Rest

As I'm lying still, on my side, I feel your hands move over me. I'm mostly asleep, but my body reacts to your fingers and I move closer to you. "Don't," you whisper, as your hand reaches lower down my stomach. "Don't," you say, as you reach between my thighs and your fingers graze my clit. "Don't," you tell me, as you start working me and everything in me wants to turn over and open myself more to you. The wetness I can feel, that you use against me, over, and over, makes me breathe harder.

"Don't you dare move." I stay still, trying to control my increasing need to pant and move. Finally, after minutes of adoration of my clit, do I feel your other hand pulling my torso over, and your breathe against my breast. My hips still balanced on each each other, the palm of your hand now forcing its way down to my clit, your fingers dancing around my pussy, your teeth biting my nipple, I find it hard to maintain the balance.

I'm waiting for you to pull my hips apart, to take what's yours. I want to buck against your teeth and your hand; I want to be more available; make every opening yours.

"Move, and you'll pay. You'll hurt for days." I know those words are true, so I stay still but begin to feel eruptions in my body. "Please," I whisper, because there's nothing more. You take your mouth from my erect, painfully red hipple and kiss me. "There'll be no more talk from you. Trust me."