We’ve known each other for so long and so well. We’ve been best friends for longer than either of us can remember. We’ve watched one another drift from one broken relationship to another. We’ve celebrated each other’s successes, provided comfort during loss and danced at each other’s weddings. We’ve also listened to the shared disappointments in our respective marriages. Regardless of what life has thrown at us, we’ve always found the time for our weekly dinners.

And here we sit, in a quiet bistro downtown after work sharing a bottle of wine, our bodies a breath from one another. The scent of your cologne teases my senses mixing dangerously with the wine. Your tie is slackened yet; I can’t help but notice how you still exuded power in this relaxed state. Secretly, I have always adored you in your tailored suits. I’d often fantasized about having my wrists bound so many of those silk ties I’d gifted you with, leaving me defenseless against your passions.

You’re speaking, yet I cannot concentrate on your words. I watch your lips moving and wonder at the feel of them against my skin gently soothing the spot where your teeth marked me moments earlier. I nod absently, feigning attention as I will my body to behave itself, willing the wetness gathering in my panties to go away. I watch you reach for your glass of wine, and my mouth goes dry imagining that strong hands and elegant fingers wrapped around my throat.

I lick my lips and shift uncomfortably in my seat, the wine apparently taking its toll. My mind is a fuzzy haze of lust. I finally bring my eyes to yours only to notice you watching me intently, your dark eyes boring into mine. I have no idea how long you’ve been staring at me. My heart pounds loudly in my ears as long seconds pass. Your gaze takes in every detail as I am transfixed, unable to move. Do you know my plight? Can you smell my arousal?

My eyes widen as your hand settles atop mine resting on the table. A slow wolfish grin appears on your lips as you bring my hand to your lap. Shock rockets through me as you settle my hand on your hardness. Leaning in, you use your free hand to brush my hair back from my neck. Your lips graze my ear as you begin to speak.

“Tell me, darling,” you whisper pressing my hand firmly against your hardness, the other gently slipping the strap of my dress down my shoulder. “Tell me what you crave.”