My attempt at writing a complete narrative, about two random people meeting full of sexual frustration, depending on what you all think, I might make it into a complete writing project, let me know...
The collision happened in slow motion... or at least that's how it felt to her after-ward. One moment she was navigating through the crowded mall corridor, steaming latte in hand, lost in thought about her mundane Tuesday errands. The next, she was colliding with what felt like a wall of solid muscle, hot coffee cascading across both their shirts in an arc of caffeinated chaos.
"Christ, I'm so sorry—" His voice cut through the ambient mall noise like velvet wrapped around gravel, that unmistakable Irish lilt making her stomach flutter even as she stood there dripping with latte.
"No, no, it was completely my fault, I wasn't looking where I was—" Her words died in her throat as she looked up, way up, into the most penetrating grey eyes she'd ever seen.
Time seemed to crystallise around them. The bustling shoppers, the tinny mall music, the chatter from nearby stores—it all faded into white noise as they stood frozen in their coffee-stained tableau. She became acutely aware of everything: the way his chest rose and fell beneath the now-transparent fabric of his shirt, how the liquid had made the material cling to every defined ridge of his torso, the way his light brown hair was slightly mussed from their collision.
His eyes—those storm-grey eyes—travelled slowly down her form, taking in the way the hot coffee had soaked through her blouse, making the fabric nearly see-through.
She felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet electrified by his gaze. When his eyes lingered on how her breathing had quickened, how each inhale made her chest rise and fall in an increasingly rapid rhythm, she felt heat bloom across her skin that had nothing to do with the spilled coffee.
"Jesus," he breathed, his accent thick with something that sounded like barely restrained hunger. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a gesture so unconsciously sensual that her knees nearly buckled.
She couldn't look away from his mouth, from the way his jaw clenched as if he were fighting some internal battle. The sexual tension that had been building in her life, weeks, months of mundane routine, of going through the motions, of lying awake at night with an ache she couldn't name, suddenly had a focal point. It was him. This stranger who had literally crashed into her world.
Her red curls, now slightly damp from their collision, bounced as she tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. She watched his pupils dilate as he took in the sight of her—petite frame dwarfed by his imposing height, blue eyes that had darkened to the colour of a midnight ocean, lips slightly parted as she struggled to catch her breath.
"I..." she started, then stopped, her voice catching. The way he was looking at her made her feel like she was the only woman in the world, like he could see straight through to all the frustrated desire she'd been carrying around like a secret.
His hands, large and strong, hovered near her arms as if he wanted to steady her but didn't dare touch. She could see the restraint in every line of his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight beneath that clinging shirt. The air between them crackled with electricity, with all the things they weren't saying, with the magnetic pull that seemed to be drawing them closer despite the public setting.
"Your shirt," he said roughly, his accent making the simple words sound like a caress. "It's... you're soaked through."
She glanced down at herself, suddenly aware of how the coffee had rendered her blouse practically transparent, how her body was responding to his proximity in ways that were becoming increasingly obvious. When she looked back up, she found him staring at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch audibly.
"So are you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the mall's ambient noise. Her eyes traced the contours of his chest, visible now through the wet fabric, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.
The moment stretched between them, taut as a wire. She could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, could see the way his breathing had become as laboured as her own. There was something primal in his gaze, something that spoke to the restless energy that had been building inside her for so long.
"My name is Teirm," he said finally, his voice low and rough with that beautiful Irish accent that seemed to vibrate through her entire body.
The way he said it, like a confession, like a promise, made her legs quiver. She felt herself swaying slightly, drawn to him like a moth to flame, every rational thought scattered by the raw magnetism radiating from this stranger who had quite literally knocked her off her feet.
"There's a department store just down the corridor," she heard herself saying, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "They have fitting rooms... we could..." Her voice trailed off as she realised what she was suggesting, heat flooding her cheeks.
His eyes darkened further, if that were even possible. "Aye," he said slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "That's... practical." But the way he said 'practical' made it sound like anything but.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak again. The rational part of her mind was screaming warnings, this was insane, she didn't know this man, she didn't do things like this. But her body was already responding to the unspoken invitation hanging between them, to the promise in his storm-grey eyes.
"Lead the way," he murmured, his voice like honey and whiskey.
Her legs felt unsteady as she turned toward the store, acutely aware of his presence behind her, of how his eyes seemed to burn into her back with every step. The short walk felt like an eternity, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it over the mall's background noise.
