I see you.
You walk in the door like you own the place. Once you catch my eye I can’t seem to look away.
I take a small sip of my coffee, playing with the teaspoon, and it clatters against the wooden table top startling me. I drop my eyes. They rest on the sparkling bracelet on my wrist; its cold brilliance startlingly garish in that moment.
You sit down opposite me, by the cafe window. Three tables separate us but I can feel you – feel your confidence radiating towards me. I want to absorb it and know what it’s like to be so sure, just for one fleeting moment.
At first your face feels obscured by its full beard. Then I look closer and I see how it frames your full, sensuous lips. It is neatly shaped, leaving your cheekbones clear revealing smooth, tanned skin. The beard is the same colour as your thick brown hair, which is shorter at the sides. The longer top swept back from your stunning face.
My fingers tingle, it looks so soft, would feel so good.
My body feels hotter now, my skin sensitive as I run my fingers under the collar of my silk blouse. I know my nipples have hardened. They want to know what that beard would feel like brushing against them; those soft lips sucking and nibbling at them. My clothes feel confining against my needy body.
Your brown leather jacket is old and worn but it looks beautifully soft and supple, moulding to your wide shoulders. You shrug out of it and I catch my breath. Your white t-shirt reveals the tattoos on your arms. They run from your wrist right up your arm and under the t-shirt. I see the colours, greens, red and yellows; the black outlines of shapes. But I can’t make out what they are, I’m too far away.
I want to get closer. I want to run my fingers over the patterns and shapes. I want to feel your heat, the strength underneath that colourful skin.
I want to lick your tattoos.
Oh god, I want that so badly.
I want to trace every line, every curve and mark with my tongue.
You raise the cup to your lips and swallow. Your bicep flexes and I ache between my legs. It is sweet, sweet torment. I shift in my chair, craving some friction. My eyes follow your colourful arm as it slowly lowers the cup back down to the table.
I am drawn to your face again, your lips and the thought of how they would feel on mine; but I realise too late that you have gone very still.
You have caught me.
I meet your intent stare and immediately feel heat invade my cheeks.
Your piercing eyes roam over my face, missing nothing but releasing me from their uncomfortable hold. They slowly move down my body, brushing over my breasts and the evidence of my arousal. They rest on my wrist, you take in my clothes, my up swept hair, the diamond studs in my ears.
I can’t breath. My breasts feel heavy, achy and ready. So ready to be touched.
I wait for the scorn on your face.
I can’t look. My eyes drop to the floor. I breath through my anxiety, remembering those little steps that I need to take to get myself under control again. I need to leave, but first I must regain my equilibrium.
I am staring so hard at a mark on the floor it doesn’t immediately register that a pair of black boots have come to a stop by my chair.
My hands grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white and distressed. I slowly raise my eyes from the boots, up the long, dark blue, jean clad legs, to the white t-shirt tight across your chest; your beautiful arms lead me up to that sexy bearded face and the glittering dark brown eyes staring down at me.
I feel trapped in your gaze. You lean forward, slowly, putting your arms on either side of me. Your forearm brushes against my breast as you move to place it next to me. You have branded me, heat and an almost painful pleasure suffuse my breast.
I wait, breathless.
Your head moves towards me until your mouth rests by my ear.
“Let me show you…”
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