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The seat was formed in a semi-circle, hugged the equally circular table in the corner so they sat close, and said little. They ordered food and she pushed her egg rolls around her plate, nibbling occasionally, sprinkling soy sauce, all idle gestures that meant little. They talked of work and politics. He mentioned a bar on the other side of the city. She commented that she’d never been there. He noted that the deep red paint on her lips didn’t come off on the edge of her coffee cup, didn’t smudge on her napkin. Everything was carefully precise about her makeup, while her hair remained wild, the collar on her shirt slightly askew. She offered a smile, dark lashes lowering over dark eyes. Conversation lapsed again. Finally, teeth chewing against her bottom lip in thought while she did it, she slid her hand across the cracked deep red of the seat until it came to rest lightly on his knee. He was suddenly tense against her shoulder, but his hand came to rest atop hers. His breathing had. She loves her leather and looks spectacular in it too. “Look, I have a colleague I need to meet. She’s in town for a regional meeting, and I promised her a drink,” she said as she leaned across the table towards me. “Well, you must meet then,” I replied, finishing off the last of a very good seafood linguine. “If you want to call round later, you know I’ll be in and up till around midnight; got to finish the papers on that case I’m looking at.” “Knew you wouldn’t mind, and I will call later.” “Where are you meeting? Just in case I need to come and get you.” “Oh, Fifty Thousand Postcards, it’s near her hotel.” “Have a good time, pet,” she leaned in again and kissed me, her tongue invading me, making my cock twitch in unison to her tongue thrusting. I just loved that place. They sold Weston’s organic cider on draught as well as Friuli fruit beer; the food was great as well. I paid the bill and left the restaurant, then walked through to my place on the avenue above the Chine. The.
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