Knox
I love to work. Love to plan and build something that speaks to my tastes, my vision. Today, though, the end of my work day cannot get here fast enough. Unlike most days, my eyes focus on the clock until I can't take it a minute longer.
“Cutting out,” I announce to Taylor at three-thirty, “Got a meeting.” Taylor quirks his brows, checking first his watch then his calendar.
“Liar. Who’s the girl?” With a smirk, he shoves away from his desk, settling in to give me shit. Fucking Ora.
It's not a lie. More of an embellishment.
I do need to be somewhere. It does involve a female.
A woman I cannot get out of my head. Just a few messages. Nothing racy or sexy, even. Just Ella being Ella. Dodgy about details, a bit forward in kind of an inquisitive way. It's all of that. But it's more.
I dreamt about her for Christ's sakes. About making love to her under the stars, kissing her freckles as she whispers my name, tangling my fingers in her thick hair as my lips brand her skin. Fuck, I'm hard again just thinking aboutthinking abouther.
“Not a girl. A woman.” I wink at him, rap twice on his door and head out.
I want to be there waiting for Ella. Want to watch her come in, seek me out. See if she is as excited about the prospect of getting face to face as I am. It's all I could think of since that fucking photo. When fantasy became reality in a way I never experienced before.
It's been awhile since I wanted a woman. Since I actually wanted to talk to her, know her details, count her freckles. Really wanted something. I don't date, really, I don't have much time with the pace we are growing at. I don't sleep around either though. Plenty of photos in that phone Ella now possesses might suggest otherwise.
Dozens of photos of me with women of all colors and flavors of the rainbow. Really, though, I keep just five. Just five women who know I don't want more right now and might never want morewith them. Some other faces are just faces. Photos might make it seem otherwise, and we might fool around, but I don't take randoms to bed.
Anticipation zips through me as I push through the doors of the Grind at last, lungs appreciating the savory coffee grind scent layered with a hint of their famous caramel sticky rolls. Temptation all around me today, it seems. I order two coffees, one a tall and dark for myself, the other sweet and creamy for her. Choosing the perfect high-top table to watch the door, I take a seat and wait.
I am early so I expect a long wait. Bouncing my knee, tapping a beat out on the table, I realize I am more than anxious. I am fucking excited. I want to see her. Want to talk to her, hear her voice. Want to ask her about the details she wants to keep guarded.
I don't know how it's possible. It is, because I feel it. Before Ella even steps foot inside, Ifeel herhere. Fifteen minutes early. As eager as me?
It's like a slow-motion scene as Ella makes an entrance. And damn, what an entrance.
Both doors blow open as she steps inside, thick dark hair caught up in a breeze that smells of sunshine and rain. Wearing a loose shirt-dress that falls to midthigh, a huge belt wrapped around her narrow waist, she looks comfortable and sexy. A floppy hat and huge sunglasses hide most of her face but she tears them both off, laughing at herself as she shoves them in a bag slung over her front.
Jesus.
Earthy motherfucking Ella.
More beautiful than that adorable photo could have ever captured. Breath catches in my lungs as I watch her laugh, twisting a hand through her thick hair where streaks of caramel pop against the chocolate waves. I imagine tangling my fingers in it, instead of her. Tipping her head back to look into her eyes before I cover her full pink lips with mine.
Those eyes swing my way, landing right on me.
A thud at my chest worries me before I realize it's my heart hammering. Thunk.Thunk-thunk. Ella softens as our eyes meet, her entire face glowing warmth as she cuts through the crowd, never looking away. I watch every move she makes, take note of the metallic rustle of the many turquoise bracelets sliding up her arm.
I think I will always remember that sound, the smell of coffee, caramel, sunshine and rain, when I think of her.
“Ella?” I stand, reaching a hand out towards her, fingers shaking with the need to touch her. To prove she's real.
“Knox?” I nod at her as my fingers find purchase at her waist.
Just a brief touch. A pass of my fingers over her waist, up her side.
And yet I am anchored to her by that touch, unable to let go of her. Unable to look away from her as the crowded coffee shop presses in on us. I am aware of nothing else but her as my fingers press into her, feeling her heat, the silkiness of her dress. Ella steps into my personal space, head tipped back until her thick hair brushes my skin.
And suddenly, I don't care about my phone. About coffee or lunch.
I want to rip the dress from her skin and explore the soft warmth beneath it. Want to feel her skin beneath my lips, hear her moan my name as I take her until we forget how we got here. I want to press her into grass in the park as the stars dance overhead and bury myself inside her.
“Can we get out of here?” Ella watches my mouth as she bites at her bottom lip.
