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She jumps, startled, when I put my hand on her knee. Her eyes widen, her pupils flare andfuck, she’s so reactive.
A thousand microexpressions flit across her face, every one more telegraphic than the next.
Desire. Excitement. Confusion. Guilt. Interest. Uncertainty. Anticipation.
Every single one painted across her face for me to catch and keep for myself as we stare at each other unblinkingly.
She parts her thighs as commanded, but not enough.
I flick my eyes down to my hand as it moves from her knee to cup part of her inner thigh right above the bend.
I’m still looking down so I don’t see her sharp inhale but I hear it.
In fact, I fuckingfeelit in my lower stomach.
I look back up at her as I push on her thigh gently. My voice is barely a whisper when I speak, my tone coaxing.
“Wider.”
Her mouth parts slightly, her tongue visible through the small window. I keep pushing her leg, her mouth opening wider as a set of shuddering breaths fall from her lips at my touch.
If this is how she reacts to a simple touch on her thigh, I might accidentally break her when we finally fuck.
I can’t wait to play.
Next time, I’ll claim her mouth and those breaths will fall into my waiting lips.
Her legs are wide enough now.
I open the top drawer below her and take out a spoon, then abruptly step back from her, emotionlessly cutting off the moment like it didn’t affect me.
I grab a pint of ice cream from the freezer and lean against its closed doors as I turn back to face her.
She’s still sitting as I left her, having not moved an inch. Her legs are splayed obscenely wide open, she’s leaning back, holding herself up on her flattened palms, and the look on her face is priceless.
One part arousal, one part confusion, one part sexual frustration.
If she were naked, she’d look like someone fucked her and pulled out before she could come, leaving her wanting.
Her mouth snaps shut and arousal makes way for annoyance on her face.
“What was that?”
“You were right,” I tell her, digging my spoon into the chocolate ice cream and sucking it into my mouth, “I am hungry.”
“Stop playing games with me.”
“I needed a spoon.” I tell her innocently.
“That was inappropriate. You know I have a boyfriend.”
My mouth flattens into a straight line at the mention of that asshole, my mood turning sour.
I dig my spoon in and take another bite of ice cream before setting the pint down.
“He’s an idiot.”
She jumps off the counter and marches up to me, clearly incensed by my words. Her finger jabs me in the shoulder as she calls me out.
