Liked father, liked son

[wi****]

The bar was alive with the energy of the crowd, the hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the twang of an '80s country song. Neon lights flickered over the hardwood floor, illuminating the line dancers moving in perfect rhythm in the center of the room.

At the bar, the girls stood with their drinks, laughing and leaning in close as they exchanged playful comments. Amid the lively chaos, her eyes landed on a figure that stood out against the sea of movement—a younger cowboy with an effortless swagger.

His snakeskin boots gleamed under the lights, and his tight jeans left little to the imagination, accentuating the curve of his frame. He wore a blue flannel casually open over a fitted black T-shirt, his Stetson hat adorned with a thin red band perched confidently on his head.

He approached the bar with a smoothness that matched the rhythm of the music, ordering a round of shots for his table while nodding toward a group of rowdy friends seated nearby. Her eyes raked over him boldly, not hiding her appreciation.

She took a sip of her drink before stepping closer, her voice cutting through the din. "So," she teased, tilting her head with a coy smile, "what kind of drink are you going to buy me?"

He turned, his gaze locking onto her, his eyes dragging deliberately up and down her figure, lingering just enough to make his intentions clear. A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned slightly closer, the scent of whiskey and leather mingling with the air between them.

"That depends," he drawled, his voice rich and smooth, "on how close you're planning to dance."

She tipped back the last of her drink, setting the empty glass on the bar with a decisive clink. Turning her eyes back to the cowboy, she smirked. "Well," she said boldly, "let's go figure this out."

His grin widened as he gave a small nod, tipping his hat to her in acknowledgment. Without hesitation, he gestured for her to follow, leading her through the crowd toward a secondary dance floor. As they passed his table, he gave a quick salute to his friends, who erupted in playful hoots and hollers.

The smaller dance floor was dimly lit, the atmosphere more intimate, the music pounding in a bass-heavy rhythm that seemed to pulse in their veins. He spun on his heels with practiced ease, his movements confident and fluid. In one smooth motion, his hand slid around her waist, pulling her firmly against him. The sudden closeness made her gasp softly, but she quickly recovered, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as she let herself melt into the moment.

Her hips moved against his with a rhythm that was more grind than dance, her confidence matching his intensity. She arched an eyebrow as she glanced up at his face, a spark of recognition flickering in her eyes. "I know you," she said, her voice barely audible over the music.

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in an easy smirk. "Not that I know of," he replied, his tone playful but leaving just enough room for mystery.

She shrugged, dismissing the thought, and let herself sink back into the moment. Her body twisted and twirled against his as she moved, each motion deliberate, the chemistry between them undeniable. The music thundered around them, a soundtrack to their charged connection, as they danced like no one else in the room existed.

As the chemistry grew unbearable, they moved off the floor. "Mark, find your own ride home," he called to his friend, who responded with an amused nod. They left the bar, her hand brushing his as he led her to his old Nova. The ride was a haze of anticipation.

Inside her modest apartment, the air was thick with unspoken desires. Their passion ignited as he kissed her neck, his hands exploring her body. Slowly, he slid her clothes off, leaving her in only black lace panties. His lips traced her ankles, her thighs, and finally, the edge of the lace, teasing her with deliberate slowness.

Her body arched as she begged, "Oh please." He smiled before pulling the lace away and resuming his trail of kisses, exploring every inch of her skin with intention.

As the heat between them built, he thrust into her for the first time, her moans spurring him into faster, harder motions. Her hands gripped his shoulders as their bodies collided, the sound of their passion echoing through the room. He adjusted her position, pulling her closer to deepen their connection, her cries of pleasure filling the space.

She moaned his name, her body responding to every movement, but when she gasped, "Oh yes, oh yes… oh Philip," he froze. Confusion and disbelief washed over him as he stopped and looked down at her.

"What?" he asked, his voice sharp.

She sighed, her breath shaky. "You’re Philip, right? From the warrior albums?"

His jaw tightened. "No," he said, his tone cold. "Philip was my dad." The moment shattered. Shaking his head, he pulled away, grabbing his jeans and sliding them on hurriedly. "This… this isn't going to work. Not now," he muttered.

Barefoot, he shoved his feet into his boots, gathered his shirt and hat, and stormed out of the apartment. The twenty-minute drive home was silent, tension radiating off him as his knuckles gripped the steering wheel. Arriving at his house, he slammed the car door shut and stormed inside without a word to anyone.

He headed straight to the bathroom, his boots thudding heavily on the floor. Moments later, the sound of the shower filled the house. The scalding water cascaded over him as he leaned against the wall, muttering curses under his breath. His friends, hearing the commotion and the running water, exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t dare approach. Whatever had happened, it was clear he wasn’t ready to talk.

[Sk****]

You are a great writer