Here is the next installment to my story Y is for Yes, which was the favorite for the second two stories in May.
The heat growing between my legs was boiling. I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t expected any of it. But here we were, in my office, and I was about to be nearly nude.
“I suppose we had better slip you out of this skirt before it stains, then.”
I watched him, biting my lower lip as his fingers gently moved to the zipper next to my hip. He touched me so little as he unzipped it, just the lightest brush of his fingers, and all I wanted was to feel them pressed against my flesh until they bruised.
I used his shoulder for balance as I stepped out of my skirt. I stumbled just a little, and his hand came up to my hip to steady me. The touch was electric, and I couldn’t suppress a shudder. When I was steady, he left his hand there a touch longer, and then he took a step back from me. “Would you like me to help you take your bra off, Yvonne?”
“Yes, please,” I whispered, and I turned around so he could unclasp it. He slid the shoulder straps down, but my hands were covering my breasts, so the fabric stayed in place. I turned back to him, and he waited. He didn’t push, or comment, or make impatient noises; he just waited for me to move my hands. I did, slowly, my eyes locked on his. He met my gaze until my arms started to move, and then his gaze dropped lower. He actually moaned as my breasts were exposed to him, creamy pale skin that had never seen the light of the sun. My pink nipples were hard little nubs, making my large nipples appear much smaller. A grin formed at the corners of his lips and grew as he observed me.
“Yvonne,” he groaned my name, and this time it brought forth a gush of arousal from between my legs.
He dropped to his knees in front of me. “Did you get coffee on these little satin panties?”
I didn’t know that my panties qualified as little, but I let it go. “I don’t think so,” I said, a little thrill of anticipation in my voice. Was Derek just saying that so he could get me out of them?
“Well, they are soaked through, Yvonne. If it’s not coffee, then what is it?”
I blushed furiously. He ran a finger over my panties, right over my slit and I knew that I was so aroused that I was soaking through them.
“Yvonne, answer me.”
I didn’t know what to say. “It’s-it’s-” I stuttered. He waited, a little impatient this time. “I’m so turned on,” I said, not able to meet his eyes.
He grinned up at me again, taking my confession as permission to touch me. His hands ran up my leg, and I knew that he was feeling a few days worth of stubble since my last shave. I was embarrassed. When he reached my panties, he didn’t take them off or slip his fingers underneath them, but he explored across the fabric all the same. I moaned at his soft touch. He moved upward, trailing his hands along my sides until he was at my breasts. He cupped one in each hand, feeling the weight of them. “Yvonne, you are beautiful.”
The blush that had been fading came back in full force. He let go of my breasts, and I fought not to groan in protest. But then his arms were wrapped around me, his hands in my hair and he pulled me against him so that my breasts were pressed against his soft shirt.
“Kiss me,” he said quietly, and I didn’t hesitate.
I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips against his, but that was where my illusion of control ended.
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