Jonny nearly fell off his chair.
‘What colour?’ he asked aloud, his voice hoarse, but didn’t type it. Instead, he pictured it. White lace on that porcelain skin. Black satin hugging the curves of her buttocks. Pink silk pushing up her sweet breasts, barely covering her nipples.
He didn’t care what colour, actually. His blood had rushed to his crotch and he was sporting a hard-on of epic proportions.
If he spent the entire date knowing Jane was wearing fancy underwear just for him, he was going to have difficulty standing up and walking without attracting attention.
Okay, so how should I behave?
The ding of Jane’s message broke him out of his reverie, though it couldn’t distract him completely.
Just be yourself, Jane. No man could ask for more.
You’re very sweet, Jonny, but I need more information. Should I be flirtatious? Seductive? How do I do it?
The thoughts about Jane’s underwear didn’t go away, but he also remembered her at lunch today. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Jane had tried to act normally, talking with Thom, pretending to study the menu and appreciate her food—but he’d caught her attention wandering back to him, again and again. She’d looked in his eyes just a little too long when they’d spoken to each other; she’d cast quick, fluttering glances at his body.
Since he’d started modelling he’d become used to glances like that from women, but Jane was different. Every glance from her had heated his skin with desire—and, more than that, her eyes on him had made him feel like laughing out loud with happiness.
The mutual attraction between them was the best thing that had happened to him for a very long time. He typed:
I mean it. Just be yourself. You’re seductive without any help.
And you’re not BEING any help, Jonny. I need to know how to be sexy. What would you think if a woman did something like leaning forward on the table to mistakenly/deliberately show you her cleavage? Or is that too tacky?
Jonny swallowed. Jane Miller, the girl of his dreams, deliberately leaning forward in her clingy dress, showing him her cleavage in her ‘fancy underwear’ …
That would work.
What else? I’m bad at this, remember. Tell me what you like.
Oh, dear Lord. Jonny took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and typed without looking at the laptop, because his inner vision behind his eyelids was showing Jane, doing every little thing she could do to turn him on.
Cross your legs, let your skirt ride up a little, laugh, lean back in your chair. Wear your hair loose and twist a strand of it around your finger. Reach out, with small touches, a stroke on my arm or hand. Throw back your head in that adventurous way that you have. Get close, let us breathe the same air. Let your eyes show how you feel.
He opened his eyes only to press ‘send’, and he watched his words appear in the dialogue box.
In black-and-white, the words looked different than they had in his head. Starker. More like orders, rather than fantasy.
His heart rate sped up, partly with anxiety, but mostly with excitement. His blood pounded through his body and heated his limbs and made his erection pulse in his trousers.
His adventurous Jane, the fearless girl who climbed trees and jumped into pools of water without looking first. Was she playing with him, teasing him? Was she really as uncertain as she said?
She’d made the first move by asking him out, and now she was taking it further before they even met again, and either motivation appealed to him. He could play with her or he could reassure her. Or he could do both. He could tell her what he wanted from her, as he’d never done with any other woman before, because what he wanted most from her was that she be herself.
Unless, of course, she didn’t like what he’d written.
The seconds stretched into minutes. Jonny shifted in his seat, adjusting the fit of his trousers. The hotel-room chair wasn’t all that comfortable, especially for a desperately turned on man glued to his laptop. He pictured Jane sitting in her flat, reading the words he’d written, picturing the two of them together, maybe her brow furrowed a little, thinking about what she would do.
He raised his hands to the keyboard to ask if she was still there, but then saw that she was typing, and her answer appeared.
Okay. I can do that. But I have another question. What do you think about kissing?
A sound escaped Jonny’s throat, half a laugh, half a gasp of surprise.
I like it a lot.
His mouth was in a wide smile as he typed, his head shaking in disbelief that he was having this conversation online.
But what about a first kiss? What should it be like? Should it be all chaste and sweet, or should there be tongues involved? Do you just promise something, or do you really get into it and get all passionate? What do you think?
I rather think it might depend on the circumstances.
Jonny was actually breathless as he typed, he noticed with the part of his brain that was still rational. He continued:
You know, what feels right at the time.
He hit ‘send’, and then couldn’t help typing:
Personally I like passion. What do you want out of a first kiss, Jane?
The answer came back in seconds.
I want it all.
He had to stand up and walk around the room, because those four words on his screen made him feel as if he wanted to explode, as if he didn’t want to wait for eight o’clock and seeing Jane in the restaurant, but instead get a cab straight to her address and when she answered the door grab her and give her a kiss that had all the passion she could ever want.
When he typed, his hands were shaking slightly.
You can have it all, Jane.
And do you think we should have sex with each other?
He could barely respond.
Do you want to?
You know, I think I do.
Jonny didn’t move or breathe. He was normally a visual person, but the fantasy that filled his mind wasn’t just a picture. It was a full-body imagining of what it would feel like to have Jane’s smooth, bare skin against his. How her breasts and hips would feel under his hands, the gasp she would make as he touched her. The weight of her leg twined around his as they lay together. A soft giggle in his ear. Her mouth, soft as petals, her little hands stroking up his back. And the wet, tight heat inside
