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She’s so sweetly perfect that I just stand there and observe her now that she’s let her guard down for a moment. Her jaw isn’t tilted at a haughty angle. She’s not set on chewing me out, her eyes blazing with practiced indignation. Not that those pale blues of hers could ever be anything less than glorious, glittering with life and fire and sass. Her face, while mostly covered with a mask, is no doubt an angelic work of art. Her black gown cups her tall, curvy body, pushing up the perfect, creamy globes of her breasts, but tastefully. She has a black choker on, a scrap of velvet with a tiny blue stone that matches the sapphire earrings hanging from her dainty earlobes. They look antique, set in white gold or some kind of silver. The gown hugs a narrow waist, full hips, and doesn’t reveal a bit of her long legs, but I know they’re there. She’s wearing black heels, the toe of which just peek out from under her gown, but when she was walking away from me, she’d held up the hem of her dress, and I’d caught sight of the towering heels. The fact she can even walk in those, let alone angry power walk, is in itself a daring feat of athleticism.
That set of burnished blue eyes pop open and oh shit of all shits, I’ve been standing here watching her, ogling her like an impolite peeper of all peeping Tom’s, when I should have been kissing her. And now those eyes are scorching, burning like twin hell fires and her lips are pulled into a tight, angry pucker, pursed to give me a dressing down, I have no doubt.
We’re not more than a foot apart and when I move, she’s too angry and shocked to shove me back. One hand does end up on my chest, but I reach for her shoulder and gently guide her in the rest of the way. Her face tilts up in question, her chin tipping, her eyes still scorching, but also searching, and when I go for it, she tilts her face the wrong way and of course our noses nearly mash together. We fall lips first into each other. There’s a slight knock of teeth and a sigh and a puff of air.
“Argh,” she hisses. “You oaf, you’re going to knock my teeth out.”
“Sorry. Let me try again.”
I angle my face correctly this time, and so does she, and this time, her hand relaxes against my chest, and the other sweeps up to my shoulder, and our mouths collide in a good way. My teeth don’t knock her teeth. My tongue strokes her bottom lip, tasting her, feasting at her mouth, savoring her until she whimpers and her lips part. I planned for a certain amount of restraint and control, but I’m not sure where either have gone, because suddenly her hands are roaming over my chest and her hips are swaying into mine, which causes a chain reaction south of the border- mostly a hardening in my groin region and a definitive bulge in my suit pants.
Her honey gold hair is done up in a neat roll at the back of her head, and I’m pretty sure the night is done for her, so I’m not afraid to dig my fingers into the strands just for the pleasure of feeling that ripened wheat beneath my gardener’s hands. Yeah. These hands have been used for growing things, and just because I meticulously scrubbed the dirt out from under my nails and along the creases of my palms doesn’t mean I could scrub away the callouses which I’m proud are there. I might work half time in an office and have a lot of workers as well, but I also do like doing a lot of hands-on work in my greenhouses.
That’s right. This woman, my very own Jane, has no idea that she’s kissing a man who is a plant nerd. I wonder if she’d find it a turn off if she knew more of the personal details.
I stop thinking about plants when her tongue collides with mine and continues on in hot strokes that send waves of lust ripping through me. My hand clenches her hip through the dress, and she arches into me, her sweet silk clad warmth rocking against my dick until I see stars. We’re right here on the curb, and I’m basically full on gone and I know that I need to dial back big time.
I think she comes to the same conclusion because she breaks away, panting, her pupils huge. Staring at her plump, kiss plundered lips, I want more. I want her with every ounce of my being, and I know that a single night isn’t going to be enough.
When I can finally speak, I clear my throat and my voice still comes out all thick and hazy. I stumble back a step and my Jane- no, not my, just Jane- raises a hand to her throat, but then drops it. She clenches both tightly at her sides and tries to act like she’s already regained a normal cadence of breathing, but I can still see her shoulders rising and falling rapidly.
