He feels her buzzing in his pocket.
Her e-mails digitally dancing against his upper thigh.
He smiles to himself and continues his conversation without a beat, a business pitch over a working lunch. He sips water, wishing it was wine. The tuna steak on his salad nicoise is laid out like a sacrifice. It is viciously seared on the outside and tepidly crimson in the centre. It tastes of sea and blood. He has the distance of an ocean in his mind.
He knows she has woken early in her later time zone. He imagines her stretching her soft, warm body. She is tousle-haired with blurry eyes and sleepy, quiet nipples.
He orders coffee, impatient to close the deal. The waitress flirts, and he rewards her with a glance that is as instinctive as it is brief. There are handshakes and partings.
At the now empty table he reaches for his phone.
His fingers close around the promise of her words.
And the secrets of her skin.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from A Day in July