And when I feel your breath catch, when I feel your pulse jump against my parted lips, my hands will slip around your waist to rest atop your thighs, gathering your skirt in deft fingers to draw it up over your legs, then higher still – until my fingertips find the bared flesh of your thighs and you find yourself settling back against me just to keep your balance.

“Tame? Not too tame, then.” Words spoken so softly they would be missed if they weren’t uttered gently near your ear. “There is heat, here.” My left hand resting atop the fabric of your panties, palm pressing down slowly. “Shall I be bold?”

And I am. My hand slips under the top, separating fabric and skin, and then you feel it nestle between your thighs.

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