"Where IS Maree?" She shuffled impatiently in her seat. It was so typical of her girlfriend to forget to meet her at their coffee shop that afternoon. She looked around at the full-house; animated couples and comrades chatting about the coming weekend, suit-clad brokers holding meetings and scribbling on paper napkins, a gaggle of high-school girls playing "he said, she said."
Five more minutes and that's it. Damn it was hot. Where was she? She took a sip from her OJ. She was about to bend over and pick up her bag when a figure filled the doorway to the coffee shop. The sun was behind him and the glare left details fuzzy, but his silhouette was complete in itself to command attention. He moved in and was clearly looking about for someone. "Oh well, I can dream, cant I?" she quietly muttered under her breath. Still, he had a presence about him that demanded she continue her appraisal.
As he walked, nay – glided, about the entrance, she could see he was well tailored, designer jeans not ostentatious, classy, white polo, and, yes, his shoulders filled it well – this guy works out. Trying not to look too obvious, she looked about her, fidgeting with her bag trying to look busy. It dawned on her that every female and schoolgirl in the shop was openly gazing at him, some stroking their hair in obvious approval. He seemed aware, but in a way that suggested he was comfortable with himself in that situation without appearing arrogant.
He was tall-ish, six feet and a bit, neat, medium length dark hair with a slight wave, swept back and glossy. His face showed him to be in his early thirties, with a clear complexion that gave signs of outdoor sporting activity and remnants of what looked like a penchant to grin boyishly. Dark brown eyes, deep and intelligent, not puppy-dog at all. Handsome? Yes, but in a strong sense rather than some cutesy model-boy look. He exuded depth and well, when he turned away momentarily and she glimpsed his strong legs and tight butt, whew, it was REALLY hot in here....wasn't it?
Ever had days when you are as ripe to pick as a golden peach? The day destiny looks over, spots you and says, "Come hither, I have plans for you...?" Our male focus finally looked about and shrugged nonchalantly. He turns and walked towards her. She swallowed. He leaned over to her and in a smooth tone, asked "Excuse me, I'm supposed to meet a friend here, she hasn't arrived. Is that seat next to you taken? Do you mind if I sit there while I wait?"
She wanted to say, "Stay here for the rest of my life, honey." She wanted to say "Forget your friend, she doesn't deserve you, take me instead." Oh God, was she actually not going to say ANYTHING? She mustered some dignity. "Seems we're in the same boat. You're very welcome to wait here – I'm, Angela." And assertively held out her hand. Their eyes met and electricity flew as their hands clasped lightly and – almost – lingeringly. A smile creased his face – there was that grin hinted earlier – what a knockout. Why didn't they turn up the air -conditioning?
"I'm Aaron, thanks for the seat." He said sitting just close enough to her in the booth table so that they were next to each other. Doing what strangers do, they made small talk. They talked about the weather (he felt the heat today for some strange reason,) they talked about café society culture; they commented on the different types of people about the store and got deeper and deeper into conversation. On occasion their eyes would linger, locking, and longingly, there was that spark again, and both would shyly distract themselves into further conversation. They had plenty in common. He was a yachtsman by leisure and an Internet consultant by trade – she loved the idea of the yacht. He enjoyed drama, theatre and dance. She was a dancer and rising actress bordering on several stage opportunities – she made a decent living and it was her passion.
The schoolgirls caught her eye; they were giggling and making eyes at him. He politely ignored them as he listened to her speak about her recent role in an Ibsen play. She felt almost possessive. Girls, you're out of your league – he's with me. A trickle of succulent sweat escaped from her tied back long hair and ran down her back – but it felt sensuous and welcome. Her body was warm, relaxed, supple and strong – no stranger to working out. It reminded her that she too was attractive, that he might find her – attractive? She was more than that by now, the heat, the compatibility, this gorgeous male, her juices were positively simmering.
In their animated conversation, their hands brushed, sparks flew, fingers touched, and somehow stayed together. He looked at her, their eyes both revealing their yearning. "I don't know what happened to my friend...." And his voice trailed away as if to say "And I don't really care anymore." She moved next to him, her mouth aching for him. Their legs touching, her hand holding his where their legs touched. She wanted him, now, over and over. His face said it all too. So much heat! She wanted to explode.
He read her need well and took a risk. Slowly unclasping his hand from hers, he let it drift down, slowly to the hem of her short skirt and lightly, like silk, touched her, ever so slightly on the inside of her thigh just above her knee. She could not take her eyes off him, her cheeks slightly flushed. As if of their own volition, her legs slowly parted to give him permission. Angela could feel his breathing, earnest, anxious, excited but controlled near her and she felt sure hers was the same – but breathless as well. He swallowed silently and gently started to stroke upwards along the inside of her thigh. Her toned dancer's muscles felt like they were smooth silk on fire to him, as his hand and fingers lightly found their way slowly and tantalisingly further up her.
Angela felt her body respond. She felt and saw her shapely breasts and nipples hardening under her light summer blouse – she felt delicious, edible. The waiter walked past with a knowing smile – he knew something was afoot even if nobody could see it. They both made a futile attempt to sound like making small talk, but it was not convincing – in anyone's book. Still, the rest of the café seemed oblivious to the building passion.
His fingers finally rose to softly touch her cotton pants. Even with this tantalising touch, he could feel the moisture, how wet her lips were becoming. He ever so gently stroked along their length, savouring the sensation and Angela's radiating heat. Her hips rocked backwards, her legs as discreetly open as he could muster without giving the game away, she gave him a look of raw, aching desire. A lot less subtly, her hand moved across to his groin. No mistaking how hard he was. His eyes widened and lips parted and he settled to the sensation of her hand gently squeezing his rock-hard penis inside his jeans. Aaron gently slipped one finger under the side of her pants and then another, slowly sliding Angela's pants aside and rythmically stroking along her soaking lips, every so often entering her wet heavenly pussy. He felt her clitoris, hard, and gently teased it before recommencing his stroking.
Angela gasped audibly. It was too much. She was not going to be able to control herself any further. She moved his hand back, settled momentarily, grabbed her bag and his hand and threw a note on the table, taking him with her. The girls "ooohed" as they went past. She needed to have him now.
