This week’s challenge was to take a song lyric and use it as a theme or basis for a short story. I took a line from the Foo Fighters song “Everlong”–ostensibly a love song–and turned it into something…different. Bonus points for spotting the lyric.

“You’re not drinking anything,” he said to the woman at the bar, as he sat a chair apart from her. Even though she wore jeans and a flannel shirt, like most of the hipsters here, she looked out-of-place. Maybe it was the long, white-blonde hair that fell in loose waves nearly to her waist, or just her general vibe. She turned to face him and behind her over-sized, dark-rimmed glasses were the iciest blue eyes he had ever seen. She stared at him just long enough to make him uncomfortable, then her full lips curved into a smile.

“The bartender hasn’t seen me yet.” Her accent was strange, not quite British, but close.

“Let me fix that,” he replied, raising his arm. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having.” He ordered two glasses of scotch, neat. She moved over to the seat beside him, crossed her legs, and looked him up and down before cocking her head. He had an uneasy feeling, like she was assessing her next meal. When the drinks arrived, she snatched his hand as he reached for his.

“You’re married,” she breathed, stroking her thumb over his wedding band. Her touch sent a jolt through him he hadn’t felt in years. He was instantly hard, and he thanked all the gods for loose-fitting jeans as he shifted in his seat.

“Heh, yeah,” he murmured, letting her continue stroking his hand in slow, lazy circles. He reached for his drink with his right hand, feeling light-headed and giddy before he took a single sip. The scotch burned, and went down wrong, making him cough. He yanked his hand back as he used it to cover his mouth and turned away from her. He could feel his cheeks redden, even as the coughing subsided. Christ. He hadn’t felt this awkward around a woman since his age ended in ‘teen’.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah—yeah.” He was too embarrassed to look at her; instead he stared ahead as he took another sip. This one was better. He heard a scrape as she moved her chair closer to his and he gasped as her fingertips stroked his thigh. Then he could feel her warmth as she brought her head closer to his. She smelled like springtime, like cherry blossoms and fresh-cut grass. Like the fresh, clean breeze after a rainstorm. He took a deep breath, his head reeling.

“Where’s your wife?” She breathed into his ear. It took him a moment to remember. Hell, he was having trouble remembering his own name.

“Out of town. Conference.”

“Good.” She flicked her tongue across his earlobe. “Let’s go.” She didn’t have to ask twice. Grabbing her hand, he bolted from his stool, tossed a few bills on the bar, and led her out the door.

She drove—one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on his leg—to his place. He could barely focus well enough on their surroundings to give her directions. Every time he tried to un-fog his mind from his blind lust, to really consider that he was about to cheat on his wife, she seemed to sense it and her hand would inch ever closer to his crotch. When they reached his driveway, he leapt out of the car before she even cut the engine, afraid if he stayed in there any longer he would come in his pants. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys, dropping them on the ground with shaky hands.

“Allow me,” she said, bending down to scoop them up. She stalked ahead of him to the door and he suddenly felt like a puppy, struggling to keep up with his master. She chose the right key without even asking, and smoothly opened the door. As soon as he was inside, she closed the door and pinned him against it with her hands. Slowly, torturously, she brought her body in closer, a predatory smile on her full lips. She pressed her hips against his and crushed his chest with her full breasts. He groaned. His heart raced, his breathing heavy and ragged, as if he’d run at top speed for too long. He closed his eyes, expecting her to kiss him. But she didn’t.

“Good. Breathe out, so I can breathe you in,” she whispered, her face milimeters from his. With just a small movement he could have captured her lips with his but he couldn’t move. Lust pivoted to alarm, as he realized he was paralyzed. His eyes flew open.

Her face was still a hair’s breath from his own, her eyes closed. Every time he exhaled, she inhaled deeply, and he could feel his energy, his vitality, being sucked away. His legs would have collapsed from weakness if he could move them; instead he stayed pinned to the door like an insect to matting paper. His heart began to slow its rhythm. Finally, apparently satiated, she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were icy cold at first, but they warmed against his, and he felt some of his energy returning. He returned her kiss, deepening it, running his tongue along her upper lip. She tasted like cherries.

“Mmm, delicious.” She drew back a bit and opened her eyes. They glowed like a blue-hot flame. She took his hand and pulled him away from the door; he found he could stand on his own again, although he felt dazed, like he had been woken in the middle of a dream. Maybe all this was a dream. He let her lead him through the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom.

“I thought—”

“I was done with you?” She asked, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her shirt. “That was just the appetizer. I’m here for the buffet.”