His hands remember the feeling of her skin, hot from a spanking or damp from exertion.His hands remember the feeling of her skin, hot from a spanking or damp from exertion. His mind fills in the scents and sounds of her breathing, the sensation of her fingernails drawing blood across his back as he rewards her good behaviour. Soon his own head is reeling with the strength of his arousal, and he gives in to the inevitable. She feels the discomfort long before she mentally pinpoints the source. Someone is staring at her, which she hates. Yet as she looks around the room, none of those who are using the lounge meet her eyes, and she wonders if someone made it to the seating arrangement behind her without her notice. Trying to be nonchalant, she drops her book beside her and stretches, attempting to work casually into turning around. She never makes it that far, for before she can twist her body around, her outstretched arms are grasped at the wrists and her hands are bent behind her head. Stifling a surprised cry, she whips her head around to look, and in spite of the hair blocking her vision, she knows who it must be. His grip weakens for a moment and she breaks his grip to throw herself into his not-altogether-unwilling embrace. He feels her body trembling against him and tightens his arms around her - briefly. Then, gently, he disengages himself and puts her at arms' length, taking in every detail close up. |