No, She Answers Right Away

"Tiana," I said, admiring her in the doorway.

She was wearing a floral sundress hanging from spaghetti straps on her shoulders as though threatening to drop fee at any moment. Her tits swayed free underneath, and the dress ended in the middle of her tanned thighs like an invitation. Her bright red lipstick felt the same way; an invitation for my mouth, for my cock.

"You're right on time, Papi," she said with a playful smile, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment or arousal or both. A light sheen of sweat sat on her brow and against her neck and along her cleavage. She glowed like freshly-misted fruit on display.

"I try to be punctual," I replied. My worry shrank before the hunger. "May I come in?"

"Please, do." She pivoted but didn't move, so I had to press by her to get into the apartment.

I was again impressed with how small she was for her curvy frame, her head at my chest, her figure soft and firm in all the right places. My fingers grazed her thighs near the hem of her dress. Her dark eyes met mine and stayed there, challenging and imploring, but I slipped by to enter the living room.

If I told you she was a college student, daughter of Mexican immigrants, and had got an apartment with a mix of college loans and a part time job, you'd have the right idea. One-bedroom, tiny kitchen, TV on one wall of the living room and the couch opposite, Mexican flag on the wall. Cluttered but clean.

I took it all in with a glance, instantly distracted by the smell and sounds of cooking. Sometimes the promise of a meal can stop you in your tracks.

"It's almost finished," she said, stepping past me.

I noted her bare feet, both because sundresses and bare feet are cute, and because it drove home the point that we weren't going anywhere. Our little date had skipped the first part and gone right to her home.

My hand flashed out and I smacked her ass as she passed by, getting a good bounce. She shot back a look trying to be disapproving, but full of too much heat to manage. Her lip curled up at the corner before she continued on to the food.

I sat on the couch without asking. A bit rude, maybe, certainly presumptuous. But there wasn't exactly room for a dining table in the teensy apartment. And in any case, I was here to take. I wanted her to get that message as quickly and clearly as possible.

It wasn't long before she set up cheap TV trays and brought in the food--shredded beef and peppers on tortillas, and tamales--and drinks--Mexican pop in glass bottles, like Fanta but not like it.

"It looks fantastic. And the smell."

She grinned at my compliment. "It's nothing, really."

She started to sit down, but I stopped her with one word.