You watched her with eyebrow raised. Coffee cup in your sun-kissed hands, your face a study in rugged beauty.

I know that she was arrested by your sinful lips. I am arrested by your sinful lips. You had not shaved that day. You’ve always had a look that spoke of elegance and utter control.

The wicked wind blew her scent to our table and you passed a hand through your hair as she approached; pushing its length away from your face, your tongue slipped out and you wet your lips. Hungry. That was your signal. You were hungry.

I had never seen breasts that ample so utterly free in a blouse that sheer. She was fearless.

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