Jennie
The words cause my skin to prickle. I want her, too, more than she knows. More than I should, and more than I'll admit now or ever. Instead, I moan again, a sound silenced by her lips. Her hands skim my bra, trailing down to my jeans. She pulls at the button with one hand and, after a moment of persistence, it comes free.
I can stop.
I literally ache for her. Suddenly, I wonder who's more tortured in this little plot.
Her fingers linger on the edge of my panties, skimming the skin just beneath. I can tell she's awaiting some unspoken permission before going further. I should stop her now. I need to stop her now.
Some part of my brain - the deeply hidden, rational part - breaks free. I lean back so that I can see her eyes. Eyes which are now dark with desire.
"I can't..." I feel like I can't catch my breath. Like I can't breathe at all. "We shouldn't. I just...we can't have sex." The words tumble out before I can even think about them. I expect Lisa to withdraw, to embrace a lost cause when she sees one and make some kind of hasty excuse and leave, but her eyes don't move from mine. She kisses my chin softly.
"We won't," she breathes. "I just want to make you feel good, Jennie."
Oh, my.
But my damn mouth just won't shut up. "I just...I don't want you to expect things...."
She kisses me, her touch soft and tender. "I don't, Jennie. I promise. But we can stop." She tries to pull away but I grab her by the shoulders and force her back to me.
I kiss her. Hard. I graze her chest my with nails, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth, and she groans against me. This is all the incentive she needs - she reaches down, over my panties, and strokes me there. Just that one simple touch is more intense than anything I've felt before. At this point, I'm so aroused I feel like I could get off with simply a smouldering look.
I can stop. I can stop. I can stop. I can stop.
She breaks away from our kiss, leaving only a fraction of space between us. Her wild breaths mingle with my own.
"Is this okay?" she asks cautiously. She touches her nose softly to mine while she awaits my answer. I nod, because it is okay. I don't want her to stop. Ever. We won't go any further. I know when enough is enough.
I can stop.
She moves her hand up and barely slips them into the top of my panties. They pause there, on hair and skin, cautious of going further.
"Is this okay?" she asks again, her tentative words muffled by my lips. I nod once more, unable to find my voice, and my breath leaves me altogether when she stretches a long finger south and strokes my clit, nothing but skin against skin. I groan and my hips instinctively lift against her hand.
She lavishes my neck again, then my shoulder. My collar bone. She slips one finger inside of me and I want to close my eyes and weep at the pleasure I'm feeling. I throw my head against the couch and loudly moan, my thoughts leaving me in one quick rush of sensation. She mercifully moves her finger up and down and in soft circles against my clit, twisting and touching places I never even knew were there. My hands are in her hair, tugging, grasping for something to keep me grounded. She seems to enjoy the pressure and muffles a moan against my skin.
She slips another finger inside and they slide in and out while her thumb strokes me softly, eliciting the most crazed feelings from deep within my belly. My hips lift and shift against her hand, finding a rhythm to match her own. I can feel the pressure, the tingle, which starts in my groin and spreads through my body. It intensifies with every light stroke and touch, and I want to scream for it to go on forever and to end at the same time. It's the best kind of torture.
