I watch you enter the room through fringy-lashed half open eyes, from my spot reclining on the far corner of the couch. I've been day dreaming of this moment all afternoon. I know you've had a long day from the slight slump of your shoulders and that cute way you twist your neck at an angle to relieve the day's stress. No matter, I'm still wishing for you to take my hand and lead me from the couch, across the room and down the hallway to your bed. Do you know it? Can you read my mind? You approach me, lean down to kiss my forehead. Your touch lingers and I reach up to twine my arms around your neck, pulling you in closer to me. Our lips meet and the heat begins to build between us. You pause a moment to free my long red hair from the topknot I've pulled it up in, run your fingers through my curls and caress my scalp. I love your touch.
I find myself standing as you right yourself and deftly take me with you. Strong hands trail down my neck, teasing, caressing as you go. You pull my peach blouse up, run your hands over the bare skin of my abdomen, toy with my naval stud, and let your fingers flirt with the deep vee of my cleavage. I raise my arms and you pull the pretty pale fabric over my head. It lands in the middle of the living room with a whisper.
I lean forward a little, reach behind me with both hands and unhook my lacy white bra. You catch it as I let it slide off my shoulders, cup my breasts with both of your hands and flick your thumbs across my already stiffening nipples. I toss my head back, shake out my long hair and moan with pleasure. I love it when you hold them, love the warmth of your touch, the feel of your gaze burning holes in my skin. The lacy scrap of bra joins the shirt on the floor a few feet closer to the hallway. Neatness does not count and we both know it.