and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.
I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with
seven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring in
seven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring in
the corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again and
again. My breathing. Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tell
him to stop . . . and continue . . . and stop. I sag against
him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection
against my hip.
We halt again at the forty-fourth floor. Oh . . . how
long is this torture going to continue? In . . . out . . .
in . . . out . . . Sub一tly I grind myself against his persistent
finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses
now! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.
“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two
more people come aboard. The elevator is getting
crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that
we’re now pressed into the corner, holding me in place
and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure we
look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner,
if anyone could be bothered to turn round and see what
we’re doing . . . And he eases a second finger inside me.
Fuck! I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle of
people in front of us are still chatting away, totally
oblivious.
Oh, Christian, what you do to me. I lean my head
against his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to his
unrelenting fingers.
“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” He
splays his hand out on my belly, pressing down slightly, as
he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.
Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud
ping the doors open, and almost instantly the passengers
ping the doors open, and almost instantly the passengers
start exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me and
kisses the back of my head. I glance round at him, and he
smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-fitted-brown-suit
who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he
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