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Sitting on the stoop to the apartment complex, I wrapped my arms around my knees to fend off the chill that set in the moment my butt hit the concrete.
And we were still outside. After a commute twice as long as usual to get here due to the traffic, we walked about half-a-mile from where we'd parked.
On top, on the outside, the inside.
When I felt the tension in his arm over me lessen, I shot out from under the covers and streaked down the hall. I skidded to a stop at the kitchen island where a blackened ham sat in my mom's heirloom roasting pan-which had also turned crusty-black inside.
I don't think I should pass up an opportunity like this. But I wanted to talk to you about it first.
" The more he talked, the more I kept envisioning Indiana Jones movies. Which made me think of the whip the lead character used.
He ran his hands up and down the outside and then the inside of my thighs.