She sat two rows back and stared intently at the back of his neck. His collar rode up in the back and all she wanted to do was adjust it and press her mouth to the strip of bare flesh between his collar and the edge of his hairline. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin against her red stained lips, smell the salt of this skin, the scent of his shampoo. It was almost overpowering the need to run her hands up the back of his shoulders, her red nails stark against his blue pinstriped shirt. Curl those red nails into the meat of his biceps and drag her white teeth over the soft edge of his ears. Push her fingers though his short, soft, dirty blond hair.

He turns and his dark blue eyes are on the man in the row in front of her, but the skin around his eyes crinkles in humor. She doesn’t care that he can’t see her. His arm is along the back of the seat next to him and she knows she could reach him if he wanted their fingers to touch as much as she did. His callused and work-scarred fingers wrapping around her own. She never liked her fingers, but she knew next to his they would appear delicate and beautiful.

She wondered if his cheeks were smooth or slightly stubbled. She wanted to rub her cheek against his, to tuck her nose into the hollow just behind his earlobe at the hinge of his jaw. He slouched down and she just knew his knees were spread, his hips tilted, making the perfect seat for her. It would be easy to hike up her green dress and settle astride him, the rough denim of his jeans delicious against her cunt through the thin cotton of her panties.