Soul Journal

Salt clings to my finger tip, and I slowly lick it off before reaching for another pretzel. The bowl of them is between myself and the client that I am trying very hard not to mentally undress.

He shifts a little, rubs his unshaven chin. His glance flickers from the current speaker to my thighs, and back again. I try not to notice.

I stop nibbling and attempt to focus on the business at hand.
Papers are distributed, and a pen rolls off his folder as he moves to read. I reach down for it and linger for a second, letting him enjoy a peek down my low-cut grey silk blouse.

I pass it back to him and our fingers touch. I want those fingers. That hand. That body…

When aroused, my want tends to be very consuming. I try very carefully to hold it at bay.

I stand and deliver a brief report on the project. He looks almost bemused as I try to ignore his gaze, which moves between my breasts and my thighs.
He is wearing a deep red shirt, and the first couple of buttons are undone. I try not to focus on the dark hair I can see on his chest. Or the way his sleeves stretch around his muscular arms.

As I sit down, I allow my skirt to move a little further up my legs than necessary. He adds something enthusiastically to the discussion underway, gestures, and shifts his chair so it rolls a little closer to mine.
Fortunately, there are a number of people in the room with a lot to say about the offer underway, and we are able to tease each other without creating any distraction.

I can smell him, and relish slowly inhaling his masculine scent. Sandalwood, a hint of musk, and something else spicy I can’t quite identify.
The meeting draws to a close, and I offer to escort him back to reception downstairs as everyone moves to smaller groups to continue talking.

He barely waits for the doors to close before cornering me in lift. His presses his mouth onto mine and my underwear grows moist in an instant. His tongue flicks mine as I press my pelvis against his.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and his kiss deepens as his hand presses the small of my back, pushing my breasts up against him. Then, a short moment later, he releases me and steps back. The doors open, and we step into the foyer.

“To be continued” he says in a deep, assertive tone. He hands me a business card. As I wait for him to sign out with the concierge, I turn it over and see that he has written a room number on the back.

Yes.