Winter in Cambridge

Chapter 13 - Angrily Confused

Author Note

Accompanying song
-
Don't Go Insane by DPR IAN

Winter could feel the ghost of Tom's fingers tracing around the outline of her underwear, running along that same path that had her squirming in his hold against that dirty alley wall behind Lola Lo's.

Winter may have been physically dirty, with her hair caked in grease and the smell of alcohol lingering in the air from their shared breath, but she didn't feel dirty in the moments after like she perhaps thought she should have, or even now when she was reliving that moment in her dream-like haze. It felt too good to let it be tainted by idealistic morals. Tom's touch had erased every doubt in Winter's mind as he'd fingered her.

Even the feeling of Tom's wedding ring pushed against her skin had added to the thrill of their forbidden encounter in the dark as Winter reminisced.

It was naughty.

It was taboo.

And unfortunately, it had been addicting in the moment of weakness.

Michael, calling Winter's name, felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her. That and the searing cold of the metal adorning Tom's ring finger had been a catalyst for Winter snapping out of her post-orgasmic haze like a bee sting jolting her back into reality.

But she still hadn't felt dirty about it all - she felt confused.

Maybe the alcohol had lowered her inhibitions far too much, but even if nothing more happened with Tom, she'd hold onto the memory of what they had done for the rest of her life.

Winter bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle the moan as her fingers glided over the smooth cotton gusset of her lacy thong, following the same one that his digits had on Saturday night. She pulled the material taunt, just like he had, splitting her pussy in two; her labia swelled on either side of the cotton, adding extra pressure to her overly sensitive clit.

It felt so long ago, but it was only just over twelve hours that his fingers had brought her so much pleasure that he'd needed to stifle her moans with his sinful lips. Swallowing her mewls with his mouth like he wanted to feast on her moans of pleasure like a starved man.

Whether she was dreaming or not, Winter couldn't tell, but she could have sworn she could feel breath against the back of her neck as her eyes fluttered behind her closed lids and her brow knitted together in concentration, chasing that feeling, chasing that phantom feeling of his long dextrose fingers.

The warmth of the afternoon sun soon felt too stifling as Winter tried to roll away from it, her hands still nestled firmly between her legs, and her eyes squeezed tight, trying to replicate that memory that Tom had imprinted in her horny brain.

The gruff huff of a breath behind her and the tightening of an arm around her waist had her snapping speedily from her hazy, wet dream.

Sarah was wrapped around Winter's body, holding her in a bear hug so tightly now that her ribs were starting to ache from the pinch of her skin under Sarah's grasping fingers.

Sarah was always a cuddler in her sleep; like a dog wanting to curl up on their master's lap, she sought comfort.

But this was too sweaty, too tight, too much right now, and Winter felt a rush of claustrophobia and sickness.

Winter was hot enough from the memories of the night before, let alone the hangover that was about to kick in and make her feel like shit, as nausea rushed up the back of her throat and her stomach constricted painfully.