The first thing he felt was forearm hair lightly disturbed, moving in pattern from maybe a sweep of her finger or nipple. This was his favorite. Body and mind separation via underwear. It was difficult to remember whether she was wearing another pair or if she had taken these off to cover his eyes. Lines of her body blocked velvet candlelight. He thought he remembered sitting at the foot of a bed, some distance behind a wooden room divider.
When was her sister due home?
She didn’t seem bothered. He waded through this fixation to focus back into her room. He allowed thoughts to follow sensation. He felt his hands clasped together and heard the scratch of his hair under her panties. He smelled and suffocated in her.
The restaurant had been a fusion place. LA was a fusion city. A palate of someone new. After an exchange of text message Luxon had triumphed. The matte aluminum lobby gave way to other diners chatting on barstools, eating on raw oak tables. She had flirted, subtle at first and, after drinks, didn’t bother suppressing her intention. Their hands had danced above the table on either side of their set silverware, fingers interlaced.