Her eyes bounce back and forth between the drinks I’d set in front of her, and I'm curious to see which one she'll pick. Her hands go to the raspberry iced tea, and she pulls it to herself carefully. “Thank you,” she says in a normal voice, her eyes on me as she wraps her manicured fingers around the cup.
She's endearingly polite.
I watch greedily, as she holds the cup to her plump lips, swallowing a small sip; the tip of her tongue lashes out to lick a drop of tea off her lip, causing my heart to race.
The simple action sets me on fire.
As if my body is not my own anymore, my eyes flicker to that small dot of syrup on her collarbone, and my cock tightens again, making me feel feral.
Her gaze drifts pointedly to the treats, and I clear my throat to respond to her question, though it does absolutely nothing to help. “Hmm-hm. I do expect you to eat it,actually,” I say rather harshly.
I can’t help it. I'm trying everything in my power to get my erection to go away, and so that means other things get put by the wayside. Such as the tone of my voice, dour and clipped,because I'm working overtime censoring how badly I want this woman.
Sarah’s lips part in surprise, and we both watch as she slowly reaches forward and places her fingers against the napkin that holds one of the scones, and pulls it towards her slowly before she picks it up and bites into it. A shower of crumbs rains down, falling on her cleavage and sticking to her mouth. I suck in a sharp breath, and my fingers clench on the table.
My efforts were in vain.Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
My chest expands as my cock unfortunately forms its own painful heartbeat.
Turning my face to the side, I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose. Wishing I knew EMDR, or some other technique, to help me in these times that she is absolutely wrecking my mind for absolutely no reason. It’s astonishing because I just met her, but the intensity of my attraction to her is damn near suffocating.
My mind fights with my body over what is right, reminding me that I am just a man: weak, flawed.
Once I manage to get somewhat of a grip on my emotions, I rise, grab a napkin, and come to stand in front of her. Aware that I'm being incredibly inappropriate, I brush the crumbs off her chest lightly before leaning down to her ear and ignore her eyes widening. It's interesting, her reaction. She doesn't lean back, or act like she's afraid; no, she leans further into me.
Her scent makes me drunk, I swear.
“I’m going to take a walk, and be back in about ten minutes, so eat your scone, please. I’ve asked you rather nicely. Can you indulge me?” I ask quietly.
And because I truly can’t help it, and I'm a fucked-up person who probably needs my own psychiatrist at this point, my head dips down, and my tongue laps at that drop of dried syrup on her skin. Once. Twice. Slowly dragging my tongue along her skin,tasting her unique scent. And I cannot help but let out a small groan.
If I was drunk before, then right now I am having a straight, raw, unfiltered hit. Guaranteed. Because this woman is adrug.
Her mouth falls open, and her breath hitches as my tongue caresses her yet again, letting me know I'm not in this attraction alone. I straighten, catching her eye briefly before walking away without a word. Thinking she can sue me for sexual harassment for all I care at this point. It was worth it.
Outside the coffee shop I sit on a bench and slide on a pair of sunglasses to block out the harsh sun. Relishing the taste of her on my tongue, I take out my phone and check my notifications, seeing I've already received an email from Shelly.
Dr. Richardson,
As long as her payment is processed, the apartment is hers. The furniture package is attached to this email, along with a way to pay. The apartment will come furnished with everything you saw in it today, as well as the dishes in the kitchen. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. Ms. Johnson can move in by Tuesday when the payment is processed.
Best,
Ms. Shelly Tremaine
I smile as I pull up the attachment and do the online payment process for the furniture. It doesn’t take long.
Pulling my messages up, I ignore a message from Hannah asking for money, and then find Johnathan’s text thread.
AR: Hey man, how’s it going? Was wondering if we could meet around noon on Monday? Youfree? I just licked a woman who I just formally met yesterday, and I feel like I need to talk to someone about how fucked-up my brain has become.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and stand just as Sarah comes out of the building, slipping on a pair of sunglasses to no doubt hide her eyes from me. She raises a hand and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, taking her time caressing the ends. A harsh grip of jealousy tightens my jaw so hard a flash of pain works its way across my temple, and it's all I can do to look and sound normal.
By the way, being jealous of a woman because she touches her own hair isnotnormal.
“You good?” I ask, walking to her and placing my hand on her back, over her hair once again because I just can't help myself.
"Yes, I'm good," she answers softly, tilting her head to look up at me. "Thank you for asking."
