My heart is pounding in my chest as his fingers weave into mine and I know I’m blushing, embarrassed by the torrent of anticipation, excitement, arousal and happiness that are churning within me.
I’m playing it cool though, casually swinging my legs into his lap, and stifling the moans of contentment that continuously try to betray me by nuzzling my mouth against the warmth of his neck.
Fuck! It shouldn’t be this easy for him to turn me on.
I tell myself it only takes the most minimal of touches, but in truth, he doesn’t even need to touch me. Proximity will do it, knowing he’s close by, that his body is existing in the same place as mine. That is enough to make me feel it all. Everything within me is awoken, wanting, alive and aching.
When he looks at me, when our eyes meet and I’m stripped of my ability to breathe my pounding heart feels more like a neon sign. Illuminating my need, declaring my desire, confirming that I am entirely consumed by thoughts of him fucking me.
I think perhaps playing it cool is overrated, maybe I’ll flip all my switches and shine under the illumination of how gloriously fucking hot he makes me.