His hands. That was the first thing she noticed about him. He had long fingers that were slightly calloused. The skin bore the marks of a man who worked hard. Her eyes focused on his hands as he talked. She listened as he talked about his job, his favorite artists, his favorite bands, his favorite writers, his crazy stories about traveling, and, his family. She watched him talk with his hands, effortlessly moving them as he spoke, unaware of how they affected her. She was lost in her thoughts, wondering how they would feel on her skin, moving across her face, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples, squeezing her ass, rubbing her now-drenched sex. Suddenly, he reached across the table and touched her hand, jolting her back to the conversation. She was so surprised at how soft his hands were when he touched her. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” She was.
~M