She was playing with the rim of her glass. Running a finger. She wasn’t fully aware, it wasn’t really on purpose. As if the glass was playing with her, not the other way around. Her fingertips went down on the glass, caressing its stem. There was so much happening in the back of her head that she wasn’t completely present. She dipped her finger and got a taste. Just the tip, she thought. Just a drop. Why? There was no “why”. Something was going down. She wanted to break the ice and make him forget about protocols and small talk and all the boring stuff. Her clock was already ahead. Her lips weren’t kissing the glass. They were elsewhere. Kissing the tip. She wanted that dip. She wanted his lips on the rim of her glass. Sipping from her. Something had spilled somewhere. But not the cool of the wine. It was warm. Who knows where it had started to trickle. Somewhere behind her eyes, would be a good guess. But it was inevitable where it would end up. It would part lips. It would not be contained. Here thighs were clenched shut like a vise. Her tongue craved new flavor. She wanted to excuse herself but she felt a bizarre excitement in walking on a razor-thin edge of a boiling sensation. The tease. The pleasant torture. He had stopped talking. He was focused on her lips. How long has it gone like that? Her casual gestures couldn’t mask anything now. She was all color seeping from behind the makeup. She suddenly caught his stare just like she would his hand. But she would not deflect it. She would guide him. And this realization exploded in her head… and everywhere simultaneously. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled. She climaxed.
“Are you okay?”
