She was wearing a dress, a summer
dress, floral and bright in a thin fabric.
He brushed the bottom of the dress up, and gripped her round her
hips. He slipped his hand down the front
of her thong and into the warm folds of her body. He didn’t stop kissing her as her caressed
her. As her body began to respond, her
mind was free of any memory of her father.
Ripples of pleasure moved outwards from the focus of his attention, and
his tongue in her mouth muddled her mind clearing it of anything but the
sensations she was feeling. She didn’t
want him to stop. But she knew also that
she ought to think it through, without this confusion of lust and pleasure and
affection.
“Wait,” she gasped, “I … it’s too
nice.”
He stopped at once. She could see his erection, straining down
one trouser leg, his boxers and his chinos useless concealment.
“Too noice?” He raised his
eyebrows in amusement and puzzlement.
“Is that possible?”
She looked into his soft brown
eyes, so warm and filled with affection, concern, friendship and love. The eyes muddled her too. They turned her decision-making brain to
mush. All she could feel was the
intense wish to melt into his arms, to go on kissing, to enjoy again that
wonderful sensation of him touching her and pleasuring her. Loving her.
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