All About Eva: Chapter 2: Temptation Eyes
“What secret would that be?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I think I do.”
Twisting my upper body in his direction to rest my arm on the back of my chair, Joshua takes in the presentation of my cleavage but only for a moment.
“I’m not used to conversation.”
“Well, that’s a shame. A pretty thing like you is bound to have something to say.” He winks and takes another sip of coffee. His lower lip is full and succulent as it supports the rim of his cup. The muscles in his neck flex as he swallows.
God, I want to bite that neck. Mark him.
“You think so?”
“Come on, Evadne. Don’t sell yourself short. You may try to appear easy, but you’re not. You have taste. I can tell from the films you see—viewing companions not included.” He winks at me again and I get butterflies in my stomach. “You carry yourself like royalty. And girl. . . .” He shakes his head. “There are some things you can’t learn off the street.”
This time it’s my turn to laugh. “You’re very observant.”
“It’s what I do, darlin’.”
This time there’s no hint of playfulness in his tone and we sit, taking each other in. For the first time I notice something else about Joshua’s gaze. Although clear and open, his eyes are still dark enough as not to give everything away.
In the silence, we hear the downstairs lobby fill with patrons. He looks over his shoulder, once again giving me a view of his unblemished neck.
“The film’s letting out.” He stands. “Shall we go?”
“It depends,” I say, taking a napkin to wipe the corner of my mouth. I give a playful smile. “What do you think of my viewing companion now?”
In response I am treated to a flash of his white, even teeth in a grin that would melt the resolve of the coldest virgin.
“I also said you had taste.”
And with that, he pulls my chair out, places his hand on the small of my back, and escorts me downstairs. Maybe it’s a measure of my excitement, but his touch burns through my sweater and beads of sweat form on my skin beneath his touch.
Inside the theater I estimate about two dozen other people have decided to catch this matinee. We take our seats in the center section, four rows from the back. A few minutes later, the lights go out.
An hour later—and he still hasn’t tried anything! Apart from pushing up the armrest to remove any barrier between us, he hasn’t touched me. We’re just two people enjoying a movie together. But watching a movie without a man groping me is a new experience. My palms are sweating and, between my legs, I am hot and empty—and wet. I try to concentrate on the film but keep glancing at my watch and stealing side-glances at him.
He’s different from other men, that’s for damn sure. He had the balls to come up and start a real conversation, and what a pick-up too. I’ll give him an A+ for originality.
Joshua turns his head, catches me spying, and grins like I just sprang his trap. I turn away but his arm goes around the back of my seat as he leans over.
“Evadne, it’s OK if you look. Your eyes are tempting me, girl.”
I turn and his face is so close to mine I can feel it when he exhales. The scent of his cologne mixing with the coffee he just drank makes my mouth water. I close the distance. Our kiss is gentle, unhurried and tastes of chocolate and coffee. He gently takes hold of my chin to deepen our kiss.
“I knew those lips had to be delicious,” he murmurs when we part to take a breath. His hand goes up the back of my neck and into my hair. I lean into the caress, exposing my throat, letting his lips linger on my neck. His tongue tickles along the surging throb of my pulse. I sigh and my hand falls to the side split of my skirt. Pushing the thin material over, my fingers slide up between my legs.
His long eyelashes flutter against my throat. His hand, warm and soft, cups under my knee. He crooks my leg over his and I moan softly when he places his hand on mine. What sounds like my voice growls “yes” loud enough for him to take his cue and gently press our fingers inside me.
My head lolls back against his arm as my private entrance admits us, hand in hand, with my smaller finger next to his long, thick, middle and forefinger. We work together to build a rhythm and his thumb gently rubs the top of my clitoris. My hips jerk up and I gasp. He increases his hold on me while clamping his mouth onto my neck—just like the big cats do to restrain their prey.
His lips open to suck my flesh into his mouth before biting down. His teeth dig in and hold before releasing and repeating the process. He’s found my weak spot. I love hickies. They may look trashy but these malignant bruises serve as the calling cards of heavy petting. But despite his amorous assault on my neck, I get distracted with his two, three—four—fingers pumping inside me.
Aww—shit! He’s about to get a real orgasm out of me! The moist, sucking sounds coming from me says I’m almost there.
“God damn, Evadne, you’re so wet,” he speaks with such awe it only thrills me more and this time my groan is louder than expected.
My eyelids pop open and I remember we are not alone. Focusing my eyes, I see a few people sitting in the rows behind us but they’re on the opposite side of the theater. From what I can tell, they’re all watching the screen. Then I notice one man sitting in the row directly behind us and several seats to the left.
