This was built on blocks of unfulfilled desire, popsicles and coy little smiles she threw his way. And by now he knew her quirks; how her eyes lingered with mysterious heat doing all sort of nameless things to his insides and how her tongue purposefully darted out to swirl o sweet caramel.

All of it. Meant for him and only him.

He met her at a bar. All smooth curves and red lipstick sticking to the rim of her glass. Seated on the simple bar stool(like a fine bottle of sparkly champagne far beyond money's reach), as if it were a much more regal thing, her skirt rode up over creamy flesh that, damn right, would feel fucking good wrapped around his waist; sliding with sweat induced from rigorous carnal acts and cries of more, more, more.

Posicles seemed to be best buddies with the lady forever clad in black. Lucky treat. How would that pliant muscle of hers - multicolored with caramel - feel on his throbbing member? Tracing a wet trail over each pulsing vein before fully engulfing him. Sucking until every last drop of his very essence slid down her throat.

Oh, how many scenarios had he not played inside his head. He could see how the corners of her red mouth would quirk up; her ego satisfied and lust swelling. And god, he wanted to taste himself on her mouth; wanted to be a part of her just as much as he wanted to make her his.

She had become an obsession. And he drank her presence like it was sex in a bottle.

The first time he saw her she had perched herself on the bar stool with such infectious grace; time slowed, the air itself thickened and suddenly, each breath turned headier. When she danced the panels of her skirt swayed with her hips to the rhythm of Rock N' Roll and Black Magic. Her high socks and dark shirt licked her body like damned shadows clinging on walls. And he could just imagine her swimming on his bed sheets; angel bones and muscle flexing with each new position.

If her nimble pouring of whiskey could make liquor finer... Could her touch make the waves of orgasmic pleasure feel like heaven on earth?

A part of him wanted to grab and rip, lick and bite; fuck her like an animal because he knew it would bring him sweet release. Because he could almost feel her trembling and moaning under his ministrations; her back arching and pert nipples grazing his chest as her inner walls clamped down on the girth of his aching member. Burning stabs of pleasure as he thrust away with a broken pace. Hips rocking wantonly like a raging storm in the middle of the sea and no salvation.

Almost. He could almost feel her.

But tonight the picture of her flushed body and the illusion of a lovely pinkish blush spreading to the swells of her round breasts faded quicker. His eyes opened lazily and the smoke from his cigar fluttered to the ceiling like white flames. Or the ghost of his fantasy.

She was approaching.

Right now.

Fuck, shit, damn.

For a moment everything was a haunting gaze of shimmering crystal through hooded eyes and brownish locks of hair damp with perspiration clinging to her brow and neck; like ink on porcelain. And then a tinkling crimson smirk as she leaned close enough for the sparks to shoot in the gloominess of doubt.

His eyes dropped curiously as a flash of white caught his attention. Printed on her shirt, white letters went: 'You know you want it.'

Her smile became a tad larger, pulling a popsicle out of nowhere.