He stops you from saying a word...

The man places a long finger gently against your lips, with a small smile that only grows as you feel a light flush sweep up from your neck to your cheeks.

He runs the finger down your chin, tracing a line down across your Adam's apple with a sensuality that makes you shiver. His hand stops at your chest, quickly unbuttoning the front of your shirt with a practiced ease.

You dimly register him take the glass from your hand and set it on a nearby table, feeling as though the sounds and sights around you have faded into the background, unable to stop fixating on the lithe figure in front of you and what they plan to do next.

His fingers haven't stopped moving since they touched your lips, now tracing over the front of your body to explore every dip and curve or briefly flitting about your nipples without ever quite making contact.

A thought in the back of your mind flickers briefly that perhaps you should dissuade this public display, acutely aware that you have no idea of the number of gazes on you, but it quickly vanishes as his hand drifts past your navel to tease the waistband of your pants.

You want to look down. You want to watch his hand in anticipation of what you desperately want to feel next. But with a perhaps concerning lack of alarm, you find that you can't.

It occurs to you that neither of you have broken the eye contact begun with his silencing of your unspoken question. His eyes contain blues and greens and a myriad of colors between the two, echoed by the blue hydrangeas in his crown and the sparkling water in the distance.

You would feel lost in the depth of that gaze were it not for the grounding presence of his smooth fingers against your warm skin, anchoring you to this moment.

You break the silence.