The kind of man moms warn their daughters about
I groan, kneeling down to pick up my phone. I pick it up from the floor and then freeze. My hand clenches convulsively around the device when I notice the person in front of me is wearing a pair of black drawstring pants. Slowly, my eyes travel down his body. No no no no no. Please God let it be anyone but him. My gaze meets his hard, sweaty chest and then drifts to a pair of dark chocolate eyes that have little golden rivers of honey branching along them. I swallow saliva. He's inches away from me, standing as still as stone and staring at me. I feel my knees begin to tremble as I look up at him shyly through my dark lashes. He holds out a long fingered hand and I instantly take it.
"Did I get you wet?"
He asks in a voice that is so sinfully deep that I immediately feel a shiver run down my spine. He helps me to my feet, but doesn't let go of my hand. His skin is hot and my blood simmers as a result. I sink my teeth into my lower lip as a telltale blush erupts from my cheeks.
"What?"
"Did I wet you?"
He repeats slower this time, emphasizing each word.
"I'm covered in sweat"
"Oh no"
I look down at my dress. There are some wet patches that are blacker than the rest, but nothing too serious or gross. I don't even think the word gross can be used in a sentence with this man.
"You didn't get me too wet"
"What's your name?"
He asks, leaning closer to me.
"Sandra"
Jake's mouth molds into a breathtaking smile and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from his as he brings my hand to his mouth and gently places his lips on my knuckles. I gasp as he pulls me closer. My free hand comes up and rests against his hard chest in an attempt to avoid pressing fully against him. Pure, white-hot lust tears through my body and spills over every organ and bone before settling between my thighs. Our bodies are so close and I look into his dark eyes completely disarmed and confused. am I dreaming? I can feel the heat of his body radiating into me, entering me. I look past him and the brunette, his girlfriend, is scowling at us. I take a deep, controlled breath before withdrawing my hand. If my hand had a mind of its own, it would undoubtedly slap me.
"If you'll excuse me"
I tell him, dropping eye contact.
"I'm late for work"
Damn it! If I didn't have a job, I'd stay at the gym all day. I walk past him and keep my head down as I walk past his girlfriend. Behind me, the angry brunette's voice is rambling on about how disrespectful he's being to her and I think I hear him laugh. Without looking over my shoulder, I flee the gym.
I sit at work writing names and taking calls. I try my best to concentrate on the tasks at hand, but I can't stop thinking about Jake or his body. Or his black hair. Or the way his lips felt on my hand. Or his dark eyes. I squeeze my thighs tighter and suddenly I have an insatiable craving for chocolate and honey. I shake my head. Underneath my strange, abrupt desire for Jake, the stranger in the gym, there's a feeling of guilt swirling around my stomach as if I've done something wrong. I broke up with David last night, so technically I'm a single woman... so why do I feel so dirty?
I enjoy working as a receptionist, but I've been looking around the same spacious, sterile waiting room for the past two years and can't seem to find enough motivation to quit here. I hope someday I can do something different with my life, like become an author or direct movies. I've always wanted to be able to tell a story in some way. Writing seems more feasible and if I had the option, I would be a famous romance author. There's something about a healthy love and a happy ending that inspires me. Of course, my mother doesn't consider writing a real career, nor does David. "Writing is a dead-end career. Eventually you'll run out of unrealistic stories. Become a therapist or psychologist, then you'll always be busy. People have endless problems they want to talk about all the time." Mom would say. At least she had a point, not that I agree. David said things like "People don't read anymore" or "It sucks." Since when does reading suck? Who says that? If I ran the world, the people who wouldn't read would be the first to go.
I run a piece of paper through the shredder and my mind wanders back to Jake Smith. I still feel his hands on my skin and his lips on my knuckles. I've never been so captivated by the opposite sex before. I'm a little angry that he flirted so openly with me when his girlfriend was in the same building. That's not right and I hate myself for being weak. I never want to be the girl a guy cheats on because I know what it's like to be the girl who gets cheated on and it sucks. I can fantasize and cheat on him at the gym though, right? I mean, where's the harm in that? The way he looked at me with that unapologetic look makes me dizzy and I unconsciously clench my thighs. He's definitely the kind of guy moms warn their daughters about, the kind who breaks hearts and leaves a long line of them behind him. Strangely, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy you can avoid. I imagine he'd be relentless in the pursuit of what he wants.Who am I kidding? There's no way he wants me. I have an overactive imagination... maybe that's all. I tap the desk with my pen at an irregular pace. But he drew me to him...