Whispers in the Mind, Fire on the Skin``The café was one of those places where time seemed to slow down, where the scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the faint sweetness of pastries, and the hum of conversation was just loud enough to feel alive but quiet enough to let thoughts wander. Mark had arrived early, his fingers drumming against the ceramic of his untouched latte, his gaze flicking toward the door every few seconds. He had seen her profile online—Sheila, a linguistics professor with a penchant for poetry and a smile that seemed to carry the warmth of a Mediterranean sunset. But photos never did justice to the way her dark, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, or how her deep brown eyes held a mischievous glint, as if she were always on the verge of sharing a secret.When she walked in, the afternoon light spilling through the large windows caught the gold flecks in her irises, making them shimmer like molten caramel. She wore a fitted, cream-colored blouse that accentuated the gentle swell of her breasts, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the lace of her bra beneath. Her skirt, a deep burgundy, hugged her hips before flaring out just above her knees, revealing toned, olive-skinned legs that ended in strappy black heels. Mark’s breath hitched. He had imagined this moment a dozen times, but nothing compared to the reality of her—so vivid, so alive.Sheila spotted him almost instantly, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. "Hola," she murmured as she approached, her voice a rich contralto that sent a shiver down his spine. The word was simple, but the way she said it—lingering on the o, letting the a roll off her tongue like a caress—made it feel intimate, as if she had already claimed a part of him.Mark stood, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. "Hi, Sheila," he managed, his voice rougher than he intended. He reached for her hand, and when their fingers brushed, a spark of electricity shot up his arm. Telepathically, a voice that wasn’t his own but somehow was her slipped into his mind: "Mucho gusto, Mark." The words wrapped around his thoughts like silk. He blinked, startled, but before he could question it, she was sliding into the chair across from him, her skirt riding up just enough to tease him with the smooth expanse of her thighs."It’s so nice to meet you in person," he said, his gaze locked onto hers. The world around them blurred—the clatter of cups, the murmur of other patrons, the hiss of the espresso machine—all of it faded into white noise, leaving only the two of them suspended in a bubble of anticipation.Sheila nodded, her eyes shining with something that looked like triumph. "Sí… es tan agradable verte," she replied aloud, her accent wrapping around the words like honey. Then, switching seamlessly to English, she added, "Nice to see you too."Mark’s pulse quickened. There was something unnervingly right about this, about her. He had dated before, had his share of flings and failed relationships, but this—this felt different. Like the universe had tilted just slightly on its axis, and suddenly, everything was aligning. He wet his lips, suddenly hyper-aware of the way her gaze tracked the movement. "How are you?" he asked, the question feeling inadequate for the weight of the moment.Sheila tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "¿Cómo estás? Estoy bien, gracias. ¿Y tú?" Her fingers toyed with the stem of her water glass, tracing idle patterns on the condensation. The gesture was distracting, the way her nails—painted a dark, wine-red—scraped lightly against the glass, the sound almost imperceptible but somehow loud in the quiet space between them."I’m good too, thanks," Mark said, though good was an understatement. He was alive in a way he hadn’t been in years. "Would you like a drink?"Sheila’s smirk deepened. "Sí, me encantaría una bebida. ¿Qué recomiendas?" Her voice was a purr, the kind of sound that made his cock twitch in his slacks. He shifted slightly in his seat, willing himself to focus."The cappuccino here is great," he said, though he couldn’t have cared less about coffee at that moment. His gaze dropped to her lips, full and painted a shade of rose that made him wonder how they would feel against his own. "By the way," he added, his voice dropping an octave, "you look hermosa."Sheila’s cheeks flushed, the color spreading down her neck in a way that made his fingers itch to trace the path. "Gracias," she murmured, her lashes fluttering. Then, switching back to English, she said, "You’re very guapo yourself."The air between them crackled. Mark’s hand found its way to hers on the table, their fingers entwining naturally, as if they had done this a hundred times before. "Es increíble cómo la conexión puede ser tan fuerte así de rápido," Sheila’s voice whispered in his mind, her telepathic words laced with amusement and something darker, hungrier. He didn’t ...
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