Fingers thread through my hair.
I don’t move, my heart speeds up. In an instant, I remember where I am. What I have done. I slept on his lap, knowing it was an open invitation to something I still can’t articulate. I fight to control my breathing and try not to stir, because I don’t want him to know I’m awake. I want to see where he takes this.
I realize I’m holding my breath and force myself to breathe again. I try to inhale calmly, but it catches in my throat. His arm, draped around my waist, tightens. He knows I’m awake, knows I’m not objecting, and he’s not stopping.
His hand slides under the blanket. It’s hot on my skin through my thin blouse. He traces a path along my arm down to my hand that lies in front of my chest, then he moves and places his palm below my breasts, letting it rest there. A finger slides across my nipple. It stiffens instantly. It screams for his attention, and that light brush is far from satisfying. I forget to breathe, and then I just give up on it altogether. I want more. This feels so kinky. So forbidden.
I have to force myself to stay still.
His hand hovers over my nipple, then he pinches it gently and I gasp, spikes of want surging through me. This pretending-to-sleep routine is going to be hard to keep up. When I don’t object, he grows bolder and cups my breast and squeezes. Carefully at first, and then with more force. He suddenly stills and I hear the soft steps of someone approaching.
“Is there anything you need, sir? Coffee? A pillow for yourself?”
“Thank you. I’m good,” he answers cheerfully.
“She seems to be having a good sleep.”
“Oh yes. Anyone would envy her.” His voice reverberates through his chest.
Oh yes indeed!
His hand starts exploring again. It moves down along my belly and I tense up like a piano wire. Is he going where I think he’s going? But then I feel his warm palm on my naked skin as he pushes his hand under my blouse and moves upward again. He pushes up my bra, freeing my breasts, pinching first one nipple and then the other before he firmly squeezes my breasts, paying good attention to them both. I squirm and am barely able to stifle the moan that wants to escape my throat. His other hand rests on my head, toying with my hair, then taking more of a forceful hold of it as his breathing changes, gets more labored. I like it. I like that I affect him as much as he affects me.
When his hand abandons my breasts, I miss its presence immediately. I wonder if he’s done exploring, but he changes direction, caressing along my stomach and then down the front of my hip. Oh—Oh my God! Sliding his hand down my skirt, he pulls it up until his fingers rest scorching hot on my thigh. Agonizingly slow, he feels his way up my thigh until his hand rests on my panties. Panties that are drenched with moisture.
When a finger starts circling my clit through the fabric, I can’t help the moan that escapes me.
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