I was hoping to see that look in your eyes.
Not that there is anything to complain about the various ways in which you’ve looked at me so far.
You’ve looked at me with anticipation, that time when your toes touched innocently touched mine, and we sat, talking about anything and everything while our feet played footsie, and neither of us acknowledged the exchange of electrical current. Until, of course, you stood up, pulled me to my feet and kissed me until i thought I’d never breathe again .
You’ve looked at me with interest, when we spoke of the way in which i do my work, and i demonstrated for you how capable i am professionally. You liked my enthusiasm, my dedication, the fact that I know what I’m talking about — and you even looked at me admiringly because of it.
And, of course, you’ve looked at me with deep desire. Many times in the past. The first time over a warm and frothy drink that i — most unusually for me — had absolutely no interest in from the split second in which your eyes met mine, just before you took my hand and kissed my lips, lightly but with passion that conveyed quite how much desire lay behind your gaze.
And many times in the future, i most sincerely hope.
No, no, I’m not complaining. Not at all. It was just a hope… a wish. That as I walked in through the door the other day, that you’d give me that look.
Oh, you know the one.
That look that says you want me, right then, right there, bent double over the kitchen counter, clothes half-on, half-off, half-strewn over chairs and free-standing kitchen units, hands on bare raw flesh, fiery lips igniting equally , explosive raw passion setting our bodies alight as they touch, causing the familiar spontaneous combustion for this position but so much hotter and faster and furious than usual that i have no time for thought, no time to consider, just to respond with matching passion, and heat, and fury until we finally burn out and collapse exhausted into each other.
Yeah, that one.