DEAR READERS: STEAMY SEX is finally here. Check out Ch 4: SEXUALLY INCLINED (oral) & Ch 6: JUBILESCENCE! I always knew it was imminent but it's fair to say a lot of buildup is required to set the stage. However, Ash is working on her PhD so she has some pent-up sexual frustration to release and we know Drew is always sexually charged so it was bound to happen on their first "real" date. For more SEX read Drew's POV as well. His take on sex is more raw and explicit.

THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS! THEY HELP MOTIVATE ME TO KEEP GOING!

If you don't want two sides of the same story just read Ashley's POV. The story is not predicated on Drew's POV so one could skip right over that and just read Ash's chapters. Alternatively, If later you decide you would like to know more about this Drew character, you can always go back and read his side of the story. It will still be there. I won't take it down.

Cheerio ;)

Reserved Stranger

Chapter 1: Don't Cry Over Spilt Coffee

Ashley POV

"Medium caramel macchiato."

I had come to know that voice; the familiar rich baritone is a welcome to my senses. As I await my coffee delivery, the reserved stranger is ordering his morning dose of caffeine much as he'd done every single day over the last few months. I never tire of watching his lithe body execute the precise movements I'd come to know well. He is placing a five-dollar bill in the tip jar just as he did every morning. Doing the math, daily tips plus the cost of the coffee average $63 per week on coffee alone.

I enjoy people watching but lately am so intrigued by the reserved stranger I am not aware of anyone else. I fantasize about running my fingers through his thick dark brown hair while he nips at my jaw. Speaking of jaws I often wonder what it would be like to rub my fingers across the sharp lines of his. I feel like I know his lips with their pillow-like softness, the bottom thicker than the top, as they permeate my dreams nightly. I want to wrap my hands around his long, masculine neck and rub across it with my thumbs as I nibble my way around. With a long distinguished and perfectly proportioned nose he is perfection in the flesh.

His body seems as sharply cut as his jaw and occasionally, he removes his jacket and lays it over his chair causing his dress shirt to pull tightly across his muscles. On those days I order a Frappuccino or iced coffee to cool down. Some days he beats me here and vise versa. Either way, I immediately know whenever he is in the café because the air has a distinct charge when he is near. An invisible energy surrounds him.

He has an air of elitism that supplies his apt nickname. He never looks up. Ever. It is the same thing every morning. He sips his coffee and reads the New York Times. Usually when it comes to guys I am on the defense, but the reserved stranger doesn't give off any of the usual interested guy signs. Plus, I find him extremely intimidating and apathetic.

If I weren't such a mouse I would have already made a move. How long had I been watching him? It's not like I haven't daydreamed about how an introduction might go. For what I had in mind I would need a completely full café. He would need to be sitting alone at his usual table. Not likely. The dream had me asking him if I could have the seat next to his. From there the conversation progressed into, "I see you in here so often I feel as if we sort of know one another." I would offer a demure but knowing smile and he would take over with witty, sexual innuendo.

He seems completely disinterested in everyone. I thought he might be gay but on at least three separate occasions I had seen him escorting a different woman. It was clear in their body language that they had the night. Even when he brought a woman in for coffee the morning after, he was not chatty. The woman always was but he remained aloof as he sat and read his paper. It seems their relations ended at the door of the coffee shop. The woman would lean in and go for the lips and he would grab her wrist and move her slightly to the side to kiss her jaw. He'd say, "Thanks for last night." The woman usually asked if he would call. He never said he would. Instead, he would place her in a cab, pay the driver, and then step into the backseat of a waiting Porsche Cayenne SUV. Imagining the things his driver must know, I yearned to be on that intimate level with the reserved stranger.

Sitting and sipping coffee attempting to act natural, I covertly glance in his direction at the pickup station. There is a new barista I have not seen previously and he is not as adept at coffee handling as the more seasoned professionals. As such, quite a bit of foam had overflowed my cup. The reserved stranger, usually quiet and unassuming, is being very vocal about his dissatisfaction. Knowing he orders a caramel macchiato, I imagine he probably has a sticky situation on his hands. He is rapidly gesturing toward the side of the cup as he addresses the new barista. The worker apologizes profusely and hands the reserved stranger several recycled napkins. I hear the stranger say he would need a fresh, clean cup. As he awaits his second macchiato he is frantically wiping and rubbing his fingers.

Still chuckling at his antics and noticing the time, I decide I need to make my way to the public library. I stand and put on my coat and sling my bag across my body. In order to grab a few napkins for myself I make my way to the pickup station, where the reserved stranger is cautiously keeping his hand away from his expensive suit. Still hastily rubbing his fingers together, he swiftly turns, inadvertently causing his arm to crash into my coffee cup. My coat absorbs the majority of the coffee.

"FUCK!"

My jaw drops. I am stunned by his outrageous expletive. Opening his eyes he holds my gaze, albeit fleeting, for the first time. His eyes are a beautiful electric blue. He immediately focuses his stare just to the side of my head. He swallows, "My apologies. I'll buy you another."

He is walking to the counter before I can stop him.

"Medium half caff, no foam, non-fat, vanilla soy latte."

For several minutes I stand speechless as I watch him. How does he know what I order?

