“I would love to,” Josh said, and the same grin was on his face again, the same deep dimples were on his cheeks. Lorna smiled back at him and before she knew what he was doing he had leaned over the counter and grabbed her hands.
“But first there’s something else I want to show you,” he said and pulled her out from behind the counter. Josh was walking fast down the aisles of the library, while Lorna was trying to keep up with him, her right hand was still in his.
She realized that he had brought them to a halt right where the ‘D’ names began in the Fiction section. She didn’t want to believe that he actually remembered where they had their first conversation.
“What is it that you want to show me here?” Lorna was out of breath now slightly, but she still had a smile on her face. She couldn’t believe that all of this was even happening.
Josh didn’t say anything but pushed her gently against the books on the shelves and Lorna felt a cold metallic surface on her back. She barely had time to smile at him and he had lowered his head and was kissing her. This time his kiss wasn’t as gentle, it was strong and urgent and she could taste the coffee on his breath. His hands were tracing the curves of her body and one of his hands was slowly edging its way up her cotton t-shirt. Lorna tore herself away from Josh and giggled.
“You’re crazy,” she said and covered his restless hand with her own.
“Those lips Lorna. Those lips are driving me crazy,” he said and almost sounded drunk. Lorna giggled again and softly kissed the dimple on his left cheek. She had to stand on her toes for a few seconds to reach him and he had immediately turned his head to kiss her again.
They broke away after a few minutes when one of the books fell off the shelf that Lorna was pressed against.
“Oh my goodness,” she said as she bent down to pick it up. She could feel that her face was flushed and her clothes were in disarray.
Josh was biting his lips when she looked up at him and he was smiling at her.
“When do you finish your shift?” he asked, still staring at her.
“Another four hours,” Lorna said and pouted her lips out. Josh started walking backwards till he reached the empty table between the aisles.
“I’ll wait here,” he said and pulled out a chair to sit on.
Mr. Tabor The Doctor
The café was my sanctuary. It had been ever since I realized that majoring in philosophy wasn’t going to be quite the picnic I’d imagined it would be. I’d always loved reading ancient philosophy texts and, somewhere along the way, I’d gotten it into my head that majoring in a field that pretty much contradicted itself would be amusing.
Fast forward to my junior year, and I was regretting my sense of youthful humor. My workload was piling up, and the best part of my day was making it to the café down the way from my apartment and settling down with a cappuccino. Most of the time, I was too busy doing homework to be able to really unwind, but every once in a while, I found myself reading a book of my own choosing, settled into a booth in the back corner.
My little slice of heaven.
I’d discovered the café completely by accident. In my freshman year, I was caught in a downpour without an umbrella and looked for literally anywhere that I could step inside for a moment, gather my senses and dry off.
It was a cozy little piece of serenity – filled with plush little armchairs, intimate tables, and an impressive drink menu. You could get your coffee with or without booze, and there were some snacks for students up til the break of dawn trying to get last minute papers in.
From the very first moment I set foot in the place, I was in love. They made my cappuccino just the way I liked it and even had live jazz [bc1]bands on Fridays. While most college kids preferred to run amok and drink themselves into insensibility after class, I preferred the quiet calm of my oasis.
As much as the scenery appealed to me, however, it wasn’t the only reason I was enamored of the café.
And right on time, he arrived.
It was five minutes past five when he strode in, and, immediately, I glanced over toward the doorway. At the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered figure striding up to the counter, my toes curled and my nipples hardened against the lacy material of my bra.
I had no business crushing on a man who was obviously so much older than me, but how was I supposed to help it? He was a breath of divine fresh air when I was drowning in idiotic fraternity boys who were convinced they could shove their dick into me and I’d see God.
This man … well … he[bc2] was what I dreamed about when I was alone in my bed at night, wondering if there was really such a thing as good sex.
He came in every day, Monday through Friday, and always ordered the same thing – black coffee with two shots of espresso. Even the man’s coffee order all but screamed masculinity – which I found ironic because it was not as if he needed any extra help.
He was well over six feet tall, with a form that tapered down from broad shoulders to slender waist and impossibly long legs. He usually wore plain button up shirts with slacks, and if I was lucky, I got to see him in a tie.
I guessed he was the professional type – a programmer or maybe a lawyer. Whatever he was, however, I found myself jealous of whatever women he worked with.
He was gorgeous – and I didn’t give a damn that he had to have at least fifteen years on my tender twenty-one. His jaw was straight, chin strong and clean shaven, and he was proud owner of a mouth so full it was almost criminal, usually set into a tired, thin line when he stepped into the café.
At the greeting from the barista, however, he always perked, stormy blue eyes taking on an amused gleam as the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed. His deep mahogany hair curled down and about his collar, barely touched by the slightest hint of gray, and he always wore a set of posh, dark-framed glasses.
He was most certainly an intellectual – though, in what field, I could only guess. I watched the way he moved discreetly, took in the dexterous gestures of his hands and licked my lips, hoping I wasn’t terribly obvious.
