Their lips weren’t an inch apart, their eyes fixed on each other. Her hand cradled his balls under his pants, caressing the loose skin and ever so gently holding each testicle between her fingers, rolling them around. His one hand groped all the ass that wasn’t claimed by the couch; his other ran up and down her back under her blouse, fingers tickling lightly.
It had been a few days since their last date. This time, there was no date. She had invited herself to his house. Netflix had barely loaded its home screen before their hands were all over each other—it wouldn’t make it any further.
Without even being touched, his cock bulged against his trousers. Her lips brushed past his. She kissed his ear and whispered “I thought about you the whole drive over.”
He recalled her pulling her own car—not an Uber—into the driveway as he glanced at the bag she’d dropped by the door before she had taken her wineglass and seat on the sofa. Not a single lipstick stain could be found on her glass.