Master

There is something about a man wearing black leather gloves that is both inherently sexy and at the same time creepy. Serial killer-esque mixed with Alpha/Master. This man has not only black leather gloves, but well polished black leather shoes and a well-cared for black leather satchel/briefcase. Charcoal grey, tailored suit, and a matching fitted coat. A watch on his left wrist. Close cropped light brown hair, collar upturned, dark blue scarf wound around his neck. Black inner-ear headphones.

He has a strong, shoulder-width stance, leaning against the pressure the train exerts on him. Tall enough to hold onto the bar above the seats with ease. I want to pull the watch off his wrist and cover the exposed skin with my mouth. Suck and bite like a fledgling vampire feeding from its creator. He takes one glove off to fiddle with his phone and I want to fall to my knees and beg for that warm, bare hand on my face, those strong fingers to cup my cheek.

He has good posture. Unembarrassed by his height, shoulders broad and squared. His head is bowed only to concentrate on his phone and I want to tug his scarf off and drag my teeth over the exposed skin of the nape of his neck, but his wrist is what tempts me the most.

He removes both gloves and turns to face me, his hands on display. Gorgeous. He leans against the subway door casually, his hips canted forward. The veins stand out on the backs of his hands and I feel the urge to trace them with my fingers and tongue. The skin of his hands is red in places from the cold and his fingers are long and blunt tipped. They look strong and capable, his hands.

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