Copyright 2008 Lyrical Press, Inc.
The People You Know, the Sex They Have
Aubrey Leatherwood
Hall Monitor:
"You're Eric," she said in a flat, direct tone.
For a moment he was weightless. His limbs were wobbly and there was nothing to hold on to. "Yes."
"Eric the Security Captain," she said.
"Yes," he answered again.
"I saw you the other night," she stated and began to rise with the grace and fantasy of a mermaid emerging from the sea. A single finger looped in the handle to drag the cup with her. "You were in the parking garage when I went to my car. You're always in the parking garage when I go to my car." As she spoke in her low smoky tone, she neared Eric stealthily. A purely female glide.
"M-m-maybe," Eric stammered wishing she were like other women, yet finding comfort in the fact that she was not.
"I did see you. You're the one." She stood in front of him. They were eye to eye. Her nose, straight, patrician, was two inches from his own. "You've watched me." Her expression was blank, her eyes only pensive. "Why?"
"I haven't," Eric returned automatically.
"Of course not," she conceded agreeably. Then she simply glanced downward. Eric followed her gaze. His erection was almost full-blown and straining towards her. The scent of her, an amazing combination of flowers, finesse, and sex, slipped into his nostrils and into his lungs. He was drowning.
Then, she dropped the coffee cup on the floor. She looked down at it. Long, black lashes slipped over hypnotic eyes.
She crouched in front of him and slipped her fingers through the cup handle. She didn't rise immediately. No, she let her hot gaze whisper over the rise in the front of his pants. Eric's pulse sped to a dangerous pace.
Gayle pitched forward as she rose. Her cheek brushed his full erection as she stood. Her lashes hung low over her eyes as she stated, "Watch me tonight."
The Kiln:
"I hate being hot." Tammy complained while leaning against a wall one night. She reached down into one over-the-elbow glove to roll up her shirtsleeve, and then did the same with the other. Below the dirty white, she exposed the most delicious, chocolate skin. Lucious studied, her long, delicate neck, and her pointed chin. These slivers of glistening flesh looked like melting chocolate as she sighed and went back to work.
Lucious told himself to man up. He went back to his task but said to her, "Then why do you work in a hot ass brick oven? Everybody knows you don't have to. Sit back and let your Daddy's money do the work."
Her mouth, a small, perfect heart with puffy lips, tilted up at one end as she continued to work. "I can't stand being hot," she repeated.
Something about that smile. Yep, there was something about that smile.
The power of his attraction surprised him. Oh, she looked good enough. Her body was banging. No doubt about that. He'd seen her leave work enough times after she'd showered in the locker room and changed into street clothes to tell him that. She almost always changed into jeans and a snug tank top. White or black. She wore heels. She had sexy bowed hips, a plump ass, narrow waist, soft, sexy breasts, and perfect skin so damn dark and shiny that he had a cock stand every time he thought about it. She had silky black hair that fell just below her shoulders and framed the face that caused all the trouble.
Her face was heart-shaped and sweet with large black eyes. She had that small mouth with impossibly lush lips. The tip of her nose deserved a kiss for a greeting. Hell yeah, Loosh was attracted.
Sahara's on a Plane to Munich:
Her best friend, Vanity, lived one block down from the International Rotary House where another party was raging. Before she could pass it, Sahara heard her name being called.
She turned and recognized two people from her econometrics class. They waved their arms welcoming her, and she went up to the ante-bellum building where a bunch of folks stood around on the porch with plastic cups and lazy grins. Sahara found herself laughing and chatting comfortably with her classmates. She spoke French with a newly arrived exchange student she met in passing three years earlier in Nice. Then, she heard a beautifully accented male voice telling a joke about American beer and how it was like sex in a canoe. She turned to watch Ingo finish the joke (it was like fucking close to water). She tried not to be amused.
When he saw her, Ingo excused himself and made a beeline to her. He kissed her cheeks and rubbed her exposed arms with his large warm hands. He kissed her cheeks again and told her that she looked pretty. His eyes, though, taking their time over her longs legs, hips, and uncharacteristic display of breasts told another story. He had never looked at her like that before, or at least she didn't think so. But, damn, she did have to think about it then. He did always find a way to sit near her in class. He did call her from time to time to ask for help when he absolutely didn't need it. (Sahara had figured he was just a little obsessive about his grades… but maybe not?).
Although he continued to disparage Americans and to charm everyone they talked to, Ingo kept a hand at Sahara's back or on her arm for the next hour. When she shifted in her shoes, he smoothly led her over to a sofa where they sat and he draped an arm over her shoulder. He was wearing a dark gray t-shirt with faded black and yellow gothic lettering one shoulder, some jeans, nice black shoes, and an expensive pair of sunglasses perched on his head. It was past midnight and he had shades on his head, Sahara made as many witty references to that silliness as she could think of. Ingo didn't snap back, he just laughed and stubbornly adjusted them on his head. And, at one point in the evening when she was laughing really hard, he leaned over and gave her a peck on the corner of her mouth.
Around one, the Rotary House party started to disperse and Sahara found herself standing on the lawn in the shelter of Ingo's arms as people departed. Right there, on the lawn, he was holding her and they were waving goodbye to friends. Sahara wanted to spend time being shocked by this previously unexplored PDA and study the situation, but found she couldn't concentrate on anything but the perfect body pressed against hers.
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