The vibrating buzz of the text alert comes just as I slide my panties halfway down my thighs.
I had been enjoying a whole, delicious, lazy afternoon off, all to myself, reclined on the sofa with a magazine in my lap. No meetings, no documents to review, no bosses to placate. Working in publishing makes me spin so much I get completely dizzy sometimes. But then there are holidays in June, days like this when the whole frantic dance stops for a moment, and I remember what it feels like just to be lazy. The sun streamed through the windows, the drapes billowing for a moment with a breeze that teased lightly over my thighs and ruffled the hem of my skirt. That’s a lovely sensation, I thought.
That’s when it all started.
A little gust of spring air through those tall windows making the curtains dance, and my nipples stirred, instantly alert under my thin cotton blouse. It seemed almost like an invitation to indulge myself, so I decided to accept it as one.
Laying my head back on the sofa cushion, I took a slow, deep, satisfying breath and spread my legs—just a little bit—letting my fingertips tease lightly through my hair and meander across my neck. Like a breeze, my touch wandered over my body, barely touching my breasts and teasing over my nipples, so they beaded and rose. I found myself very aware of the heat and wetness and desire spreading between my legs, of my heart beating, my breaths coming faster, shallower.
My phone on the side table had been quiet during all of this.
I had begun to slide my fingertips up the insides of my thighs, imagining you in front of me, watching me as the wet spot between my legs spreads. I opened my thighs wider—showing off for you, tantalising you, imagining your cock hard in your hand, your eyes fixed on the damp patch in my panties, desperately wanting to see what lies underneath. I slid them halfway to my knees for you…
Which is, of course, when my phone buzzed, and the little blue bubble popped up under your name: What are you up to?
Bit of a loaded question, that one. Awkward timing. Or was it?
Then, a moment later, the little dots flash as you type. Want to grab a drink someplace?
You, of course, are my naughty little secret. The friend of my friend’s friend. Correction: you are the boyfriend of my friend’s friend. The one that I had been trying to convince myself is only casually dating her. Second correction: you are the one who is engaged to my friend’s friend, a fact which I cannot ignore, since the wedding is...
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