Excerpt of Ebony Butterfly II

(this book is a compilation of several erotic short stories)

"Cleanup on aisle three!" the overhead speaker barked.A young worker moved past me, a mop in his grasp as if it was a gladiator's spear.

I continued pushing my cart down the frozen-food aisle and paused to check on ice cream. Mmm, strawberry, my husband's favorite. Then pistachio, my favorite!I popped my gum as I gave the indecision two seconds of thought.My husband, the inconsiderate, unthinking fool, was most definitely in the doghouse, therefore the ice cream choice was really a no-brainer.I mean, I understand he's a businessman and all, and that he had to travel most of the time, but I hadn't seen him in almost a month!He was supposed to come home today.

But instead he canceled our anniversary dinner.

Still, I sighed and deliberated some more with the door open, wondering if my hips could handle much more decadence.Reluctantly, I closed the door, catching not only my own frowning reflection but that of a man down the aisle, his gaze fixed intently on me.The glass door began to shut and the semi-familiar image disappeared, but now I was too wary to even turn around.

Me?He was looking at me?Maybe that pistachio ice cream deserved another look.As casually as possible, I opened the door, and checked the reflection for the man again.To my disappointment, the aisle was now clear of any traffic. I turned to check.
Gone.

How odd.There had been something sexy in the way he'd been watching me.

I dumped the bucket of my husband's favorite ice cream into my shopping cart, then reminded myself that I could have been dining at the Hyatt if only he hadn't canceled!

The tap-tap-tap made me realize I was drumming my fingers in annoyance. Which also reminded me that I had wasted my time and money getting the perfect manicure just hours ago.I had gone through all that trouble just to impress my man during dinner.My husband likes nails that scratch and leave small marks on him, and I was planning to show him.

The bastard.

I paused by the frozen pizzas wondering if I should get one.I settled for the pepperoni and was about to close the door when someone moved in from behind me, slipping his hand in and grabbing a box for himself.

"Oh, pardon me," he said quietly, his gaze remaining on mine a few seconds beyond what was considered cordial.
It was him!
I sucked in air, realizing my heart had picked up an extra patter. His charming smile was framed by his distinguished beard.

That face was familiar, beguiling. I returned the faint smile before deliberately looking away and moving along, not daring to give him a second glance.

We passed each other on aisle six.I didn't even make eye contact, instead I peered at the items before me, pretending I'd never seen so much foot lotion in my life. He cleverly bumped his cart against mine, muttered a deep, rumbled apology and moved a few feet away to look at the prophylactics.

And so we danced...

I grabbed a whisk to examine it.

He grabbed a glass jar of syrupy cherries.

I fondled a bag of walnuts.

He watched me through a jar of honey.

I licked my lips as I tried to decide which can of icing to get.

He made a big deal of sniffing a bottle of chocolate syrup.

Fine.

I stopped, pivoted the squeaky cart and moved on down to squeeze the Charmin.

He moved farther away to size up a large, black, phallic-looking flashlight. Then with a lecherous quirk to his lips, he grabbed some batteries.

Unreasonably annoyed and aroused, I turned away and this time I could've swore I heard a chuckle as I left.

When I saw him a short distance from me at the deli section, I took my time viewing the large German sausages, the Portuguese linguisa and because I knew he was watching, I grabbed an exquisite ten-inch Italian salami.

Our eyes made contact and his gaze heated.This time he looked away. Feeling cocky, I smirked, dropped the salami into my basket and found myself following him as he stopped at the seafood counter where I watched him buy fresh oysters.

Oysters, my favorite sex food!Myth or not, those suckers could get my juices pumping!

I could hear him discussing cooking instructions with the clerk, the gentle baritone of his voice tugging at me whenever he spoke.I couldn't help but think of my husband and the way he liked to bury his face between my legs and go "oyster tasting," licking and pummeling me with his clever tongue until I was positively incoherent.

I stared blindly at a package of tofu, flushed, and felt a phantom sensual tug in my loins. Blinking several times, I finally realized I was still holding tofu. Tofu?

I put it back and moved away, feeling the man's gaze like a physical caress on my spine.

In the fruit-and-vegetable aisle he brushed past me as I contemplated lettuce, our clothes rustling softly as if apologizing to each other.I felt that brush of him, his clothes, the almost undetectable nudge of his semi-aroused penis, and the lingering effect of it almost made me weak.

In the reflective slant of a food guard, I peeked at him, admiring the way he held two small cantaloupes, roughly the same size as my breasts.Locking his gaze with mine, he lifted the fruit to his face and inhaled, bringing a sharp tightness to my nipples, causing them to strain.Those large, firm hands clutched the fruit with the power of a magician, linking the orbs to my breasts.Spellbound, I couldn't look away.Each time his thumb moved over the fruit, I felt it. Even the flicker of his tongue over his lips set my nipples more painfully against my shirt.

I waited, realizing I wanted to be where the fruit was, being touched by his hands and mouth, touched and licked by him, fondled by him....

He turned to add them to his shopping cart, and the spell was broken.

Like bumper cars, we turned and headed in opposite directions.