He wears a white T-shirt and stares directly at us, unashamed. Hearing a muted, squelching sound, I glance down and see his lightweight jacket lying across his lap is bobbing up and down.
Catching my breath, I don’t know whether to stop Joshua and bring the man to his attention. But he’s about to rip a climax from me and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sacrifice it. I open my mouth slightly in expectation, so does Jerk-Off Man who mouths the words I love you as his hand pumps harder and faster.
Instead of moaning, I scowl at our voyeur and his face crumbles as he shoots his wad. I make sure he sees me take Joshua’s earlobe into my mouth to nibble on it. Yeah, buddy you wish you had some of this.
Joshua moans and licks at my throat in return.
“Touch me,” he begs from against my neck and his strained voice startles me. I reach between his legs and encounter a sharp rise in his Levi’s. He moves back and I unzip his pants and fumble for the opening. Once inside, I give his swollen cock a squeeze and he sighs as if I’ve done him a huge favor.
“Oh, yes,” he whispers and rests his forehead against my temple.
A slight tug gets his whole length out. His cock gets thicker as blood rushes to swell it, making the skin tight. My God, it feels lovely, like a thick pipe wrapped in warm suede.
Then, as to be expected, a scene change on the movie screen lights up the room, allowing me a better glimpse.
During my theater adventures, I have encountered a lot of men of different races and have concluded that there is no accurate way to guess a man’s penis size by appearance alone. You have to experience him, literally, first hand.
And my chest heaves at the thought of getting fucked senseless by Joshua’s cock. It’s long and thick and the tip of its swollen head is moist. I lick my lips, wishing for a taste—but that goes against my rules.
His thumb presses my clitoris once again and I have to bury my face in the curve of his neck to keep from crying out. I grab his wrist and start guiding him, pumping his hand, making him fist fuck me harder, faster, and when he touches my clit again, I come, for the first time in ages, all over his creative, talented fingers.
The world falls out from under me and I’m on a roller coaster going down a bottomless pit. My orgasm goes on and on.
“Ah, lovely,” he sighs. “That’s it, sugar. Oh, yes, darlin’ give it to me.”
And I do. I want to. But I’m not going to be alone in this. I pump my fist tighter and faster along his cock until his essence drips onto my hand providing me with just enough lubrication. Joshua thrusts, ever so slightly and I apply more pressure to increase the friction.
He turns my face to his and stabs his tongue far into my mouth, leaning into me, and I push back until I’m nearly climbing on top of him instead. His moan of surprise against my mouth drives his tongue deeper and I thrust my hips so his fingers can delve farther.
This man, whom I’ve met just over an hour ago, has gotten me more aroused than I have been in a long, long time. But I’m not the only one excited. The skin of his penis is tight. He’s going to explode.
“Mmm, that’s right, baby.” I murmur against his lips before they crush mine again, taking my tongue deep inside his mouth. Sparks of purple, yellow, and green flash behind my eyelids. He thrusts his hips and thick, warm jet streams of cream erupt against my skirt and seeps through to my thighs. He shudders against me and releases a pent-up breath in a low, guttural moan and relaxes. My loins weep against his hand for being left out.
Then again—we’ve only just met.
He collapses back into his seat, and holding his gaze, I remove his hand from my crotch. The wet sound lets us both know that he’s plowed me deep and it was well received. I wipe his hand on the exposed flesh of my cleavage and daintily kiss the tip of each of his long fingers to say thank you, tasting my spice on them.
“Good God,” he rasps out, his eyes wide with surprise as he twists his pinkie inside my mouth before I let it slip from my lips.
Satisfied, I gently place his soft cock back inside his trousers. On the screen the cartoon selection from Poland is ending. There’s only one more film clip remaining.
My heart is racing. That was not heavy petting—that was sex. The best sex I’ve ever had. I cross my legs and sit back in my seat, trembling, remembering the sensation of Joshua’s fingers deep inside me along with the wake of my orgasm. He’s leaning back, face toward the ceiling, and he’s either asleep or in desperate need of a cigarette.
By the time the house lights come on ten minutes later, we are composed with our clothes in order. I’ve tied my sweater around my waist to hide the wet stain on my skirt.
The lights aren’t harsh but they’re strong enough to shatter the bubble we created around ourselves and I am exposed. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I rush into the aisle. Joshua doesn’t touch my back like before. I’m not sure if he’s even behind me.
Entering the lobby, I walk on shaky legs out the front doors. Standing on the sidewalk, I see that rush hour has started and the road in front of the strip mall is thick with traffic.
