Go With Me (WIP, Title To Be Determined)

Prelude To A Kiss




         Amanda. Bright eyes, easy smile and freckles like splashes of cinnamon on the pale skin of her face and elsewhere that you could only appreciate up close, in intimacy. The color of those freckles a continuation of her reddish brown hair and Irish ancestry. She had arrived in my office with all the sudden intensity of a thunderstorm in late July, her presence surprising and electric. It had been four years since we'd last spoken, longer since we'd actually seen one another. As I waited in silence she leaned back from the desk, drew her knees up then extended her legs, crossing them at the ankles, her feet perched just above the uncluttered desktop. The strappy, four-inch heels on her slender feet revealed her manicured toes and the new color she'd chosen. I tried not to focus on the way the hem of her dress crept up her thigh when she moved. I tried, but I don't think I was very successful.

         "Midnight Passion," she said, her smile dimpling her cheeks as our eyes met again. "Do you like it?"

         "I do."

         "Sounds like a promise."

         My face must have betrayed some confusion, prompting her to elaborate.

         "Midnight Passion... The name sounds like a promise of things to come."

         My mind swam, her innuendo was always direct and indirect all at once, mercilessly fueling my imagination and inflaming my appetite. This unexpected visit wasn't coincidental, an agenda was as much on the table as her lovely feet in those fresh-out-of-the-box shoes. My cellphone rang, I swiped, dismissing the call to voicemail before setting the phone aside.

         "You didn't want to see who that was...?"

         "I'm busy."

         Her smile quirked up a little more. "So, I'm here."

         "Yes, you are."

         "You don't seem surprised."

         "Oh, I'm very surprised. In fact when you walked in, casual as can be I thought I must be dreaming."

         "Good dream or bad dream?"

         "Nightmares are bad dreams."

         "Undecided then?"

         "Promises of things to come..."

         "Fair enough. I'm sorry I didn't call first."

         "But...?"

         "But I think I was worried what you might say...what I might say. I haven't...we haven't been together or spoken in so long and I didn't know how my idea would pan out in words. Being here is different than talking about being here."

         "And here we are."

         "Yes. I took a gamble that you still worked late on Thursdays, I have no idea what my plan would've been if I had gotten here and everyone was gone."

         "Or if you had gotten here and the office was gone."

         "Well no, I knew you were still here."

         "Oh...?"

         She blushed slightly. "Yes, I...well, I knew you were here because I..."

         "Because you...?"

         "Because I...keep up with you."

         She let that hang between us in anxious silence. I could tell that every moment without a response from me only heightened her anxiety. In another time torturing her this way might lead to all manner of playful distractions but this was now, it had been a while. I leaned back from my desk, softened my posture and smiled. "Apparently I'm in the presence of a stalker."

         "Stop it, I am not," she laughed, her eyes subtly searching my face for signs of disapproval. There was none; the time separating us left me with no disapproval to give. However Amanda had been "keeping up with me" it hadn't been invasive. She'd come to my business discreetly and after hours, not shown up at my apartment in the middle of the night or bombarded me on social media. The distance we'd allowed to happen had been amicable and respectful. Nothing about this visit smelled like trouble. Amanda's vibe had always been unselfish and positive, negativity and drama were weeds that didn't grow in her garden. I watched her shift in the chair, re-crossing her legs and this time she minded the drape of her dress. With me on the hook perhaps she felt free to ease the opening full-court press. Perhaps the opening hadn't even been meant to be provocative at all and we were just...out of practice. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Or, perhaps not.

         "Too soon to tell, too soon to yell."

         "Uhm...what's that supposed to mean?"

         "Hah...! Unintentionally thinking out loud, sorry."

         "Oh," she said without knowing what else to add. She smoothed her hand along her thigh, drawing my attention back to the pale skin of her legs and to the feet on my desk. I stared, focusing on the way the steep arch of her heels caused her calves to tense, a sight that reminded me of all the times I had touched her legs. How many times I'd traced those supple contours with my hands and my mouth. How many times I'd been trapped by them, caught in a silky embrace that didn't believe in surrender, that never wanted to let go. I imagined that in that moment I was likely staring like people outside a restaurant stared at the people inside. She was just on the other side of my desk. So near, yet so far. She was here, now, and my mind was foolishly swimming in the appetites of the past. She made me hungry, very hungry.



and my acute sensitivity to her particularly feminine nature. Perhaps she simply hadn't considered her presentation before. Either way her feet were still up on my desk and while she'd covered her thigh, the steep arch of her heels still set off her bare calves nicely. I had always loved her legs, and that appreciation had always made her happy, inspiring her to find new ways for me to love them more. Amanda's near fetish for shoes played nicely into this and in our many encounters she'd found that a lovely pair of heels was the only lingerie she ever needed. Knowing that, everything about the way this scene was set said our time apart hadn't equaled disconnection. Amanda had arrived literally dressed for success and it felt like Thursday was about to become my favorite day of the week...