I realise as if for the first time, as if of its own accord, that my hand has found its way beneath my own belt, mirroring your position with my own.With a wicked smile, your legs part fractionally further and I watch as your hand disappears into your waist-band up to the wrist. Your fingers leave your mouth and travel down your neck. Oh, you seem to have only your bra on your top-half (love the imagination). Your fingers trail down your soft, exposed skin, run the length of your collarbone to your petite clavicles before trailing south. Flattening your hand, it too starts to disappear beneath clothing. As first your little finger, then all fingers in sequence, brush lightly across your electrified nipple, your head arches back momentarily.My hands are defiant, teasing the skin and hair on my lower abdomen. I can feel myself straining into my pants – I’m forced to quickly adjust myself, surreptitiously I hope, so you don’t notice. I’m sprung! A tiny laugh escapes your lips. Now, he knew that she needed to talk. ‘It’s okay to miss him,’ he said softly as she sobbed. ‘If you want to talk, I’m here.’ He was right. She needed to talk. Words came out of her in a frenzied, incoherent flow, then became a stream of memories. She told him about her father, and he held her and listened. When she finished it was evening and the sun was setting. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, looking at her father’s grave as she sat down leaning against him. ‘Why don’t you come have lunch with me tomorrow?’ Sam suggested, idly stroking her hair. It’d do you good to get out of the house for a bit. Ann nodded and rose, pulling Sam up with her. She was a shadow of her old self now, but at least she was that. Sam led her to the house and left, thoughtful. He needed to tread carefully around Ann now, she was vulnerable. As he got into his car, there was only one thought running through his head. He wanted her to need him like he needed her, and love him like he loved her. — Chris ran his.
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