Afternoon chat

She glances at her watch and the color drains from her face. "Oh god, is it that late already? I've been so caught up talking, I lost track." She bites her lip. "I'm going to miss my date." "Forget him," you say. "He doesn't deserve you anyway." You reach for her hand. "Stay here instead. I've got a few tricks that can make this afternoon even better than small talk." She doesn't pull away. Instead she watches your mouth like she already knows where this leads. The silence stretches between you, thick with what neither of you has said yet. Your fingers brush her thigh and she shifts closer, her breath quickening as she lets her knees part. You catch the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her skin through thin fabric. When your hand slides higher, she moans—soft, surprised by her own need. You feel her slick heat before you even touch her properly. She's bare beneath the dress. Wet already. Ready. She arches as you tease her, circling slowly, feeling her body open for you. Her hips rock against your palm. The sound she makes when your fingers slip inside her is pure hunger.