Page 92 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
She lets me in and I stand inside her apartment, conscious of the raindrops trickling off me. “I'm making a mess on your floor.” I reach for the door.
“Where are you going?” she cries, taking off her wet jumper.
“Home. I'll ... get a lift or something. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
“Don't be silly. I don't want you catching pneumonia and blaming me.”
“I won't—”
But she's already disappeared and comes back with some towels. She hands me one, while she dries herself off.
Soon, we're no longer dripping, but we are most certainly still wet. My jeans aren't going to dry while I'm wearing them, and neither are hers.
“Ugh,” she groans, and starts undoing her buttons as she walks away.
No.
This isn't happening.
“Don't just stand there,” she says, throwing me a glance over her shoulder.
Well, maybe I can get dry … I follow her because my dick commands it. My brain has given up and left the room. I follow her into her laundry room. It's a good size with a washing machine and dryer and her cleaning utensils and products neatly stacked in a corner.
“I'll throw the wet clothes into the dryer.” She strips down to her underwear. My eyes widen.
It's really happening.
She's gone there.
This time I won't be able to retreat so easily.
She throws me a look. “Don't be so shy. I've seen you naked before.”
I’m wet and uncomfortable, and this has nothing to do with the rain. I could leave, but I’m here now and to leave would be ... unthinkable.
“Now?” My voice is a pathetic high-pitched sound, stripped of any manliness.
She doesn't say a word.
“You had this planned.” I unzip my jeans, feel my burgeoning manhood straining at my damp boxers.
“You think I commanded the heavens to open and pour?” She folds her arms, which brings slight respite because her breasts are partially hidden from view.
My gaze drops and ... fuck me ... she's wearing the tiniest little triangle which barely covers her.
I have a déjà vu as I hand her the clothes.
“Your boxers look damp.” She cups me through them, and I stiffen, my cock taking on a mind of its own.
“I’m not taking them off.” My voice is still high-pitched, and at odds with my body which wants to lift this woman and pull her to me.
“You sure?” She gives my cock a squeeze through the fabric, and I swear the sucker mushrooms even more.
She bends down, turning her back to me, letting me see that only a string parts her butt cheeks. She's wearing a thong, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I try to stifle a moan but I can’t stop from reaching out and touching her. My hand slides over her soft-as-silk bottom. She shivers as soon as I touch her.
“Ooooooh …” She stands up and leans her back against my chest. My manhood pokes her lower back. I can’t stop from cupping her breast. Her pebbled nipple pokes through her flimsy bra and I run my thumb over it. Blood pools south to the place between my legs. Megan throws her head back and I inhale the fresh flowery scent of her shampoo.
I didn't set out to do this. But, damnit it. She's so irresistible. So sexy, so beautiful, and I can't restrain myself any longer. My boxers tent, and she giggles as she turns around and looks up at me.
