She had told herself this would be different—controlled, restrained, a fleeting moment she could easily dismiss. After all, she wasn’t supposed to enjoy this. Not at her age. Not like this.
But as his fingers traced the delicate skin along her inner thigh, a warmth spread through her that she hadn’t expected. It was slow at first, teasing—a gentle exploration that seemed almost innocent. Yet, despite the voice in her head telling her to resist, her body betrayed her.
Her legs began to part, ever so slightly at first, then more, as if they had a will of their own. She tried to stop it, to keep her composure, but the sensations swirling inside her were growing too strong to deny.
Every touch, every whisper of his hand sent a shiver up her spine. Memories long buried flickered awake, mixing with new desires she hadn’t dared to feel before. Her breath quickened; a soft sigh escaped her lips.
She wasn’t supposed to want this. She wasn’t supposed to respond like this. But with every passing second, her defenses melted away, replaced by an aching need that made her legs open wider, inviting him closer.
In that quiet surrender, she realized some pleasures don’t fade with time—they only grow more profound, more urgent. And she was ready to feel them again.