I’m standing in front of your armchair. It’s a brown worn leather armchair still warm from your body. A knitted blanket lies across the back, imprinted with your shape.
Where are you? I don’t know. I wait for you naked, as you asked, teased by the warm summer evening air escaping the open windows. I take your place in the chair, careful to keep your page in the book open on the chair’s arm.
As I wait, I’m impatient. I want you now. My readiness tingles on my bare skin and I ache to feel you up against me. I glance at your book, stroke its cover. I pick it up, read the first sentence, then the last. I flip through its pages and replace it on the arm.
The chair soothes me but still I burn inside. I like the smoothness of the leather against me, similar to but heavier than your skin. I press my back against the knitted blanket and hang my legs one over each arm. As my hand strays between my legs and begins to stroke, I hear you approaching. But I don’t stop, I keep going, letting a finger slip inside my wet pussy. I want you to find me like this.
My breathing quickens and then you’re in the doorway. You’re not surprised to find me here, but very pleased. You smile and come to me, knocking the book to the floor as you pull me forward roughly by my legs, kneeling before me on the floor. You dive into my pussy, licking, sucking my hand, my legs, everywhere, as I moan. I brace my thighs against the arms of the chair as I thrust forward into your face. The feeling of your mouth against me is everything.