Maybe . . .

I was a little late leaving work today, but was wandering back to where I had parked the car while in the office. And for those who like attention to detail (something which I most certainly do in all things) the picture is of the very street I was walking up lol

Anyway . . .I was wandering along, thinking of the conversation I had just had with a work colleague before heading off when I heard a voice behind me just as I was about to go into the bank.

"We must stop meeting like this"

I recognised the voice instantly. JoJo.

I turned round to see his big grin, his eyes alight and smiling just as heartily. 

"We aren't meeting like anything"

His eyes flickered with slight disappointment at my somewhat matter-of-fact response. I stood there staring straight into the depths of his eyes.  They've always drawn me in, they have always been so filled with feeling, emotion and his inner depths.  I've always been able to decipher the thoughts from within them, the feelings that lie behind them.  It hasn't changed even with the passing of time even though it is only recently that we reconnected quite unexpectedly as I wrote about recently in Sliding Doors ~ the meeting which if only a few seconds had passed wouldn't have happened. 

Today was just the same. Another one of those moments really.  I was later leaving the office than I normally would be, so by that time would have been long gone.

"Don't you want to keep meeting like this . . . ?" a sense of questioning, pleading in his voice.

I smiled inside at the question that he asked, at the tone of his voice, continuing to stare into his eyes.  Exploring them. Exploring him.  It has been so long.

There was so much more hidden by that question, except he seems to forget, just like he always did, that I know him, that I could read him, that I at times knew him far better than he knew himself.  I knew what he wanted to ask, and knew that his mind was working at a rate of knots as he tried to find the words he wanted.  The fact that he couldn't hold my gaze confirmed it even more and as he looked away sheepishly, my god it was another of those bowling ball moments.

But oh god, he has such a "hurt me" mouth. 

And at that moment in the middle of the street I found myself wanting to kiss him. 

To touch him.

To take him.

To hurt him.

To tease him.

To taste him.

To devour him. 

Right there. Right then.

Right at that moment.

Kissing his far from perfectly formed lips, devouring him like he is the last thing on earth to take in.  Drinking him in like he is the last drop of water in a desert, drawing on them, sucking on them, consuming them; consuming him. Covering his mouth with my own and taking the last gasp of air from his body.  

Building up in intensity, heightening in strength, shoving him up against the wall unexpectedly so he doesn't see it coming, feeling the impact as his head bangs against the wall, opening my mouth, covering his own, biting and making his lip bleed, kissing him with all the force I can muster, with all of the passion that stirs around inside, making his beautiful eyes water, leaving him startled so when I stop and step back that he stands there his mouth agape, startled, astonished at the force of my kiss upon him, upon his mouth.

And then touching them softly, gently, with heart warming tenderness. Lips gently brushing against his own, tongue delicately following the fullness of his lips.  Lips, tongue, mouth making better the hurt they have unexpectedly caused.

And the thoughts ran through my head at that moment and god I wanted to make his lips raw. And then to kiss them better.

"what are you thinking?" he asked.  His question bringing me back to the conversation, to the moment. 

I smiled at him.

"Oh lots of things JoJo. Lots of things."

"You're the only one that's ever called me that"

"I'm the only one who called you lots of things."

I laughed at the recollections. He blushed at the same. I laughed some more at his boyish response.  Another thing that drew me to him.

"Can we get together sometime soon?"

"Maybe JoJo. Maybe . . . "









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