It’s hard to find a way to repay the sweet wake-up call of hers. Then you find a can of whipped cream and a jar of candied cherries from the fridge when you’re looking for a beer. You stash them behind a bowl of salad for later use.
She’s sitting in the gazebo, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, and you can smell the heady tang of her arousal wafting all around her. She opens her eyes when she hears the soft thud of your boots against the floor of the gazebo and flashes a lazy smile.
“Having a good morning?” You ask and sit next to her, your thigh brushing against hers.
“The best… I think we should go and get some coffee,” she drawls and lets her hand roam over your thigh, cupping your crotch gently before standing up.
“If that’s what the lady craves…” You murmur, standing up as well and pulling her flush against you, letting her feel what her wandering palm has done before steering her towards the garage.
Against your better judgment you decide to take your motorcycle instead of one of Xavier’s SUV’s. You nearly choke on your saliva when she slides behind you on the saddle, wrapping her arms around you and letting you feel her breasts against your back.
Ride to the city feels like it’s taking forever, probably because you chose the longest possible route, and you can’t help wondering if you’re a latent masochist. Every bump and curve on the road forces her to cling to you tighter, her thighs glued to yours and you can feel the heat radiating from her warming your buttocks through two layers of denim.
You make it to the Starbucks, and then she decides that she’d like something more comfortable and private. You start your bike and start steering towards the small coffeehouse you have been visiting quite frequently and park in front of it, waiting until she has stepped down from the saddle before following her.
Instead of your usual table by the window she walks to the back of the salon, to a secluded booth in the corner. You follow her as soon as you have given your order to the waitress behind the counter. Two espressos served with cherry chocolate.
She’s sipping her coffee coyly, and only nibbling the thin sheets of chocolate, her eyes never leaving yours. When you move on her side of the table she melts against you, her lips finding yours and it takes all your willpower not to swipe the table clean and take her now and here.
“Enough of these games… Lets go home,” you murmur against her lips and dig up some bills, leaving them on top of the check before pushing her out in front of you to hide the bulge at the front of your jeans from rather curious customers.
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