The Mating Dance
What would you do to impress the female of the species?
It was a warm day and he stood outside her home office window, pruning her lemon trees. She had become rather distracted by him, watching him with a growing hunger, waiting, with the patience of a spider, slowly, unmovingly, as she prepared for the feast ahead when at last her prey ensnared himself in her web.
Was he truly unaware of her eyes upon him, she wondered, taking into consideration the extra care he had bestowed upon the tree within her line of sight, spending almost twice as long on this one as he had on the other. Or was he indeed playing with her, performing for her a ritual mating dance designed to attract her attention?
Working outdoors has given his skin a golden sheen and he looked almost to glow in the sunlight. The physical demands of the job had done wonders for his physique; the definition in his arms as he would reach, stretch and lift is what she had noticed first, and she found herself wondering how strong he really was. As he reached towards the uppermost bough, his t-shirt lifted to reveal a set of washboard abs which she longed to trace with her fingers, following the deep V of his obliques beneath his shorts to the apex of his manhood.
The words and images on the laptop in front of her started to blur as she slipped her fingers inside her already dampened knickers, gently sliding between her lips, lightly rubbing over her clitoris as she removed the restrictive lace panties, pulling them down to her ankles. Kicking them away, she sat herself upon the edge of the office chair and spread her legs wide open, gasping as her fingers found their destination, her mind imagining it were instead his strong and nimble fingers pushing deeper inside her.
Perhaps it was simply the heat, more likely the continued dance to attract the female of the species, he paused, letting out a great roar, before wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, mussing his hair in the process. He lifted the front of his t-shirt to wipe his face and continued to pull it up over his head. He wiped the back of his neck, and glancing up, saw her looking at him through the window.
Their eyes remain locked for several seconds, as in a feline battle of wills, each daring the other to look away first. She licked her lips and wondered if he could sense her attraction for him, sure the pheromones were radiating off her in waves. He broke first, grinned and winked. She smiled back and stood, disappearing momentarily before coming to the door to offer him a drink.
He followed her inside to the kitchen, like a lamb to the slaughter, and as she reached into the cupboard for a glass, she could sense him watching closely as her skirt rode higher, dangerously close to revealing that she was not, in fact, wearing any underwear. Very aware of his eyes on her, she moved slowly, seductively, to the freezer, bending deeply to scoop a handful of ice cubes into his glass. She felt him move towards her, but just before his hand reached out to touch her, she stood and walked quickly to the sink, turning on the tap, the sound masking his footsteps as he came to stand directly behind her, mere inches away as she turned to serve him.
'Thanks,' he said, stepping closer, pressing his now evident hardness against her, removing the glass from her hand to place it on the bench behind her. 'Water, however, will not quench my thirst....'