"What I am saying," she interrupted, "is that you cannot just... you cannot just kiss someone and finger them and make them... make them squirt and then walk away like nothing happened. You cannot..."
I looked at her. At the face. At the eyes. At the expression. The anger, the fury, the outrage. All of it was there. But beneath it, beneath the surface, was something else. Something that her words were trying to conceal and her body was betraying.
'Does she really want to get fucked?'
The thought, crossing my mind, was accompanied by a physical sensation. Her ass, seated on my crotch, was pressing against my cock. The weight, the warmth, the softness of her cheeks through the skirt, was stimulating. My cock, which had been limp, began to harden. The shaft, thickening, pressed against her.
