Capture and Release Pt. 02

"Tell me, Phillip, why are you here all alone on Valentine's Day?" He looked like he'd rather be anywhere at all, at least when I'd first locked my gaze on him and this tucked away table of his. I wanted to make sure that he was as single as I needed him to be, dealing with someone who was drowning in unrequited affection wasn't something I cared to dip my dark wine painted toes into - and I really hoped that he wasn't about to become a false hope.

His eyes drifted back to the tabletop, to his second drink, to his hands wrapped around the second drink, and I waited - while I wanted to remind him to look at me, I wanted him to work through whatever he was trying to pick apart internally and without my interference.

"I wasn't supposed to be alone," his voice lacked the volume that came with confidence, but at least he was answering. "I -" he sighed and took a drink from his final glass, at least if my plans bore fruit, if he wasn't lingering on someone who wasn't sparing him a moment's consideration that was. "It ended, a few months ago," ok, but that wasn't reassuring me that Phillip was over it, or at least far enough past it that what I wanted was reasonable. "I guess seeing -" his head lifted a little to give a nod toward the tables that had couples rather than seeking singles, "made me realize how -" I knew, without shadow of a doubt that whatever he'd realized wasn't likely to make me happy - whether it was proof that he was pining for another woman or another self-damaging critical adjective - and I fought to allow the verbal trainwreck to continue on its path of destruction unimpeded. "Inadequate I was."

Sighing, I sat back and studied him when he turned to look at me. "Oh, Philip," he flinched, hearing disappointment rather than understanding the context of where it came from - he hadn't disappointed me, not in the way I knew he was assuming at least - no my disappointment was another form altogether. "I was hoping for a different outcome for tonight," sitting up again, back straight and eyes locked on his, I leaned closer, breathing in the subtle cologne he wore and the hint of alcohol lingering on his breath. "May I steal one kiss, one tiny taste, since I'm not sure you're ready for what I had hoped for?"

I finally heard him swallow hard, but I wasn't sure if I could stand feeling the shiver that ran through me from earning it. Not when it very well could be the last one I heard from him. Then he said something that made me reconsider that - and give me a little more optimism for the outcome of our encounter.

"You can steal a kiss, ma'am," another gulping breath slipped from him as he grew just a hint bolder when he added, "but, I'd like to know about -" He didn't finish, I didn't let him finish in case I was wrong, that he wasn't being bold or open with what he planned on asking for more information about. Instead, I silenced him by licking lightly into his mouth, smile growing as I felt and then swallowed up his groan, sliding my lips against his and teasing his tongue with mine until he licked back against mine, tasting first the alcohol we'd both had, but then, as my head tilted a little to give both of us ease in exploring, I finally tasted him, and his need for precisely what I wanted from him.

It took more willpower than I cared to examine to pull away from that first taste, but I couldn't allow myself to become more enamoured with the idea of him in a public place, not before he understood precisely what I wanted - or rather needed - from him.

"I have to say," my tone was huskier, breathy so I allowed myself a lingering moment to compose myself before continuing and was pleased to see that his gaze locked on mine when his eyes opened. "That if that is my only taste of you, Philip Peters, then perhaps this evening wasn't a total loss."

His mouth opened, as if he were going to ask or finish asking for more information, but I put my finger over his lips to stop the words from slipping out. "You can get everything you're considering asking for," the warmth of his skin coupled with his ragged breath caressing my finger made goosebumps shiver up my spine. "If you agree to come upstairs with me," his eyes rose to the ceiling, as though he could see through it and through the floors that separated us from where I'd be taking him. "I'd rather not gift wrap a new scandal for the gossips of this town, you see?" I waited for him to nod, the only time I'd willingly accept a non-verbal answer when he was actually capable of speaking one.

It came, because of course it did, most men were as curious as that proverbial cat people use as a warning against it. And then I asked him something he would have to use his words to tell me something that would be terribly important if he accepted what I planned on telling him in the privacy of my apartment. "Do you need a few minutes to -" my gaze flicked down, mirroring how he had looked toward the ceiling, as though I could see through the tablecloth and the tabletop to gauge his arousal. "Collect yourself?"

A shiver ran through him, and my eyes landed back on his face. I'd never seen a man so fully clothed look so bare - teasing his bottom lip with the tip of my finger as I moved it away so he could speak easily, a half smile tugged at my own lips when his tongue peeked out at me as if he wanted to lick it. He controlled himself, and I removed my skin from his.

"I -" he licked his lips and I knew that he was chasing the taste of me, control had its own limits after all, and he fought to keep his eyes on mine, proving that he was a quick study of what I demanded from any companion I gave my attention to. He shifted in his seat and I almost gave him a pass from answering, so clearly to me through his body language it nearly shouted affirmation. "Yes, please, I think -" his eyes were on my face, but I could tell his attention was partially focused on some internal subject.

"Are you reciting something in a foreign language," I murmured, thinking of a few of the ones who were fading fast into the past the longer I sat with Philip. "Thinking about baseball, or doing mental math?" His eyes went wide as I listed the tactics others had had to utilize when I would tempt them in public. "Forgive me my curiosity -"

"Multiplication tables," his tone had a slice of pain running through it, so I stayed silent, waiting for him to power through. I knew he'd mastered himself when he took a deep cleansing breath. "I go through multiplication tables when I need to -" his voice had returned to the same timbre it had when I'd first approached him and I graced him with a true smile. "You mentioned upstairs?"

There, there it was, a careful eagerness that gave me a true slice of real hope that I hadn't wasted either of our time - that Philip Peters was still a possibly perfect pick for what I would offer him, but we'd have to leave the quiet, dim nook we were tucked into - a bubble of tension that felt more private than it was, surrounded by all those couples and singles that were living their own brand of settling. But we weren't a part of that - and I hoped beyond hope that Philip wasn't yearning for that brand of inanity, since he was clearly as worthy of so much more as me.