I don’t even like coffee but every morning before work I walked into that specialist coffee shop on the high street and ordered a big one. I thought one of those days maybe he’d give it to me.
Vincent is hot, breath-takingly so. First time I went in I didn’t want to draw attention, I just wanted to use the facilities and leave. Then I saw him and I had to go up and order a drink just so I could talk to him and stare into his dreamy blue eyes legitimately. I love how he pushes his toasted-coconut curls off the front of his face when he’s thinking. I love imagining his long, chunky fingers pushing through my hair, pulling it a little as we…
Yeah, from the first visit I was hooked. That was six months ago. We’ve moved from spring lightness, to summer balminess and we’re now creeping towards autumnal chilliness. I promise I have tried to get him to go out with me. I’ve worn sundresses that expose my full, creamy cleavage and my well- turned ankles and calves. I’ve fluttered my eyelashes, I’ve pressed my manicured hand to his muscled arms, I’ve laughed at all his jokes. I should be his but I’m not.
I know, I know, I should have asked him but I was a little worried I’d ruin it. It was fun to flirt and to laugh and to start my day with a fantasy. If I asked him out and he shot me down what would carry me through the monotony of my work day then? Okay I’d save five quid a day on coffee I don’t drink but oh, it’s always worth the money just to see him.
It was a cold day in November when I reached the office to find it as cold inside as out. We all tried to work for a while, believing the heating would come on eventually but after three hours we were all told to go home. It was too cold and the plumber wouldn’t be over to fix it ’til the afternoon. On the way back I darted into the coffee shop to warm up. I was frozen.
“Back again so soon?” Vincent said as the bell tinkled on the door behind me. I explained the situation.
“…and my fingers are like icicles, feel.” I held my hand out and he took it in his then encased it between both of his own.
“God, Lauren, you are cold.” He rubbed my fingers between his palms and I heated up very quickly indeed, my pussy was molten by the time he let go. “I’ll get your usual for you, on the house.”
“Vincent, you couldn’t rustle up a cup of tea for me could you?” His jaw dropped like I’d just asked for Onward Christian Soldiers at a rave. “For you, sure.”
I let out a contented sigh as I sipped the perfect brew. Vincent sat on the chair beside me as the shop was empty.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen you drink from a cup I’ve handed you,” he pinned me with his earnest stare. “You don’t like coffee do you?”
I couldn’t lie and he could read the guilty answer all over my face.
“Why do you come in here every day then?”
Now that was the question and I didn’t know how to answer.
“I thought it was because you fancied me, I was expecting you to kiss me weeks ago…”
I think maybe the cold had frozen the common sense parts of my brain because I kissed him then. I reached out, grabbed his apron and I pressed my lips to his. I think he was pretty stunned at first but then he got into it. His fingers did tangle in my hair just as I had dreamed and his mouth undulated against mine fanning the heat through my body. I forgot about breathing, I forgot about my cold toes, I forgot that we were in a shop and I was kissing the man who does the serving. I threw everything I had into that kiss.
He pulled away from me eventually, held my face in his hands and smiled at me.
“Why did you wait so long?” he asked.
“It was a lesson in patience,” I replied with a cheeky wink.
“Oh, now it’s my turn to give you a lesson.” He slipped his hands down my body, grabbed my hand and pulled me up. He strode over to the door and I did my best not to fall over my own feet. I was still kiss-addled.
He turned the sign to ‘closed’ and pulled down the blind.
“Now are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” I gasped as he pushed me against the locked door.
“To take the consequences of your little lesson in patience? To take my hard cock, to be fucked with all the pent up energy that your patient teaching has built up within me? Can you take it?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” I moaned, “give it to me.”
And he did.
I tell you what, patience is a damn virtue and the consequences are paradise. Just ask my husband, Vincent.
© Victoria Blisse