Red Apple Temptation

At a black tie gala in a little black dress, she has me chasing dragons.

I’ve got to play it cool.

She is queen – not by blood, but by something else. I will be her slave, I will be her knight, I will be whatever the fuck she wants me to be. Thoughts shrouded in sin, so hot it boils holy water on contact. A red apple, a deep bite; her eyes don’t speak, they silently scream.

I’ve got to play it cool.

How does one explain attraction or the reason it occurs? With all the physical reasons ever needed to paralyze the mind, it was her intelligence that got me. She writes poetry dark and deep, not meant for virgin eyes, and recites Bukowski while sipping brown liquor straight. She says she finds my work pretentious, too commercial for her violent mind.

I’ve got to play it cool.

Seated now at our table, surrounded by strangers, we do our best to act social, but all I want is to get her alone. We exchange pleasantries, share in a toast. Her foot, now separated from its stiletto, travels over and casually introduces itself to my leg. A simple, playful tease is the breath blown on still embers to a fire that she might not be ready for. With all her talk of danger, perhaps now she’s in over her head.

I’ve got to play it cool.

I want to be in-between her legs. I want her lips on my mouth. I want her to look back at me as I look at her while holding her hands over her head.

I’ve got to play it cool.

She has the look of both predator and prey. I’ve decided I want to find out which one she really is.

I've got to play it cool. 

My hand leaves the table and makes its way to her crossed dancers’ legs. I don’t care if anyone can see us. I apply a touch that’s firm, I want her to know I’m there. My hand starts at her knee and travels to her thigh then quickly under her dress.

She’s got to play it cool.

Full read available in my collections book coming out in May!