He’s the kind of guy you never kiss in public. Not because you’re ashamed to be seen with him, but if you close your eyes while kissing him, and you surely will, just look at those luscious lips, you’ll open your eyes and discover you’re naked. In public. Wondering how you got there.
He’s a skilled lover. Like the best tango dancers. They don’t lead women to dance. They invite women to take a step to the rhythm, either the beats, the spaces between the beats or the words.
It all starts with an inviting kiss, but not on her lips, not just yet. He’ll make like he’s greeting her as usual with a ceremonial kiss to the cheek, but at the last quick second, dip his head to kiss just below and perhaps slightly behind her ear. Or even lower on her neck. And he waits, lips at the ready, calm inviting smile. If she accepts the invitation, he’ll kiss her again.
He’ll invite her skin to his caresses. He’ll invite her to remove her clothes. He’ll invite her nipples into his mouth. He’ll invite her to receive him. And invitation after invitation after invitation. Then he’ll say, “You’re welcome.”
Providing, if she accepts the first invitation, which of course she won’t. Call it self-castigation or abnegation or one of those words that don’t quite convey that she’s not really trying to punish herself or deny herself pleasure, but is it too much to ask to do things behind closed doors?