I mean, I couldn’t have been too bad. I’d been watching the man for close to two years and he hadn’t noticed yet.
The barista called him ‘Brendan’, and that was about the extent of the concrete information I had on him. That, and the fact that he probably had a slight caffeine problem. He took his coffee, dropping a few dollars in the tip jar on his way past the bar, and settled at his usual table near the front window.
From that vantage point, I knew, he would watch the people outside pass by for the better part of an hour, nursing his caffeine slowly … and I would drool.
I was fairly certain there was something wrong with me. On the few occasions that I’d come to the café with my friends and pointed him out, they looked at me like I was crazy. They made all the observations that I myself had, though pointing them out as negatives rather than positives.
He’s got to be twice your age. He’s going gray! Aren’t there any guys in your classes you’re interested in?
There weren’t – and hadn’t been for a long time.
Of course, as a freshman at the university, I’d come to college full of vim and vigor, determined to make the best of my experience. One goal that I had yet to reach – much to the chagrin of my friends – was losing my virginity. It wasn’t because I’d never had the opportunity, but simply because I’d been too absorbed in academics to really pay men any attention.
Coming from a rough neighborhood in the Bronx, I always knew that my prime goal was to escape, and so, getting accepted at a university[bc3] in Washington state, as far away as I could get, was a godsend. It was quieter in Seattle, of course, but I didn’t have to deal with every man of color on the block shouting obscenities every time I passed by.
No matter what I did in the city, there was always someone who was all too ready to talk about my ass and the things they wanted to do with it.
Was it too much to ask to be approached like a human being? It wasn’t lik
e I wasn’t interested in sex, but, let’s face it, what woman responded to crass comments from halfway down the street?
I always wanted more from life. The idea of never being able to leave the Bronx terrified me; but I had to admit, being one of the only black women in most of my classes was a pretty interesting experience itself. For the first time, I got hit on by nearly as many white guys as black guys and, silly me, I folded to the first one to sing my praises without using obscenities.
To say the least, the experience was less than stellar. All that build up, all those years of torturing myself with smutty novels and online erotica, to be disappointed by Mister Wham-bam-thank you ma’am. I didn’t see him again and spent the rest of my freshman year desperately trying to prove to myself that the relationship hadn’t been a fluke.
Of course, my rampant appetite had tapered off somewhat since then. After enough underwhelming nights in, I put most of my focus back into academics and went back to my fantasy world. At least in my head, women had explosive orgasms and the men gave a damn about their pleasure. The guys I hung around were more concerned with getting their dick wet than anything else, and I’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much.
My friends, however, weren’t keen on my ogling the delicious Caucasian intellectual in the café window.
They were trying to be encouraging, I know, telling me I was far too pretty to settle – how many boys lusted after me and were even interested in committed relationships. I had no qualms with my looks. I’d been lucky enough to hit the genetic jackpot with my mother’s slammin’ curves and my father’s unique bone structure. I was tall when compared to the average woman, coming in at just about five nine, and obsessive about my hair, which was the only reason the crazed, tiny ringlets fell halfway down my back.
I’d heard men call my mouth “perfect for dick” before, and tried to take it as a compliment. Easier said than done. Instead, I tried to concentrate on the deep color and almost exotic slant of my eyes, which had brought more than a few men to their knees.
For the moment, however, I wasn’t at my best. I wore my every day uniform of jeans and a top with flats, my hair pulled into a braid that hung over my shoulder. I was glad it was out of the way – leaving my view of my obsession unfettered as I sipped my cappuccino.
What, I wondered, was mister tall, white-chocolate and handsome looking for as he stared out of the window? Was he married? Did he have kids? My nosy ass had never seen a ring, but in this day and age, that meant relatively little. Did he live close by, or was he on his way home from work?
His schedule was almost the same as mine, so I found myself wondering if, maybe, he worked for the university. If that was the case, I’d never seen him so he couldn’t be a professor.
The possibilities were endless … and those were just the ones outside of the bedroom.
It had been, what … almost a year since I’d convinced myself that my fingers and toys were far better company than any guy I might find? I had to admit that by this point, it was probably my own fault that my fantasy ran wild.
Even so, I didn’t try to stop myself from running one of my favorite scenarios:
One day, he’d notice me. Maybe he’d catch me staring or his eyes would naturally drift to me as he ordered his coffee. He’d make his way over to my table and ask to join me. Flustered, I would immediately agree, but instead of sitting across from me, he’d slide into the booth beside me until our thighs were all but touching.
“I’m Brendan.”
I’d see those eyes of his up close for the first time, and find, to my surprise, that they were gleaming with hunger as they looked me over.
“Raven.” But instead of shaking my hand, he’d lay one of his atop my thigh firmly, making me shiver with anticipation.
“I couldn’t help noticing you sitting here all alone, Raven. You look good enough to eat.”
My eyes would widen in surprise as heat shot to pool between my legs.
“You really think so?”
