Latin Lover (Five minutes freewrite)

He loved his women as he liked his coffee: sweet. Not necessarily inexperienced or innocent - he found those boring, yet not so consummate as to be hardened by heartbreak and betrayal. A ‘sweet little thing’ he liked to call them, like an Italian coffee, a ristretto packed with excitement. Mr. R. loved to chase after a skirt as much as he enjoyed taking that skirt off his latest conquest. There are reasons to believe his frequent boasting of being the perfect Latin lover held some truth - maybe not the greatest, yet good enough to leave the women wanting for more. Vulnerable, more than a bit confused and ready to cater to his every whim - that brought out all the sweetness in them. Mr.R. loved to bask in their smitten eyes and be showered with shameless kisses.
What he liked most about Sonya, his newest lover, was the way she settled at his feet while they’re watching TV, her head resting against his legs, her fingers gently tickling his skin while her lips planted furtive kisses along his thighs. He played along, brushing her head away and making her watch the TV for a bit, until she couldn’t bear it anymore and she started again with her teasing, yet incredibly honest kisses.
‘You’re all that I ever wanted’, she told him soon into their relationship. He rewarded her with a most passionate kiss - nothing more, for they were at a restaurant. Strange how warm such passionate words made him feel on the inside, even though he knew that long before she found the courage to open her mouth. The mousy little 20 something he’d picked from the side of the road, pretty, yet far from breath-taking. Oh, well!

As any true coffee aficionado will tell you, there’s nothing worse to the palate than cold stale coffee. You still drink it if there is no other option, but Mr.R. was already dreaming of a frothy cappuccino or a cinnamon latte, even though Sonya herself was already thinking of the children they’ll have together. The final straw was the tattoo she got one August day - a heart marked with the letter R, right above her left breast. The heart was so red and the skin around it so swollen it looked more like a sign burnt with a hot iron, a joke she totally didn’t get, saying that it was exactly what she had meant - she belonged to him now. And forever.
For Sonya, forever apparently meant waiting for him in front of the building where he lived, pleading her cause with her sad puppy eyes, which he no longer wanted to see staring at him adoringly. Really, it was becoming embarrassing, now that he had his eyes set on a certain Rhonda, such a sweet girl he’d met at a party. Plus, he did not like it to be made to feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault, that’s life, she needed to move on after a suitable period of mourning. She’ll meet someone else - not like him, but, hey, they’ll still have the memory of their time together.
Such a frank rational speech ought to do the trick, he thought, so one evening, when he found her waiting beside the lamp post she invited her in - to have a cup of coffee and talk, for old time’s sake. The gratefulness in her eyes almost made him want to get back together, she was still so sweet. Sonya was so happy to be back inside she became agitated, like a dog running around checking for familiar places and foreign smells. Back in their kitchen, making some coffee which she poured in their matching cups she’d bought on St.Valentine’s Day. So touching! But, he insisted they sit not on the couch, like they used to, but on the two black armchairs, with the glass table in between. Why give her the wrong idea - it’s just a coffee between old friends. Nothing more. Hard to say if he got the time to figure it out it was more than coffee. The poison Sonya had been carrying in her purse for weeks was so fast-acting he died after just one sip. A connaisseur like him should have known too much coffee will kill you.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: coffee!
Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

Image: Pixabay