I raised my eyebrows slightly, involuntarily, and a smile passed across his face. He nodded as I settled back down onto the pillows, letting him finish unbuttoning me. I shivered as the cool air met my skin, and he trailed his fingers over my goosebumps, taking the cool tingling and spreading it over my body, fingers tracing light lines up my stomach, over the mounds of my breasts still encased in a white cotton bra.
When his fingers touched the soft skin spilling over the top
of my bra, a small sound escaped my throat, but he seemed
to ignore me, to ignore every pleading from my body to cup
both breasts, to hold me there. He continued the lightest
massage ever given, treating my chest as absolutely inconsequential,
just another section of skin between stomach and |
shoulders. Up and down my arms, rotating each arm to dance his fingers on the outside and then tracing up the pale, smooth skin of my inner arm, starting my skin tingling again.
The sensation seemed to be building, each light trace adding more, awakening a different nerve, a tickle here, a tingle there, patches of goosebumps conjured into life under his magical touch until it was almost unbearable, overwhelming and then he flattened his hand and stroked my skin with long, firm strokes, using the whole of his hand. It was as though he was erasing the sensory buildup, wiping his slate clean like shaking an Etch-a-Sketch to start over.
Then, he could begin again, but this time my skin was full
of the memory of his previous |
touches, reaching saturation, reaching the point where strokes teetered on the brink of becoming almost unbearably ticklish. Somehow, he knew, his fingers and my body in a dance of communication I couldn't begin to understand. How did he realize exactly the right moment to stop, to smooth and stroke me down each time?
I could feel myself flooding with warmth, my muscles down there tensing together with need, the overwhelming sensation of empty darkness yearning to be filled, aching for his thickness. I could hear more moans from my mouth, surprising myself at the depth of the longing surging from my throat in gasps.
I didn't know when the balance of his attention had switched,
but I became aware that his |