His smile would be wicked - just as arousing as the deep baritone of his voice. “I know so. I can think of nothing more I’d like to do than taste you?”
“Kiss me?” I was far beyond coy, but for the sake of the fantasy, I was the most innocent thing on the planet.
“For starters. Your lips, your neck, your stomach … all the way down to that perfect pink pussy.” The words alone would make me moan as I all but climbed the man like a goddamn tree. “Would you let me lick your pussy, Raven? Until you gush against my mouth?”
*****
“Raven?”
I was jerked from my reverie, cursing lowly as I looked up to see my friend Isabelle standing over me. The blonde girl’s expression was concerned as her green eyes moved over me. “Are you OK? You looked a little spaced out.” She was clutching a coffee I was willing to bet would be her usual – a caramel macchiato – and I forced myself back to the present.
“I’m fine, sorry. Were you standing there long?”
“Long enough to worry.” She smiled, shaking her head as she slid into the seat across from me. “Are you ready for the midterm next week?”
Well, if I’d been hot between the legs before, Isabelle’s reminder was more than enough to douse the flame. “Shit. The midterm is next week?”
Isabelle groaned, taking a sip of her coffee. “Jesus, woman. What planet have you been on? Professor Rice has been sending out e-mails pretty much daily.”
God, I hated when professors did everything digitally. Why the hell was I going to class if most of the material were online anyway. “How long do I have?” I was almost scared to hear the answer.
“Four days, not counting the weekend.”
Shit. Shit.
“Well, I’m glad I ran into you.” Her tone was dryly amused at the shock on my face. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s a Friday night.”
I shrugged, finishing my coffee in a single long gulp. “You know me, ‘Belle. I’m really not the partying type.”
“Despite having the perfect body, amazing tits, and being able to drink like a fish. So you keep telling me.” Her expression was long suffering. “What a waste, darling.”
Her drama made me laugh softly as I toyed with the end of my braid. Perhaps I was a failed party animal experiment, but I’d much prefer to down a bottle of wine in the solitude of my own apartment than to end up crashing on a stranger’s sofa. “It’s probably for the best. I need to study for that exam.”
“Did you bring your books?”
Damn. For a blonde, Isabelle was way too astute for her own good. My eyes darted to the luscious length of man still parked in the front window of the café before I answered. “Well, no …”
Her green eyes quickly followed my gaze before narrowing in recognition. “Oh, I see.”
I groaned inwardly while maintaining my innocent veneer. “What?”
Isabelle smirked. “You think everyone else hasn’t told me about your old man crush?”
“He’s not old,” I immediately hissed defensively. “He’s probably not even forty.”
“Old.” Isabelle stuck her tongue out at me playfully before winking. “But hot.”
I knew I wasn’t the only one. With a grin, I shook my head slowly. “I’m going to go get a scone. Friday is chocolate chip. You want anything?”
Isabelle held up her hand in deference. “I’m good. You indulge.” As if I needed an invitation. Sliding from the table, I made my way across the café, digging in my purse for my wallet. Though I knew my way around the tiny establishment blindfolded, I should have watched where I was going. In front of the cash register, I ran into a very solid object, and a low sound of surprise escaped me as I dropped my money.
“Damn, I’m sorry.” My eyes flew wide as I looked up to see none other than the object of my affection, his dark gaze apologetic.
I’d never been this close to him, and almost immediately, his spicy, fresh scent enveloped me, sending my hormones into overdrive.
“I … that’s alright!” I somehow managed, still reeling from his gruff baritone timbre. “I got it.”
“Let me.”
Before I could clean up my mess, he knelt before me to scrape the dollar bills from the floor at my feet. The motion put his face at eye level with the crux of my thighs, and my face immediately flamed.
I could not get aroused. Not now. “Here.” He reached up without standing to extend the money to me, and I could feel every muscle in my lower body tightening. He had no idea how sexy he looked, peeking over the rim of his glasses at me, his mouth mere inches from where I wanted it most.
“Thanks!” My voice came out a little too high for my own good as I fought to tear my eyes from him. “I … you can get up. I’m sorry to bother you.”
To my surprise, the man’s devastating mouth curved into a small smile that stole my breath with its sensuality as his eyes glittered in a way I’d thought restricted only to my fantasies. “I don’t know. I think I prefer the view from down here.”
I watched, transfixed, as the man reached up to brush his hand over the curve of my behind almost in the most minute of contact before reaching down with his opposite hand to pick up a handful of quarters and place them in my still outstretched hand.
I nearly forgot how to breathe. Had the man just … groped me? In the middle of the café? What was more, was he implying that he somehow knew of my dirty little fantasies? Swallowing thickly, I took the change from him, and he stood slowly.
Jesus, he was tall. Far taller than me. But that, I supposed, wouldn’t matter if I was on top of him, or in front of him, or kneeling before him …
If the man’s expression were any indication, he could read every incriminating thought that crossed my mind as I stared up at him, and I felt my panties moistening at the very prospect. Before I could say anything, however, our little interlude was interrupted.
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