He was taking his clothes off. His shirt first, exposing a tapestry of tattoos, muscles and brawn. The mattress squeaked when he sat down and slipped off his socks. Now in only his black briefs, he fiddled with an old alarm clock until he found a radio station he wanted. Exile’s, ‘Kiss You All Over’ was playing.
Reality struck her. Grabbed her throat and squeezed. A mixture of fear and excitement revved within her as though someone was turning her handles, part of a motorcycle bike on fire with desire. By choice, it had been over a year since she’d slept with a man. She buried herself in work and wanted time to herself. No distractions from men… but then, that changed. She wanted more.
He started to rummage through a nightstand drawer, not once asking her why she was still standing there like some mannequin. That made it all the more interesting, alluring, and a bit troubling, too. He seemed to not be the least bit worried, nor felt the need to rush her along. He knew instinctively how to handle her—no pressure… It always felt as if he were one step ahead of her, while pretending to be two steps back.