Afternoon coffee, isn't it?

Rounding, thicker, pushing the faded blue denim ahead like a tunnel between his jeans and muscular thigh, she watches fascinated at his visible erection beneath the neighboring table.
She dares a glimpse from her saucered  cup.
Up, up
To where his tall eyes looked right at her,
In her like a satyr-Houdini magic and sexual and more than her brain wanted to handle at the moment, so she didn't.
It
fit
Her mood, her moment, her suddenly remembering she had on sexy underwear and gosh! he looks hot!
She sipped and flirted as she imagined, darting lingering lazy glances at the bulge and length of his blue jeaned cock and balls for longer than polite, hoping he'd catch her eyes on him
And see if it made his shaft buck up
From along his leg or even make a little wet spot on the tip.
She was wetter than she'd been for
Months and she wasn't even holding that pretty brute in her hand, yet.
Sucking,
Fucking
It was the only thing on her mind except
All that other baggage crammed in the station wagon of her getaway mind,
So nothing happened but a cup of coffee
Not really shared.