The collision happened in slow motion... or at least that's how it felt to her after-ward. One moment she was navigating through the crowded mall corridor, steaming latte in hand, lost in thought about her mundane Tuesday errands. The next, she was colliding with what felt like a wall of solid muscle, hot coffee cascading across both their shirts in an arc of caffeinated chaos.
"Christ, I'm so sorry—" His voice cut through the ambient mall noise like velvet wrapped around gravel, that unmistakable Irish lilt making her stomach flutter even as she stood there dripping with latte.
"No, no, it was completely my fault, I wasn't looking where I was—" Her words died in her throat as she looked up, way up, into the most penetrating grey eyes she'd ever seen.
Time seemed to crystallise around them. The bustling shoppers, the tinny mall music, the chatter from nearby stores—it all faded into white noise as they stood frozen in their coffee-stained tableau. She became acutely aware of everything: the way his chest rose and fell beneath the now-transparent fabric of his shirt, how the liquid had made the material cling to every defined ridge of his torso, the way his light brown hair was slightly mussed from their collision.
His eyes—those storm-grey eyes—travelled slowly down her form, taking in the way the hot coffee had soaked through her blouse, making the fabric nearly see-through.
She felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet electrified by his gaze. When his eyes lingered on how her breathing had quickened, how each inhale made her chest rise and fall in an increasingly rapid rhythm, she felt heat bloom across her skin that had nothing to do with the spilled coffee.
"Jesus," he breathed, his accent thick with something that sounded like barely restrained hunger. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a gesture so unconsciously sensual that her knees nearly buckled.
She couldn't look away from his mouth, from the way his jaw clenched as if he were fighting some internal battle. The sexual tension that had been building in her life, weeks, months of mundane routine, of going through the motions, of lying awake at night with an ache she couldn't name, suddenly had a focal point. It was him. This stranger who had literally crashed into her world.
Her red curls, now slightly damp from their collision, bounced as she tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. She watched his pupils dilate as he took in the sight of her—petite frame dwarfed by his imposing height, blue eyes that had darkened to the colour of a midnight ocean, lips slightly parted as she struggled to catch her breath.
"I..." she started, then stopped, her voice catching. The way he was looking at her made her feel like she was the only woman in the world, like he could see straight through to all the frustrated desire she'd been carrying around like a secret.
His hands, large and strong, hovered near her arms as if he wanted to steady her but didn't dare touch. She could see the restraint in every line of his body, the way his muscles were coiled tight beneath that clinging shirt. The air between them crackled with electricity, with all the things they weren't saying, with the magnetic pull that seemed to be drawing them closer despite the public setting.
"Your shirt," he said roughly, his accent making the simple words sound like a caress. "It's... you're soaked through."
She glanced down at herself, suddenly aware of how the coffee had rendered her blouse practically transparent, how her body was responding to his proximity in ways that were becoming increasingly obvious. When she looked back up, she found him staring at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch audibly.
"So are you," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the mall's ambient noise. Her eyes traced the contours of his chest, visible now through the wet fabric, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.
The moment stretched between them, taut as a wire. She could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, could see the way his breathing had become as laboured as her own. There was something primal in his gaze, something that spoke to the restless energy that had been building inside her for so long.
"My name is Teirm," he said finally, his voice low and rough with that beautiful Irish accent that seemed to vibrate through her entire body.
The way he said it, like a confession, like a promise, made her legs quiver. She felt herself swaying slightly, drawn to him like a moth to flame, every rational thought scattered by the raw magnetism radiating from this stranger who had quite literally knocked her off her feet.
"There's a department store just down the corridor," she heard herself saying, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "They have fitting rooms... we could..." Her voice trailed off as she realised what she was suggesting, heat flooding her cheeks.
His eyes darkened further, if that were even possible. "Aye," he said slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "That's... practical." But the way he said 'practical' made it sound like anything but.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak again. The rational part of her mind was screaming warnings, this was insane, she didn't know this man, she didn't do things like this. But her body was already responding to the unspoken invitation hanging between them, to the promise in his storm-grey eyes.
"Lead the way," he murmured, his voice like honey and whiskey.
Her legs felt unsteady as she turned toward the store, acutely aware of his presence behind her, of how his eyes seemed to burn into her back with every step. The short walk felt like an eternity, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it over the mall's background noise.