Page 2 of Then Came You

"Oh, ah, you really don't have to." I stumble over my words, flustered just by being in his presence.

"I know I don't have to. I want to." His Murano-glass eyes stare intently into my ordinary chocolate ones. I'm not usually so intoxicated by a man, but he's making me feel as if I'm under the influence of some hardcore drugs.

"Oh, um, okay, then I guess just a small black iced coffee, please?" It comes out more like an awkward question, like I'm asking him for permission. His fuck-me face looks disappointed as his brows draw together, and his jaw ticks into a frown. I immediately feel like shit for making his face look this way. I want to do whatever it takes to erase it.

"That's not a proper breakfast. Try again." It comes out like an insanely hot command, like it's his life's mission to care about me. And I'm here for it. I'm so here for it and his demanding ways.

You just know he's the type of guy who grows more attractive the more he ages. I mentally take note to steal some more beauty samples from Sephora. I currently use nothing on my skin, and soon it will catch up to me.

"For the love of God, just order something so we can all go about our day," another customer yells from behind, making my face flush tomato-red, which is never a good look when you have pink hair.

"Toast with honey and black coffee," I squeak, not breaking eye contact with the modern-day Zeus who stands before me. His smile is infectious, and soon I mimic my own back.

"And for you?" asks the waiter in an annoyed, asshole-y tone. As if we're the problem here, mate. Two minutes ago, he was all-but trying to have sex with the pretentious red head that bumped into me.

"Just a macchiato for me." Green-eyes tears his gaze away from mine to pay for our order on his black American Express. So, he has money. No one, and I mean no one, who is poor can afford an American Express - let alone a black one. The monthly fees alone were probably more than my entire weeks’ worth of pay.

"Hey, how come you're not eating?" I challenge, a bout of confidence zipping through me. I place my hands on my hips in defiance at his double standard. He smirks at me, looking down to see my reaction.

I can tell he's trying to stifle a laugh at my attitude. And he has every right. I look childish standing near this mountain of a man. I'm practically fairy-like. Petite. Short. And he has a good two heads on me. He almost looks as if he's going to pat my head and say "there, there." If he does that, I might as well start digging a hole right now because I'd die.

"I have a breakfast meeting at the office, so I'll be well-fed in about half an hour, don't you worry," he puffs out a laugh, his eyes shining with mirth.

His dimples are more pronounced now that I can see his face more clearly. I immediately want my tongue to lick the divots; they're that enticing.

What the hell has gotten into me?

"Can I get a name?" The 20-year-old wannabe Justin Bieber waiter barks, interrupting us again, this time a bit more aggressively. I can see Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome is willing what little patience he has left in him to not deck the fuck out of this arrogant, entitled dickhead.

"Blade." Even his name is a fucking turn-on. It's edgy and it's bad-ass. As he announces his name boldly to the room, his eyes shift to mine, and he extends his hand out to me again.

I take it immediately this time, wanting every second I can get to have my skin on his."

“Row.”

Chapter 2

Blade

Row.

What a fucking stunner.

Have you ever met the human form of Tinker Bell?

No? Well, I believe I just have.

It was physically impossible not to notice this cute-as-sin little fairy fluttering on the spot for the past ten minutes. She's young. Too young. But that didn't stop me from racing in like a knight in shining armour when she looked adorably frazzled trying to pick up the coins that went flying a few minutes earlier.

When she started humming out of tune to a song, I'm sure I've never heard of, there was nothing in this world, or galaxy for that matter, that could compel me to stop listening. I even silenced an incoming call. I listened, enthralled as the decibel of her hum got louder. I don't think she even realised she was humming.

"Hi." My chest tightens at just the sight of her.

I don't know her from a bar of soap, but God, I'd like to. The way my body responds to her as she stares up at me is so intense. Visceral. When she chews her red ruby lip, I have all the control of a hormonal teenager. My pants didn't feel constricted this morning, but boy do they ever. I feel my cock rapidly inflate.

Could I be any more of a walking cliché?

I'm a 43-year-old man lusting over a twenty-something-year-old?

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