Tequila Made Me Fall in Love

Kelly Rouzbehi

Alcohol is at the heart of every good love story. Reese Witherspoon met husband number two after one too many rum-and-cokes. Matt Damon met the love of his life when he hid behind a bar to avoid fans. Apparently, the man makes a mean mojito.

Ours started with a tequila sunrise.

I’d been introduced to Nik earlier that day. My friends knew his friends and so the story goes. He’d sat across from me at dinner too, probably checking out the cleavage my leather top put well on display. That sounds hotter than it actually was. I’d made the shameless mistake of not wearing sunscreen that day and looked a bit like a sexy lobster.

We hadn’t talked much. Not until I said, ‘You want a drink?’

Lexi and I had been at the bar already, and it was my turn to shout. Nik had been standing behind us, hands in his pockets, when I caught his eye. Rarely was I one to shout a stranger, but I don’t know. He looked cute with his glasses and love-heart tee.

‘What you getting?’ Nik asked.

‘Tequila sunrise. Want one?’ I offered.

‘You sure?’

I turned back to the bar tender. ‘Three tequila sunrises please.’

After that, Lex ventured back to the hotel, a hot twenty-four-year-old on her arm. So, Nik kept me company.

We had sat out back of the little Latina club his friend had scouted out for us. Some of the others were there too, not that it mattered.

‘Your first time to the States?’ Nik asked.

‘Nah. First time travelling solo, though. Sticking around ‘til January.’ I’d been accepted to study there and was getting in a little fun before the semester started.

‘Aw, really? That’s awesome!’

His enthusiasm took me aback, partly because I was surprised, mostly because it was more than a little cute. Was it the tequila? They made them strong out there.

I took another sip and kept it cool. ‘So,’ I asked. ‘Where else have you–’

A cold breeze cut through me. I couldn’t help shivering and wrapped my arms around myself for extra effect.

Nik smiled. ‘Here.’

That was the first time he put his arms around me. Thank you, sleeveless top.

Later, I’d tease Nik about how he was my personal heater. But we’re not quite done with this night just yet.

We’d been waiting outside the Latin Club ready to leave, the tip of our hotel glowing in the distance, when Nik slipped his hand in mine. He insisted on keeping it there the whole way back. I’d let him. And not because of the tequila.

We had been part of the last group of stragglers to leave the club and chose to invade the mezzanine above reception.

We were there for an hour? Two? Hell, if I knew or cared. Not when Nik kept doing that thing boys do where they rub their thumb over your knuckles. Even after, when everyone else had decided to call it a night he stayed on that couch with me, rubbing and holding my hand. Fuck, that felt good.

It felt good to rest my head on his shoulder. It felt good to sit so close to him, his warmth seeping through his shirt to my skin.

And it felt fucking good, when he lifted my chin and touched his lips to mine.

The confidence in that move. The pressure of his lips. The flick of his tongue. It had me shifting and straddling his lap within minutes. Or seconds, it’s hard to say.

Anyone could have seen us, either from the reception below, or if they had been fortunate to walk past us on the way to their room. I think I may have even unzipped the back of my top, revealing the black lace that below that was barely keeping my chest in.

‘You wanna go upstairs?’ Nik asked.

‘What about your roommate?’

‘I’ve got the room to myself.’

The Kawada was a poorly designed hotel for those navigating drunk, but between desperate kisses, seductive whispers and an unrelenting desire to fuck, we managed fine.

I hadn’t had sex in over a year, and the last man who tried to pleasure me left me with a UTI and an oath never sleep with a stranger again.

This man had me unravelling that oath, with each kiss he left on my chest. On my neck, my lips. All I could think was more, I want more. I might’ve said it aloud, because he smirked against my stomach before ducking between my thighs and licking.

‘Oh, fuck,’ I moaned.

It stirred him on.

My body bucked and arched to every flick of his tongue. And when he added his fingers…

Never had I gotten on my knees for a man. Never had the thought appealed. But when I flipped him over and took him in my mouth, his moan loud enough to wake the whole floor.

I’d wanted to taste him, wanted to feel his release pour down my throat. But Nik had raised my chin, his voice a little husky when he said, ‘I want to feel inside you first. Can I do that?’

The last time I spread my legs for a man, the only sounds I made were ‘ow’ or ‘fuck’ and not in sexy way. For the whole ten minutes I had to bite back my tongue from saying something that would damage his poor ego. Lord knew it was fragile enough.

With Nik I didn’t want it to stop. He started slow, savouring the feel of every inch that slipped further into me, whispering in my ear about how wet I was and how good it felt. And when our bodies started to move together, he went faster. Harder. And it was impossible not to find release.

And when I was left gasping and shaking, Nik still inside me, he whispered, ‘Come for me again, sweetheart.’

It wasn’t until four in the morning that we fell asleep, cuddled on a bed meant for one. But by sunrise, I was gone and the events from the night before were a distant memory by lunch.

The following nights we’d see each other around. Sometimes by the pool, sometimes by the bar. Usually, late at night. He’d flash me a cheeky smile or give me an overly seductive wink.

And I’d send one back before returning to that night’s new eligible bachelor. And I’d always open conversation the same.

‘Want a drink?’

Author: Kelly is a third-year creative writing student based on the Gold Coast. She revels in any kind of fantasy, sci-fi or thriller and is passionate about creating works in the same genres that expand to reach more diverse readers. Genre fiction has always allowed her to reflect on the real world and escape from its challenges, and hopes to provide the same experience for her readers.

Artist: Zoe Hawker is a multi-disciplinary student artist working with sculpture, installation, and painting. Her self-reflexive practice aims to decode the absurdities of our current culture.

Editors: Bea Warren and Rory Hawkins