He sank to his knees beside me, and leaned over to whisper, “I didn’t ask you a yes or no question, Stacie.” “Oh oh.” I said, feeling a bit of a blush creeping up my neck. “But, it’s quite alright, Stacie, because I get distracted when I see you too.” He reached up and stroked the side of my face, gently, as he sucked my earlobe between his teeth. I shivered and inhaled his pure, masculine scent. “You do?” I asked stupidly, turning my face to his.“I do.” he answered, bringing his other hand up to cup my face as he leaned forward even more to push his lips into mine. Our lips met, and he soon parted his, seeking entry into mine. I closed my eyes as I felt his tongue enter my mouth, caressing and cajoling my own to join in the fun. He gently sucked my tongue between his lips, playfully nipping at the tip of it, before pulling away from me. I’m sure my face fell, because he crushed another quick kiss to my lips before yanking me up out of my seat.“What are you wearing?” he asked,. It was still in touch with its beatnik heyday, this place—rooted in the same subversive place as his beloved rock and blues. Life less packaged and more raw, crackling with sex and creativity. You had to love it. He ducked into a book-store on Broadway and browsed a while, before picking up a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. It’d be a good read for the tour bus. He ordered a coffee in the shop next door and sat at an outside table, leafing through the opening pages of the poem—trying to feel his way into its rolling style.Shit, no dice. He had no fucking prayer of concentrating on anything other than what the redhead had planned. And she’s sure as hell got something serious planned. It made him feel like that schoolboy all over again. The frissons of energy recommenced, accompanied by the surge of blood to his groin. Then he was shaking his head and smiling at his own reaction and at how she could get him in this kind of state. He checked his phone—less than fifteen minutes till his.
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