You stand before me, filling the doorway, drinking in your fill of me as I take in all of you. My heart skips a beat. The pictures you'd sent me don't do you justice. You are dressed all in black. Black polished shoes, black pants, black button-down shirt, black suit jacket. You smirk as my eyes travel the length of your body and I blush at being caught, but I can't help myself. You are here. You are real. And you are smiling at me, oozing confidence and sexuality. The promise in your eyes leaves me feeling breathless and nervous.
I swallow at the unspoken desire that lies between us and step back. Any thoughts of not feeling that connection, that spark, upon meeting in the flesh fled the second I opened the door and your eyes locked with mine. It was all right there, waiting for me, just as you assured me it would be.
"Dinner?" you ask.
Dinner. The word swirls around in my mind. Yes, dinner, of course. That was to be our signal. If I was feeling uncomfortable or needed more time, all I had to do was suggest eating first. But food is the last thing on my mind. I look up at you. You are waiting for my answer. It occurs to me that your stance hasn't changed. Your legs are braced shoulder length apart, your hands at your side. The only indication of your impatience for my answer, my approval, is in your hands. I watch them flex and release, as if you are trying not to reach for me.
I shake my head ever so slightly. "Dinner can wait," I say.