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Hot Water

November 12, 2013 2 comments

We shouldn’t be doing this. Kissing, touching, sliding hands over wet skin. There are others in the hot tub with us. Two acquaintances, more strangers. I don’t know how many. I’m straddling your lap, trying to focus on the conversation we’re having with the others, on the flow of water across my skin, on anything other than the pressure of your body against mine every time you move.

You look calm. You nod and smile and carry the conversation as though there’s nothing but this small talk on your mind. As though you aren’t running your hands over my ass and thighs, slipping your fingertips just under the edge of my bathing suit before moving away again. By the time there’s a lull in conversation long enough for us to kiss again, I’m ready to devour you. You let me. If I could thank you for not teasing me by keeping back another moment, I would. Speaking would mean losing a syllable of time that could be spent kissing you. It’s unthinkable.

You run your fingers between fabric and skin, shove the crotch of my suit out of the way. It cuts into my thigh. I can’t remember why I decided to wear it at all, can’t help being annoyed that it’s getting in the way now. Your fingers clamp down hard on my clit, making me gasp and pull back to look at you. You turn suddenly gentle, let your fingers drift down, feather-light and slow. You take your hands away, shift your weight. For a moment I think you’re going to push me away. You grip my hips instead, pull me closer, until your cock is pressed up against my cunt. I can’t read your expression–waiting to see how I’ll react, I suppose. I could stop you. I nod, only once, only slightly. Your expression stays the same: calm and inscrutable. Above the water, you don’t even move. You slide into me slowly, with the barest rocking of our hips. I have to kiss you again to keep from moaning out loud. It hardly seems possible that the others don’t know exactly what’s going on, but no one says a word. It’s not as though anyone’s likely to mind, here. We’re not fucking–not really. Once you’re inside me we barely move. I can hardly breathe. I’m all but shaking with the effort of not thrusting my hips against yours.

I wonder how you’d react if I leaned in to whisper exactly what I’m thinking in your ear. How I want you to fuck me hard, right now, consequences be damned. How I want you to take me home, throw me against a wall, hit my face and fuck my mouth and please don’t stop just because I gag or choke or my eyes seem to be begging for relief. How I could almost come, right here, right now, without moving at all. How I don’t give a damn about my own orgasm: right here, right now, all I want is yours.

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