Read Online The Things That Make Me Give In by Charlotte Stein - Free Book Online Page A

tension. He could lose it. He could call the whole thing off.
    But even as I’m thinking so the covers at the end of the bed stir. The mattress dips just a little. I can hear his breathing, just a touch unsteady, and I wonder what I look like to him: dozy and contemporary, just waiting to wake up into chick-lit land,or Renaissance and romantic, hair spread dark and thick across the pillow. The turn of my cheek, one dewy eyelid closed.
    I don’t think I’ll look lovely, exactly, but soft. Inviting, maybe. I tremble at the thought of myself.
    It’s just as I imagined – the stranger, finding my bedroom door open. Unable to resist slipping into my bed. Doing things to me while I’m still oblivious. Of course in real life I would probably notice right away, but in the fantasy . . . oh, in the fantasy I want to stay oblivious for as long as possible.
    When his big hand closes over my ankle, I almost give a little scream, it’s so real. Fantasy shifts into reality and back again, leaving me unable to hold on. I had thought that I might break, and laugh, but that’s not the case – he’s too quiet. Too stealthy. Too good.
    His hand slides up, to my knee. All these little sensitive nerve endings glitter and stand up in its wake. His breathing gets heavier and heavier, making a hot cocoon beneath the covers, and the nerve endings appreciate that, too.
    Now his hand is on my thigh – two hands on both of my thighs. He pushes them apart so that he can make his place between.
    I cheat, and help him. I have to. I’m about to burst with excitement, not just because of the scenario but for the little present I’ve made for him. He probably won’t be able to see it in the dimness under the covers, but he’ll feel it soon enough.
    I wonder if he’ll feel it with his hands or with his mouth. Suspense isn’t agony, it’s ecstasy.
    And then his fingertips just ghost over the plump purse of my sex. His reaction is immediate and involuntary, as is my reaction to the sound he makes: a long low groan that forces my hips to lift.
    I’ve heard him groan like that before, with that note of surprise and almost despair in it. Like he’s sinking right down into a pit made up of me. He did it back when we were just friends and fooling around, and I felt his erection rutting uphungrily against my thigh, and decided that what he should get in return for this accidental over-excitement was a lovely long blow job.
    Though it didn’t last long at all. I still remember his apology with joy in my heart and a rush and shiver in my sex:
I’m sorry, I’ve just been so horny all weekend, watching you tease me in those tiny clothes
.
    The clothes weren’t tiny, and I hadn’t known I was teasing him. But I was only too happy to oblige, once all his cards were on the table.
    And look how obliging I’ve been here now. I don’t think it’s one of his particular kinks, but all men like a bit of bare pussy, don’t they? Easy access, I suppose. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’ll ask him to do the same thing, and that’s what’s piquing his interest.
    He strokes me softly, reverently. Tests out this new exposed flesh.
    I’m betting he wants to look, but that’s not allowed, just yet. I’m meant to uncover him, not the other way around, so he has to be content with mapping my denuded pussy with his fingertips.
    And his tongue. He licks me suddenly, first down one side, and then the other, avoiding the slit in the centre. But it’s OK, because he really doesn’t need to hit dead on the target right away. My new bareness is very sensitive and likes his lapping.
    I squirm for him. I squirm, and he parts my pussy lips with just the tip of his tongue, made hard and pointed. He opens me up. He’s just trying me out.
    I think he might be waiting for me to demand more – he usually does – but he won’t get it this time. He has to make me come alive, he has to make me wake up. This isn’t about teasing.
    Or, at least, it isn’t about teasing