A Night in a Year: 16. Retreat

Even under the material, she can feel the sinews of his muscles, a distinction between the top and the underside of his thigh. Soft, yes, but there is also tautness, leanness. The kind of thighs she’ll want to feel naked, to grasp and spread apart when in bed, to sink her teeth into and feel some resistance.

That’s assuming they’ll make it to a bed. She hasn’t quite planned for that. Her own is out of bounds on nights like this.

His fingers have stopped moving on her, and in response, she pauses too. He seems to realise, and he starts tracing again, but he moves further up her inner arm. He finds the dip in her elbow, and floats back down to her wrist. He does it again, the same sweeping motion. For the first time since meeting him, she notices her cunt, and is very aware of her wetness.

She sinks her nails into the furrow of his inner thigh, and moves them too, not quite as sweeping as he. She could go so much closer to his cock and balls, but she will not let herself be so overt. There is little fun in that.

More fun, in fact, if she does this…

She leans closer. “You’ll have to excuse me for a couple of minutes.”

“Oh?”

“Bathroom.”

He sniggers. “We could go togeth—”

She pulls her hand back from him, and her arm, and she finds her handbag. “No. No we won’t.” She stands. He hasn’t move from his hunched over position, as if she could slide her arm right back next to his.

“But I will be back.” She doesn’t say it earnestly or reassuringly, but as if ‘of course she would, what else would she do, you silly man?’ “Mind my shawl.”

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Next: 17. Bright Eyes

Image found on flickr, by Cillian Storm, used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.