“Touch me,” she pleads, releasing me from my promise.
I don’t hesitate.
I gently push her back onto the bed, and hovering next to her, I slide my hand into her panties, seeking her warm center. Her eyes flutter when I reach it, when I slide one then two fingers into her.
She whimpers.
I ache with want.
I circle her with my fingertips, then thrust them into her again.
She cries out.
I continue.
She arches her back.
Her fingers grasp at the sheets.
I know her.
I know her body.
I know what she needs.
After a minute more, she calls my name, and then collapses into me, clutching at my chest, breathing hard.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
Her cheeks are pink; her eyes are shiny.
“Thank you,” she adds, and I laugh.
“You’re welcome.”
Eight
We continue like this for three nights.
I sneak into her room, or she sneaks into mine.
We touch, we explore, we feel.
We go no further than that.
On this third night, I lie in her bed, and her hips are pressed into mine.
“Let’s run away,” she suggests. “Away from here.”
“Where shall we go?” I play along. “The sea?”
She shakes her head. “I’m serious, Dare. We don’t belong here.”
“We don’t,” I agree. “But we won’t be here long.”
“How do you know that?” she asks, and her hand is splayed on my chest.
“I just do. Trust me.”