A new pressure

A new pressure against my backside, firmer, more deliberate than the random jostling. A body molding itself to the curve of my spine and hips. I froze, then slowly melted. Yes. This was what I wanted. What I’d come for.

He shifted, and I felt the hard ridge of his erection settle into the seam of my buttocks. It wasn’t an accident. He rocked gently, side to side, the wool of his trousers a rough contrast to the soft leather of my skirt. The friction was exquisite. A low heat pooled between my legs, a sudden, slick readiness that shamed and excited me. I leaned back, just a fraction, an unspoken invitation.

He accepted. His pale hands, which had been braced against the wall near my hips, moved. One slid around my front, low on my belly, pulling me tighter against him. The other glided down my outer thigh, then back up, underneath the scandalous hem of my skirt. His palm was hot against my bare thigh. I gasped, the sound lost in the rumble of the train.

His fingers crept higher, inching the skirt up further until the cool, conditioned air of the car kissed my exposed skin. His hand stilled. He knows. The realization was a lightning strike. His fingertips brushed the freshly shaven skin, then dipped lower, finding me already wet, already open.

A single, long finger slid inside me.

My head fell back against his shoulder, a silent moan trapped in my throat. He was expert, his touch knowing. He crooked that finger, stroking a spot deep inside that made my knees buckle. Only the crush of the crowd kept me upright. He added a second finger, stretching me, filling me with a delicious, burning fullness. He set a rhythm, in and out, matching the sway of the train, each stroke coaxing more wetness from my eager body. I was panting through my nose, my eyes squeezed shut, the world narrowing to the heat of his hand and the hard press of his cock against my ass.