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"Men are easy to figure out," I said, inhaling deeply from my glass. "it's the women you have to really worry about." The wine still needed to breathe, but I wanted it now. I reached out to clink glasses with him.
"Cheers, to not working all the time," I said with a wide grin, meaning every word. I hadn't taken a night off for a sexy man in months. OK. Maybe a year.
"I guess you chemists don't get much downtime either," he queried, and I nodded in reply. "What do you do to relax?"
A bunch of potential answers formed in my mind. Masturbate. Watch cartoons and the Food Network on TV. Dance around my condo naked. "We're mainly chained to the lab," I replied instead. "Even when I do sleep, I'll wake up in the middle of the night to jot down a new formula." I shrugged helplessly. Why was I telling him that? I should have told him about masturbating instead. That would have been the way to go.
"But you still didn't answer my question," I pointed out, curious to peer behind his veil of shrouded secrecy.
"I'm always away on business," he responded vaguely, "so I spend most of my time off getting some sleep or recovering from jet lag." This intrigued me.
"I wish I could travel more often," I said dreamily, recalling aloud that most of my trips were spent within the confines of some other university or private lab in a faraway country, listening to other researchers rambling about their discoveries or methods. Luckily, I spoke four languages (translation studies were my second major) and I read language books when I had time, and on the odd conference, I could escape to absorb some of the local culture.
Dan sipped his wine as he listened to me, his luscious lips pressed up against the glass, reminding me again of the small fire he'd sparked between my thighs. I stopped rambling, and gestured for him to follow me into the living room. I led us to my ultra-comfortable, chocolate brown leather couches, already feeling heady from the wine (with nothing in my tummy to absorb it), but my appetite for Dan far superseded any notions of actual food.
We set our glasses down on the coffee table, turning to look at each other. Without even speaking, I knew that his thoughts also bore a striking resemblance to an erotic movie reel. I took a second to unclip my damp curls, shaking them out to let them bounce loose over my bare shoulders and back. His fingers reached out to fondle my curls, letting them unravel and spring back, stroking the back of my neck. The weight of our bodies made us dip down toward the center of the couch, his woodsy, ripe musk evoking tempting thoughts. That was when I realized I'd forgotten to put on my panties, because the moist heat between my thighs was starting to soak through my dress.
I felt us moving closer and closer to each other at a snail's pace. There was something predatory about him, his brown eyes darkening until they seemed almost black. I felt breathless already, eager, impatient for him. Maybe it was just Dan himself and his general seductiveness, or maybe it was my sexual frustration, but I couldn't wait a minute longer.
We pounced on each other simultaneously, eliminating the idea of any potential awkwardness. Our alcohol-tinged breaths commingled as Dan's tongue teasingly traced the outline of my soft lips. My hand buried in his hair, the other gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him nearer, his tongue warm and sweet against mine. Dan's fingers skimmed the tops of my thighs, my dress almost riding up completely, my thighs parting for him without hesitation. He sighed, staring into my eyes as he discovered my wet heat. I squirmed as my nerve endings ignited, tilting my head back to let his mouth press into my smooth neck.
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