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I lean in a little closer with my forearm resting on the counter, I’m a fairly tall guy, I’m so close she’s backed against the shelves behind her. I want to speak quietly so only she can hear me, and close enough to get a whiff of her scent. And it’s fucking incredible. She smells like wildflowers, clean, and untamed, but feminine with a hint of sweetness. It makes my mouth water.
“Don’t worry, Summer, I’ll show you how. Every spot, every empty space, every inch of flesh, will be a canvas. It’ll be a masterpiece. I promise.”
Her nostrils flare with the image of our naked bodies covered in our art, pounding against each other. My cock stirs with it. She pulls that pouty full fucking lip of hers between her teeth again. Another quickening pulse erupts through my veins.
She likes the idea.
“You’re insane,” her voice is a little breathy for her words to be believable.
“Maybe,” I smirk. “But you like it. You want to.”
“No I don’t,” she whispers, but she’s lying, it’s written all over her face, in the flush of desire in her cheeks, in the glaze in her eyes, with the catch of her breath. “I already told you don’t flatter yourself.”
She closes her mouth and her eyes flinch as she battles to keep them fixed on mine, fighting to keep them from traveling over my body, her canvas. Hers, every fucking inch of me.
I stand again and flash her a smirk. She knows I know she’s lying.
“I’m just teasing you, Summer. What kind of a guy would I be if I told you I wanted to paint your naked body the first time we met? Would that be inappropriate? Vulgar? Taboo? Would that make me a dick too like pussy boy? Would that make me a bad man, Summer?”
She sucks in a breath faster than she could stop herself from reacting.
Gotcha, Tinkerbell.
There’s that flash of vulnerability again, weighing everything I’ve just said. She doesn’t think I’m bad. No, she thinks I’m honest. She likes it. And it scares her.
“No…yes….Oh, for Christ’s sake, just drop it.” She closes her eyes tightly in frustration.
She didn’t tell me to stop. She doesn’t want me to.
When she opens them, I let mine skim over her face, down to her lips and imagine stroking them with my tongue, to the flesh peeking out of her neckline and her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts pushing the apron out, and then back up to her eyes.
If she didn’t have that apron on, I bet I could see her nipples nice and hard through that flimsy little peasant blouse she’s wearing. My dick knows it too. Now I think she knows my dick knows because her eyes move down my body and straight to my crotch. My shaft’s straining against my pants, hard, tall, and proud.
A soft little, “Oh,” slips past her lips. Her eyes jump right back up to mine, wide as saucers, and she’s beet red again, her face, neck, and chest covered in that delicious blush. “Um, what would you like?” Immediately her eyes slam shut as she retreats behind the safety of her job.
“Coffees. Four. Black.”
I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. But they did when they flew back open. Just from the sound of my voice. It’s rough and I know it. And it tells her exactly what I want, her naked, letting me do whatever I want with her body. Without another word, she quickly turns, probably grateful for the excuse to escape me. I almost laugh. Then sweet little Summer is plopping a cardboard tray holding four take-out coffees in front of me on the counter.
Looking anywhere but at my face, she politely asks with a nervous tremor, “Cream? Sugar?”
“I said black,” there’s a hint of humor in my reply.
She’s flustered, nervous, and I hope she’s wet. I want her wet all day thinking about me.
“Um, yeah, that’s right. Five thirty, please.”
I slide a twenty across the counter.
“See you tomorrow, Summer.” My promise is quiet but I have no doubt it’s echoing inside her.
She doesn’t say anything, just blinks.
I pick up the tray and leave before she can give me the change.
She’s definitely not our type. But it’s going to be fun playing in Summer’s heat.
