We are dancing together.
I am awkward, aware of your proximity and my arousal, worried that you would be able to feel my hard-on pressing against you.
But you seem to be hellbent on teasing me.
Your breath is warm and fragrant, on my neck, your hands on my hips, pressing me closer to you, burying my rampaging hardon in the folds between your legs through your tiny skirt.
"Don't tell me I'm responsible," you tease, knowing fully well that you are, aware of my loudly beating heart as you press your breasts against his firm chest.
I pinch myself, just wanting to check that I have not died and gone to heaven.
I could not possibly be dancing with my hard on brushing against you, your bare arms are now around my neck, I am aware of your aroma, your perfume mixing with your sensuous, spicy scents pervading my senses, making me dizzy with desire...
Your hands move down my chest.
My nipples respond, suddenly hardening as you move your hands down my chest, your own chest heaving so provocatively, my lips tremble, I am aware of my suddenly parched throat.
You playfully caress my manhood through my obscenely bulging and tenting jeans.
I tremble. A sudden moan escaping me.
You smile, knowing I am putty in your hands. You can mould me any which way you want.
