Touch

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“You’ve got a little something on your cheek.” he said softly to me, barely a whisper.

 

I smiled nervously in response, “Oh?”

 

His eyes twinkled in the dim light and I can feel the intensity behind them. In that brief moment I could see him like a wild charioteer holding back his barely tame horses from rushing upon me. My stomach flipped and I felt my insides pulsing with each heartbeat. He raised his hand and reached out towards me. His strong, manly, callused hand. It’s texture rough and lined with use though the years. How many women has that hand touched. How many have been so lucky. He softly turns his hand to cup my chin and I can barely contain the shudder in my body. I close my eyes, and focus on his touch. I can smell his elegant cologne. I can feel the weathered roughness in his fingertips, but with such grace and delicacy he softly wipes the offending nothing off my cheek.

 

“There.”

 

I open my eyes and see his once more. He’s staring into me and I can see his lust. His gaze darts from my eyes, to my cheek, to my lips and back to my eyes. A thousand micro decisions pulsing through his brain as he tries to determine what particular sequence will open my gate and let him in.

 

He doesn’t know. How could he. The gate is already open. He merely needs to come on in.

 

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