Hot, with a plot. A full-length, standalone novella. 29,465 words.
... The restaurant serves seafood cooked in some sort of exotic Asian way. We sit at a small tête-à-tête table by the window. It feels very intimate, the plate glass looking out on a Zen rockery.
Phil smiles at me over the top of the menu:
"Enjoying your day?"
We're in a quiet, intimate corner. I don't know why I'm whispering:
"... Yes... yes I am..."
His hand closes over mine.
"You gonna thank your old friend Phil?"
I don't know how his lips come to graze mine. They just do. His lips brush mine, big and warm and powerful and demanding. His tongue insists on entrance to my mouth. There's nothing I can do but let my kitten's-tongue-tip flirt with his urgent mouth-meat, twine and grapple even if there are people looking. He says:
"Draw your chair up."
"Ey...?"
"Closer to the table."
I feel awkward scraping the legs of my chair up closer to the little table. My belly presses against the starched table-cloth.
He breathes his male heat on my face. His nostrils nuzzle my cute retroussé nose like a bull breathing in a helpless lamb.
"You're gorgeous, Mel. You know that?"
I sort of do, but I still can't breathe.
I feel his hand under the table close round my knee. He whispers:
"Spread your legs."
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