Clare and Present Danger

He doesn't return your keys.

Instead, his hand still on your elbow, he opens your apartment himself. You're discomfited and slightly overwhelmed, so you don't notice that he puts them in his coat pocket and not in the bowl on the table by the door.

You walk through the door, headed toward the kitchen, feeling his fingers slide away from your elbow, still walking as they hook into the hood of your sweater, pulling you to a surprised stop. You hear the click of the door closing as he leans in and whispers, "Let's take this sweater off."

The apartment is warm, so you turn, undoing the buttons, slipping it off, and handing it to him. He hangs it, and his own coat on one of the available hooks before sliding his finger along the back of your left arm. You give a small shiver, feeling your nipples tighten again as his hands cover your shoulders, turning you and pressing you against the door. He leans closer, one hand lifting as he lets the backs of his fingers slide over the words on your shirt, moving from your right nipple across to the left. His lips are right at your ear whispering. "Nevertheless she insisted," he asserts, deliberately altering the phrase.

You stiffen, and despite the fingers gliding back and forth, teasing one nipple then the other, adopt a deliberately disinterested look. "You're the one doing the insisting," you begin, your voice husky and a little shaky. It gains strength as you continue, "Didn't you want some wat—"

You gasp as the sudden pinching of your left nipple interrupts your question. Your left hand reaches for his right bicep feeling its strength as you attempt to push his arm back. He ignores your hand in favor of watching your flushed face. You take an obvious swallow, again trying to adopt a disinterested tone.

"W-water," you continue as if there'd been no interruption, "I think you said you wanted some—" You gasp again feeling a burn in your nipple as his fingers tighten. Your nails are digging slightly into his bicep as his left hand lifts, the thumb flicking up and down your right nipple.

You're shaking your head. He can see your struggle. You're panting, your body vacillating from the burning pain of your left nipple to the teasing pleasure of the right. You squeal when he suddenly shifts, right thumb and forefinger pinching that nipple, as he releases the left and begins stroking. You feel your left breast heat, and the heat drops into your belly. Without any conscious realization, you're pressing your thighs together.

Any pretense of disinterest is gone. Your mouth is slightly open, as you continue to take panting breaths. The top of your chest visible above the scooped neck of your t-shirt, your neck, and your cheeks are all a rosy pink. When he switches his fingers again, you whimper. His lips ghost along your neck, then back up to your ear. You're trembling and still whimpering as he whispers, "Undo your jeans and slide them down."

Your fingers are stiff as you release his right arm, making you aware of how strongly you'd been gripping him. He gives a murmur of approval as you unbutton your jeans. The sound of the zipper seems loud and almost vulgar.

Just as your fingers begin to slide them down, your nipples are released, and you're suddenly turned to face the door. You feel his heat against your back as he lifts your arms high and wide, palms flat against the door's surface. He steps back, placing his hands on your hips, pulling them back from the door as a foot reaches between your legs to kick them wider.

The open waist of your jeans is stretched tight at mid-thigh, your bottom exposed in its girlish unicorn panties, finished by the shiny word "dream" across your cheeks. You feel his hands reach again for your hard, sensitive nipples, then down your ribcage to your low back, finishing with one finger tracing the feminine glittery cursive word.

The panties allow the bottom of your cheeks to peek out. You feel his fingers move and hear a hum of pleasure as he traces that place where your cheek meets the top of your thigh.

The sensation makes you want to grind. It's that same itchy tickle you get when a cock is in your pussy. The one that makes you beg, "deeper deeper," until you feel the head of his cock press right into your cervix. The same feeling that causes you to lean back when you're on top and grind so you can feel that deep pressure...oh god right there. It's the sensation that has you panting, "harder harder" as he fucks you. It's why you like every position that lets a man go deep.

All of this is passing through your mind, and although you haven't moved, you've somehow managed to communicate your need. His hands move to grip each cheek through your panties and he squeezes...hard.

You give a needy little moan, and he leans in. "Such a hungry little feminist."

His hands still grip your ass, your pants sounding loud and out of control.

"Don't move," he instructs, and then his hands release your ass and you hear the sound of his footsteps moving him further into the apartment.