Handing me the coffee with a slight look of humiliation on his face he says, "Come, I'll take you to replace your coat and then drop you wherever you need."

A whirlwind of emotion moving through me I was dazed, "What?"

He seems annoyed. "What? You want me to repeat myself?"

"No I heard what you said. What I mean is you don't need to do that."

With a distant look taking over his perfect features he replies, "Yes, I do. I have to."

Shaking my head, "No you don't, it is ridiculous. I'll just throw it in the wash when I get home."

"The coffee will stain, and if I had not been overreacting none of this would have happened. It's my fault. Besides, your jacket is wet with coffee and – even dry – in this threadbare state," he cautiously rubs the material between his thumb and forefinger like the mediocrity is contagious, "it will not protect you from the cold temperatures."

He grabs my free wrist and pulls me through the door and out to his vehicle. He opens the door and we climb in. "Where to?"

"My jacket is from Target."

With an ever so slight grimace he looks up to contemplate and his gaze scans the interior of the car, anywhere but my face, then to his driver he simply says, "Burberry."

I clear my throat and say, "My name is Ashley."

Looking forward he says, "Drew."

"The weather has turned cold." He nods. I feel infinitesimal at that moment. "I think the barista was new."

"Undeniably." Still facing forward.

Fuck. I give up. He's a total shit. I wrap my arms around myself and stare out the window to my right to avoid looking at him. For several blocks I think over the events of this morning. When I turn my head to the front, peripherally I can see Drew staring at me. When I turn my eyes to him he immediately drops his gaze.

He purchases a virgin wool fitted coat that is the most luxurious thing I have ever had wrapped around me. The cost is exorbitant. I don't want to accept it but he seems different at the store as he watches me from a distance as I run my hands over the finery of the fabric. I am in awe of the richness and quality of the textiles. Dare I say there is a twinkle in his eye, a dimple forming in his cheek? He holds so much of himself back I am constantly having to keep myself from asking him why.

I offer to pay for a portion of the coat with my credit card but he refuses. I still attempt at the register but the saleswoman has been overly solicitous from the start and is only too happy to meet all of our needs. She gives Drew one of her personal shopper cards and tells him the number on the card rings her cell phone. He doesn't even look in her direction, which I think is strange; she looks similar to the women he frequently parades through the coffee shop.

Back in the Porsche, Drew hands me the bag from Burberry. It seems fuller than it should considering it only houses my old "threadbare" coat. Glancing down, I see cream wool peeking up through the bag. I pull out the wool garments. Drew has purchased the gloves, hat, and scarf that match the coat. I look over at him. He is rubbing his palm on his leg and looking forward.

"Drew, what is this?"

He throws a sharp look at me that catches my eye for a few seconds, and then he turns back. "It's cold, you need them."

I place my hand on his to still the movement. His body tenses immediately and he sits stiffly upright. I don't understand him. Through his nice gesture at the store it is clear he cares but he is completely unreachable. Whispering, I call his name in an attempt to get him to look me in the eyes, "Drew."

He looks up at me but not in the eyes, no, it is as if he is looking through me. I touch my palm ever so lightly to his cheek. "Thank you." He closes his eyes and inhales deeply with a pained look playing across his gorgeous features.

I am having him drop me at the New York City Public Library. I am grateful for the ride since it has started to drizzle. That's when it dawns on me that I have not been introduced to the driver. I don't even know his name. I doubt Drew is concerned about this so I take matters into my own hands. "Excuse me, driver?"

With a southern drawl he responds, "Yes ma'am?"

"We haven't been introduced. I'm Ashley."

"Ashley, nice to meet you. I'm Evan." Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

"Well, Evan I really appreciate the ride, and you are one of the best drivers I've ever met."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Thank you for the compliment." His eyes are heavily lined from too much time in the sun.

"It's the truth! Are you from the South?"

"Yes, from Mississippi." He and Drew seem to have an unspoken connection. I would put his age around 55.

"Oh, the magnolia state."

"Yes, that's right, the magnolia state."

Smiling I say, "I just love magnolia trees."

"Oh yes, they make beautiful flowers."

I glance over at Drew and he is regarding me with an immensely puzzled look on his face. He then glances to the rearview mirror to make unspoken contact and raises a brow. Given the tiny nuances of their unspoken interactions I would guess Evan has been around Drew for many years.

As we pull up to the curb at the library Drew exits the car first to open my door and help me out. I say my goodbyes to Evan and thank Drew for the coat and accessories. He nods and boards the Porsche.

Wandering through the stacks in the library, I am unable to concentrate as my mind keeps drifting to images of blue eyes and thick brown hair. Sighing, I turn down one aisle and there stands Drew. Thinking my mind has conjured up the image, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. That's when I feel a strong hand slide into my hair at the back of my neck and pull me in. When I open my eyes, Drew is looking down at me. He smells like expensive cologne and dry cleaning. His scent coupled with his energy and the intensity between us is causing sensory overload. Drew leans his head down so that his lips are close to my ear; so close I can feel his breath.

He whispers into my ear, "Ashley, sometimes I don't say the appropriate thing so don't take this the wrong way but I want to fuck you. I want to feel you writhing under me as I thrust away inside you. I want to sexually frustrate you just so I can hear you scream when I bring you to release. And most of all, I want to hear you moan around my name as you beg me to free you."