The nighty she wears is short and clingy. Thin straps hold it in place.
But if she leans forward while sitting, one strap might fall off her shoulder.
She leans forward to allow the strap to fall.
A glance downward confirms her state: aroused and distracted, evident by the goosebumps on her skin, and her protruding nipples through the material.
She bites her lower lip and yearns for his touch.
Slowly, her hand strokes her skin along her bare shoulder toward her chest. He’s done it this way, she remembers, never breaking eye contact while he gauged her body’s reaction to his touch.
But he’s not here right now. She is on her own, alone.
Her fingers brush over her nipples, reminiscing.
They’re hard. And getting harder.
She longs to have his mouth on her. Like he did before. Kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples.
He stared at her when he started, that time on the wall.
She was trapped by his body, and his desire.
His eyes scanned her curves, anticipating his moves. His hands and fingers, expert and focused, barely grazed her skin.
She let him explore, wanton for more. Harder, she thought. But she remained silent, letting him take his time.
It’s not up to her to guide him. He’s in charge. He knows what to do.
His touch electrified her core. She heard herself emit a moan, feeling her inhibitions shed from her spirit.
“I want your mouth on me,” she uttered that time on the wall, willing him to look into her eyes.
“In time,” he responded, meeting her gaze and tracing her curves toward her center, under her dress.
Bare, and wet, she spread her legs a little to let him in.