Molly 1-844-332-2639 ext 449
The roar of forty thousand fans reverberated through the metal bleachers. A deafening wall of sound that shielded us better than any curtain ever could. We were tucked into the upper deck, enveloped by the buzzing energy of the ninth inning. My entire universe had narrowed down to the heavy warmth of his leg pressed firmly against mine.
He kept his eyes fixed on the field, a cool picture of casual focus. But under the shield of his oversized team jacket spread across our laps, his hand was making a merciless descent.
When his fingertips brushed the inner curve of my thigh, a sharp gasp escaped my throat, instantly swallowed by the crowd’s collective groan at a missed pitch. His thumb stroked agonizingly slow circles through the thin fabric of my shorts, steadily working its way upward. The contrast was maddening, tens of thousands of oblivious eyes around us; and his hidden intent burning right beside me.
I gripped the edge of my seat, my knuckles turning white as his fingers slipped higher. Finally finding the sensitive apex where heat pooled. He didn’t rush. With a master’s patience, he applied a precise, rhythmic pressure through the cloth. Tracing tight, exquisite…
His Masterful Fingers
The roar of forty thousand fans reverberated through the metal bleachers. A deafening wall of sound that shielded us better than any curtain ever could. We were tucked into the upper deck, enveloped by the buzzing energy of the ninth inning. My entire universe had narrowed down to the heavy warmth of his leg pressed firmly against mine.
He kept his eyes fixed on the field, a cool picture of casual focus. But under the shield of his oversized team jacket spread across our laps, his hand was making a merciless descent.
When his fingertips brushed the inner curve of my thigh, a sharp gasp escaped my throat, instantly swallowed by the crowd’s collective groan at a missed pitch. His thumb stroked agonizingly slow circles through the thin fabric of my shorts, steadily working its way upward. The contrast was maddening, tens of thousands of oblivious eyes around us; and his hidden intent burning right beside me.
I gripped the edge of my seat, my knuckles turning white as his fingers slipped higher. Finally finding the sensitive apex where heat pooled. He didn’t rush. With a master’s patience, he applied a precise, rhythmic pressure through the cloth. Tracing tight, exquisite spirals that sent electric shivers surging down my spine.
Every time the crowd lurched to its feet, my hips subtly arched into his touch. Seeking more, completely helpless to the building tension. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Stay quiet,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that set my skin ablaze.
His fingers shifted, pressing firmer, quickening their pace just as the batter connected with the ball.
The stadium exploded into a frenzy. Everyone around us leaped up, screaming, waving their arms in ecstatic excitement.
Under the cover of the total chaos, his fingers delivered a relentless, coaxing rhythm that pushed me right over the edge. A sudden, blinding wave of euphoria crashed over me, pulling the air straight from my lungs. I buried my face into his shoulder, biting back a breathless cry as the intense shocks rippled through my body, perfectly masked by the thunderous cheers echoing all around us.
Molly 1-844-332-2639 ext 449