No Longer Forbidden

His other hand strokes my face, then tracks on downwards, coasting over my throat and then my shoulder, before sweeping inwards to cup my breast, the action both natural and boldly male and possessive. Almost immediately, he begins to strum my painfully erect nipple through the thin stuff of my silky top and my light, lacy bra.

“Oh! Oh, God, yes!” I cry out spontaneously as he frees my mouth, and we both gulp in oxygen. Darts of pure sensation are streaking from my teat to my pussy, making it flutter and throb as if powered by an inner battery.

I’m so ready that it seems as if ten years of waiting has been ten years of voluptuous foreplay.

My clit leaps as he rolls my nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Annie, Annie,” he groans, his mouth open against my face. I love that he knows my nickname and uses it in intimacy. In class I was always Annette or Miss Fraser when I got a calculation wrong. I jerk my hips against him in answer, rubbing my crotch against his, wishing I was naked right here in this quiet august corridor with its black-and-white tiles and paneled walls of oak.