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Wet Edges
by Jenesi Ash
Fiona heard the tinkling music coming from the street. The sound aroused her like a siren’s song. She rose from her bed and walked over to the window. Since she lived in a loft apartment, she had a good view of the neighborhood.
She immediately spied the musician outside the coffee shop. He was an average looking man. His washed denim jeans and thin pullover sweater concealed his lanky frame. His short brown hair defined his well-shaped skull. His facial features were blurry at a distance, but Fiona was more interested in his hands.
His hands were large, his fingers lean and long. He dipped the tips of his fingers into a shallow bowl of water before gliding his moist hands on the clear glass harmonica.
The musician coaxed a haunting melody by touching the wet edges of the fragile glass. He evoked images of sprites and nymphs. His movements were fluid, his focus powerfully intense.
Fiona couldn’t take her gaze away from his flexing knuckles. She watched, fascinated, as his hands curved and flattened, grazed and grounded on the wet glass. Fiona wished the man would touch her like he caressed his instrument.
She pressed her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to stand naked before the talented man. She dreamed her skin was dewy. Fragrant beads of moisture clung to her features as the man cupped her face with dripping wet hands. With a flick of his thumb, he wiped away a dewdrop from her chin. Splaying his long fingers apart, his hands followed the lines of her neck like a meandering stream to her collarbone.
His hands slid down to her bare breasts. Her veins tingled with liquid fire as his palms, smooth and slick, skimmed her curves before coasting to her ribs. The musician’s fingertips trickled down her rib cage like a light waterfall. His moist forefinger dipped into her navel before wandering to the delta between her thighs.
Fiona pressed her legs together as a whirlpool of sensations tugged and pulled at her, exposing a need she didn’t know existed. The thirst for his touch eroded her self-control.
The music drifted to a stop. Fiona reluctantly opened her eyes as she heard a sprinkle of applause from pedestrians. She studied the musician as he dipped his fingers in water, preparing for another song.
Fiona pulled away from the window, her skin leaving opaque smudges on the glass. She made her decision. She needed to experience the music first-hand.
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