So we're in the pool, still entangled and kissing. We're starting to elicit a few amused glances from the people around us. I break the kiss and tell her we should go back up to my place, to which she agrees enthusiastically. After waiting a few minutes to let the cold water work its magic on my hard member, we towel off and briskly walk to the elevators. Now, the elevator situation in my building can be less than ideal during peak hours. We waited agonizing minutes for one to arrive. By the time it showed up, a small group of fellow passengers had queued up.
Sarah and I step in first, press the button for my floor, and scoot to the back. She stands in front of me, a damp towel around her waist. I grab her hips and pull her back into me as the rest of the people file in and select their floor. Shit, I think. I live on the 20th floor, and it seems everyone else lives on a lower floor. This was going to take forever. Finally, the elevator is moving up, torturously slow toward our destination. I grip her waist urgently as we make our ascent, squeezing my hands each time a passenger disembarks. Closer and closer to 20 we go, and I can see the excitement gleaming from her eyes in the door's reflection.