Leaving the dark, air-conditioned surroundings of The DeLuxe only to be slapped in the face by Denver smog and dry heat is too much. My stomach churns and my head starts to throb. I start to walk away.
“Hey! Hold up!”
I turn and see Joshua approaching with an eager smile. We can now finish our assessments of each other without the hindrance of shadow. I estimate him to stand about six-feet-four because I’m five-feet-eight. But in my three-inch heels, I measure up nicely to him. His thick, dark chestnut hair curls up as it touches his collar and stylishly frames his face. I can easily imagine how he’d be with his hair all wet after taking a shower or plastered with sweat after an afternoon of passionate sex.
Ooh, how I want to be the one to work up that sweat! But I can’t. I’ve been “naughty” enough for one day. My fever is gone and now I must control myself until next week.
But what I assumed earlier about his not being masculine is wrong. His skin is slightly sun-tanned and, boyish face aside, Joshua is all man. By the way he walks, with those long, smooth strides, he’s more than sure of himself. And those eyes.
Perhaps those eyes are still adjusting to the sunlight because his pupils are big despite our being outside. Is he on drugs? Maybe. He is an artist after all. But I dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes. He simply likes what he sees and I probably resemble a prostitute from the 1950s with my tousled hair and smeared lipstick. All that’s missing is a Lucky Strike hanging from my mouth as I wait for him to press a $20 bill in my palm.
“Care to join me for dinner?”
My jaw drops and, in a momentary lapse of cool, I’m a bug-eyed fish out of water. I am truly speechless.
I go to the movies to abandon myself, content to leave my fantasies inside the building. The fantasy is not supposed to ask me to dinner. That’s against the rules. My rules.
OK, so I’ve been selective with the rules today—but this isn’t supposed to happen! I have reduced my appreciation of men into faceless gadgets requiring batteries or faceless men in a dark theater.
Faceless. Why couldn’t he have just remained faceless, sat next to me in the dark, and left without introducing himself? I could’ve beaten a quick retreat without remorse. We both could have. But Joshua is all flesh and waits for my answer. He also knows my name. . . and where I work.
If ever I needed a reason to stop doing this, I have found it.
I’m about to reply when Jerk-Off Man comes out of the theater. He sees me and walks in our direction. I frown but he keeps walking with a grimace on his face as he passes.
“Is something wrong?” Joshua asks.
“What? Oh! No, I’m fine.” I get my keys out of my purse and head towards my car.
“Well?” he asks again, his long strides easily matching mine.
I’m playing for time. I have no contingency for such a development. Even my ability to tell a man to fuck off is gone. We reach my car. I’m about to put my key in the lock when he grabs my arm.
“Are you free for dinner?”
I drop my keys. He immediately crouches down and picks the spiked jumble off my foot. His gaze burns through the sheer material of my skirt and focuses on the damp apex between my legs. I shiver.
Standing upright again, he places the keys in my hand and we touch. My body heat activates the lingering scent of the orgasm I used to perfume my chest, and when he inhales deep and takes a step closer, my breath catches in my throat. I need to slow his roll.
“No,” I lie. “Ahh—my cat got spayed today. I have to go pick her up.”
I can only describe his expression as stunned disbelief. A flicker of disappointment—or is that resentment?—crosses his face. He purses his lips into a thin line, and, with a sweep of his hand in a gesture I suspect he’s done since childhood, he combs back the hair that’s falls into his eyes and huffs through his nostrils.
I bet that few people—or specifically, few women—have ever denied him anything. Then again, he’s never met me. And I’m in no condition to follow up what we just did with casual conversation.
“Seriously, Joshua, I do have to go.”
“Well then tell me, Evadne, do you plan on coming back here soon?” He raises a questioning eyebrow but there’s eagerness in his voice.
“Listen.” I glance around the parking lot to see if anyone is watching. “Let me give you my number. Call me later.”
I reach into my purse and find a pen and a piece of paper. For a split second I’m tempted to give him a fake number, but when I see him watching me so intently with those damn eyes—I give him the real digits.
He’d make an excellent lie detector with those eyes. Besides, if I was good at denying myself what I want, I wouldn’t be coming to this place to get my kicks. I’d probably be a size zero too.
“Borrow your pen?” he asks and takes my pen in such a way that he grasps my hand with moist, sticky fingers and leaves a smudge of charcoal on my flesh. He writes his number on the back of the sketch.
“Well, Joshua.” I smile, trying to act casual as I open my car door. “Hope to hear from you soon.”
Perhaps I sound trite, because his reply isn’t convincing.