I usually come home early on Fridays. Who can get anything done with the weekend staring you in the face? Especially when there's a beautiful young lady waiting for you. She knew my schedule better than I did, and liked to get off early on Fridays too.
This, however, was a Tuesday.
The stereo announced that someone was home. The Tori Amos album announced that it was her. Nothing could have announced the scene on the couch.
Her head lay back on one overstuffed arm. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly. One leg was tucked under her; the other sprawled across the couch. The slight flush on her face and the bead of sweat that ran down one breast to disappear into her tank top could be explained by the heat. The pair of shorts and panties around one ankle could not.
I was frozen in place as my eyes traveled down her arm to the hand moving slowly in her lap. The tips of two fingers lightly pressed on the folds of skin atop her lips, moving in lazy circles. No great pressure, no great need, just languid satisfaction. The slow steady way she pleased herself, moist fingertips gliding over moist skin, was somehow more erotic than a sweaty unbridled frenzy would have been.
I felt like an intruder standing there watching her. I felt like I should leave as quietly as I came in. I felt like I should let her know I was there. Hell, I felt like I should be taking notes.
As I stood there in the doorway barely breathing, evil thoughts filled my head. Disrobe as quickly as I could and take her right there on the couch. Crawl silently to her, brush her hand away and finish with my mouth what her fingers had started.. Appealing as they were, none of the visions dancing in my head could compare to the one before me.
As if in slow motion, her fingertips left their station over her clit and ran down her lips to slip within. Two fingers disappeared, brining a long slow deep breath that set my hair on end. She drew her now glistening fingers back out, her lips clinging to them as if sorry to see an old friend go. Perhaps they were. Her fingertips returned to the fold above. Was it my imagination, or was their lazy caress a bit more determined? I moved before any conscious decision was made.
Quietly, quieter than I'd have thought possible, I approached her. As I drew nearer, details became sharper. The twitch of a muscle in her thigh, a small drop of moisture, the pulse at her neck, her eyes rapid motion behind lids shutting out the world.
