Happy New Year
2010-01-01
"Oh shit," I said. "I spilled my martini on my hand." I'm a hand talker, which doesn't mix well with martinis."Let me help you with that," he said, catching my hand in his free one before I could formulate an objection. He also had a martini, shaken by me, in his other hand.
Tongue, following the lines of gin down my fingers, across the sensitive palm, and onto the tissue-paper thin skin of my wrist.
He lingered there, then, his hand cradling mine, tongue playing with the contour of my wrist, sharp corners of teeth pressing against the rising veins.
My heart beat twice as fast, and my blood rose, faster than it had in years.
Perhaps this year would be the year for love. My tired, old, battered heart would finally see the sun again. Not with this man, no, but perhaps with some man.
And then it was done, and he smiled a wicked smile, clinked our glasses together, and said:
"Happy new year."
Oh, I think it will be.
past
~ next