And This Is Why
Of course, he's never said it since then. He'd like time to make sure it wasn't said out of desperation, or fear of change or something else like that. He can take all the time he likes. I fully expect to never hear those words from him again. And to avoid the awkwardness, I won't say them to him, either.
That doesn't mean that I don't feel it, though.
I ordered an iced tea and a waffle-ice cream thingy from the counter at the little cafe near his place that is open late.
There were only two, perhaps three people working behind the counter and plenty of people in the cafe, so my order of plum tea took a bit of time. I sat down on a nearbly chair to wait. After a minute or two, I glanced over my shoulder to where Mr. C was sitting on the burgundy leather couch in the back.
Hunched over with elbows on knees, he cupped his chin with one hand and absently stroked his beard with a single finger. I swear, that is one of the sexiest things about him. One, of an innumerable amount. He was squinting slightly, despite his glasses, to peer at his laptop on the table in front of him. The glow of the screen reflected in his glasses, and I watched him read. From where I was sitting, I could just barely see the details of his eyes; the ones that change color. They were a muted hazel tonight, the green barely visible. I breathed deeply. He was wearing my favorite (on him) combination of clothing, a geeky tee covered by a short sleeved, button-down shirt with a chest-level pocket. It showed off his arms, which I loved. The watch on his right hand wrist simply framed the elegance of it all. The hand that stroked his beard displayed his wedding band, one that he will have been wearing for 10 years as of this Friday. His hair seemed fresh and soft, and I remembered he said he had gone for a run earlier and then showered. It was parted neatly on the side and just the right length so that when I would pull him towards me to kiss him, I could grab on to a few locks and...
Er, um... ahem. Sorry. Anyway, his hair was just starting to curl in the back and sides, which I loved, but likely meant he was soon to cut it. It had only been four or five days since I was last with him, but I already missed kissing him. I missed the feeling of his hands on my waist, my breasts, behind my thighs as he held my legs back, and...
Ack! Distracted. It's not just the sex. It's not just the attraction I have to him. I mean, yes, that is what I'm writing about, but... it's the physical representation of the man, well one of the men, that I love. I could watch him all day. I could listen to him all day. I could read what he writes all day, and believe it or not, I could sit with him while he's gaming all day (but that's not saying much; I enjoy that activity anyway. Still...)
*sigh* Not that I was trying to deny it or anything, but I am definitely in love with Mr. C.
Last edited by Arabella; 07-04-2013 at 09:37 AM.