool beside them and dropped a twenty on the bar. “Whiskey sour for them. Double. And I’ll take a bourbon, neat.” The stranger blinked, looked between them, and muttered something about “complicated” before disappearing into the crowd. B watched their easy lay evaporate and felt the familiar mix of rage and unwanted heat flood their veins. “You’ve got some fucking nerve,” B hissed, but they didn’t push the fresh drink away. The glass was cold against their palm. They took a long swallow, the burn sliding down their throat and straight to their neglected cunt. A leaned in closer, close enough that B could smell that same cologne that used to cling to their sheets. “I saw you about to leave with that guy.” A’s gaze dropped to B’s mouth, then lower, tracing the line of their throat, the way their chest rose faster now. “You really that thirsty tonight?” B’s cheeks burned. Their pussy gave a traitorous throb at the crude word, at the memory of A’s mouth between their legs for hours, tongue fucking them until they screamed. Months without it. Months. “None of your goddamn business,” B snapped, but their voice cracked. They finished the whiskey in two more gulps, the alcohol loosening the knot in their stomach and making their clit pulse harder. “You lost the right to ask me shit when you walked out.” A’s hand landed on B’s knee under the bar, heavy and warm. Not squeezing. Just… there. Possessive. The touch shot straight up B’s thigh like electricity. “I didn’t walk out. We fought. Big difference.” A’s thumb stroked once, slow, right at the edge of B’s skirt. “And I’ve been regretting it every night since. Especially knowing this sweet little cunt hasn’t been properly fucked in months.” B’s breath hitched. Their nipples tightened against their top. They hated how wet they already were—just from a hand on their knee and a few filthy words. “You don’t know that,” B whispered, but it was a lie and they both knew it. A leaned in until their lips brushed B’s ear. “I know you, baby. I know how desperate that greedy pussy gets when it’s been empty too long. How you start rubbing your thighs together in public like you’re doing right now. How you’ll let the first warm body that offers take you home and use you… even if it’s not me.” A’s fingers slid higher, disappearing under the hem of B’s short skirt, brushing the damp fabric of their panties. B’s legs parted before they could stop themselves. “Fuck… A…” “Tell me to stop and I will.” A’s voice was rough now, breath hot against B’s neck. “Or finish that drink, come back to my place, and let me remind this neglected cunt who it really belongs to. I’ll eat you until you’re shaking, then bend you over and fuck you raw the way you like—deep, nasty, no condom, just my cock stretching you open until you’re dripping my cum down your thighs.” B’s hand trembled around the empty glass. Their clit was swollen and aching, panties soaked through. The dry spell screamed louder than their pride. They met A’s eyes, dark with hunger, and felt the last of their resistance crack. “...One night,” B breathed, voice hoarse. “That’s it. Then we’re done again.” A’s smile was slow, victorious, and filthy. Their fingers pressed harder against B’s soaked cunt, rubbing the fabric right over their throbbing clit. “Liar,” A murmured, already pulling out their wallet to pay. “But I’ll take it. Get your coat. I want my face buried in that pussy in the next twenty minutes.” B slid off the stool on shaky legs, cunt clenching around nothing, already imagining A’s thick cock splitting them open later. The dry spell was about to end in the filthiest way possible—with the one person they swore they’d never let touch them again. And they couldn’t wait.