Pump Two

by J. Cherry

I sit on the chair, removing my gloves and jacket in the process. Violet clutches her sketchpad to her chest like an old woman would clutch her pearls. Her eyes scan all over my upper body, unsure of where to look. “I’m taking off my jacket, not flashing you my dick. Relax,” I mumble, hoping that my tone is more flirtatious than crude. Violet’s eyes widen so much that if she’s not careful, they might roll out of her head. I feel like I’m fucking this up. Actually, I know I’m fucking this up. Her mouth opens, and nothing more than a silent choke escapes her lips. She clears her throat and straightens her posture, ready to try again. “You wouldn’t show me your dick, you can’t even show your face.” Damn, I didn’t know she had it in her. I let out a low whistle of surprise. She suddenly starts drawing, her slender fingers wrapped unusually tight around the pencil. It’s sweet that she’s trying her best to keep her cool. “Is that another challenge? Remember what happened last time?” I tip my head toward the counter. “I’m not wrong, though,” she says, a light flush painting her face. “You underestimate me. Hiding my face is foreplay, but we can skip that if you’d rather?”