I wish I were more in control of my body when I’m around him. I lose all sense and sensibility. His warm anything coming in contact with my anything is enough to make me choke on the spontaneous moan in my throat.
Can you die from wanting a man?
I’m absolutely certain you’ll hope so.
Trust me on that one.
I shouldn’t have agreed to lunch, but I love this man and would agree to bank robbery under the right set of circumstances. Three cups of coffee was the magic number when his text came rolling in.
His smile registers like dry kindling and a match. The look in his eyes inspires me to return the same non-verbal challenge. I know that he can see exactly how much I want him when he looks at me. I don’t know what it is about him, but he inspires me to be vulnerable and wanton.
So I’m trying. I look away when he looks at me. I scroll through nothing on my phone. I avoid, avoid, avoid.
It doesn’t help in the slightest because he’s there, smiling at me… looking like the masculine equivalent of winning the damn lottery.
Sigh. I should not see him.
I see a spark in his eyes as he pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. It’s a menu.
Fuck.
The twinkle in his naughty eyes says he knows exactly what he’s doing. He starts reading it to me and I start to beg, instantly.
J- Stop. Please. Don’t. You’re killing me.
I- Mmm, this sounds good. Listen. Oh and what are capers?
I’m choking on words and closing my eyes to breathe through the goosebumps racing across my arms. Trying my best to avoid involuntarily moaning out loud. My panties are wet and I’m holding onto the table and begging him with tortured eyes while biting lips that are craving him as much as every other inch of me. He’s read about my food fetish and knows his kitchen skills are a serious weakness of mine. He knows I want to see if he can cook my steak correctly just as badly as I want him naked… and that’s saying something, because I’d give a kidney for the latter.
He runs away with my heart, grinning at me the whole time. I can’t help but smile because that grin yanks the common sense right out of me.
I read back today to the beginning of my bad choices, and nothing has changed.
That’s depressing as hell. I still want the one man in the room who looks the other way. I still love the man who doesn’t. All I can think is that it’s some sort of elaborate plan to defend my independence. Some part of me must want to suffer… or sleep like a starfish in my king sized princess bed for the rest of time.
I just know that I don’t want less than he is or inspires, so perhaps that’s the silver lining of this suffering?
