That first night I slept in your bed was mind-bendingly hot, intensified by the lure of the forbidden; we were “just going to cuddle.” I was so turned on that it was a struggle to control myself in the quiet darkness. I spent the whole next week thinking about it, and I didn’t even need to touch myself to get dripping wet all over again.
I can still feel your hands on me, moving so achingly slow as my heart pounded with anticipation. The rough brush of your chin against my neck and the soft whisper of your lips on my ear, as you breathed things I could barely hear but that still tied my insides into impossible knots of desire. You tugged at the edge of my panties and I ached. You slipped your fingers beneath the cloth onto my skin and my head swam, drunk on desire and the feeling of your chest pressed against my back. By the time you felt my wetness I was walking a wild edge of animal arousal, and when your fingers slid inside I almost tumbled over that edge, waves of bliss coursing across my very bones. My body moved against your hands without my asking, my breath heavy with the electricity between us.
“Do you want me to stop,” you whispered against my ear.
No! Please, no. Never stop. I’m out of my mind wanting you and stopping feels like letting go of my only lifeline in the middle of a storm.
I can’t say anything because I won’t lie to you and the truth is the wrong answer. Instead I turn toward you, lips that have never touched now so close that your sighs curl into mine. For what could have been seconds or hours the darkness waits for me to answer and every muscle in my body waits for me to kiss you. Finally, my breath finds words I can say.
“I think we should stop.”
The last touch is my nose, sliding along yours, until there is emptiness between us again.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pa0jq5/this_wasnt_supposed_to_happen_mf