Kacey Klein

short stories ~ literary fiction ~ social commentary

copyright © 1999 - 2013

Just Coffee



I bought something just for you. She changed her mind, unsure, hidden.

“I expected more people.” He scanned the room, his eyes returning to hers. “We don’t have to stay.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Coffee? Yes, coffee. There, in the corner.”

A nod, leading, almost to the table, a glance over his shoulder, taking her wrist, not pulling, not dragging, her in tow. The door opens, WOMEN, closes. He turned on her, close, her back to the door.

She takes his wrists, pulls a breath, his hands work the buttons, her hands helpless, riding down.

“Pretty. New? Lace and fairies, perfect.”

I bought it just for you. Blush. “Yeah.” Deep draw on the air, hands flat to the door, back arched.

Slipping in her shirt, his right palm cups her ribs, his left hand cradles her right breast.

“I got little tatas.”

“Cute little tatas.” His lips barely caress the waterfall of color, pausing on her breast.

“Damn.” She tenses against the door.

His hands work the buttons, his eyes watching hers, her eyes watching back.

“That’s as naked as I need you today.”

Helping with the buttons, she sighed with relief.

She sighed with disappointment into the kiss.

A tapping came on the door. “You okay in there?”

She blushed. He snickered.