Chapter 102

That sandpaper texture, like hard leather, of a working man's hands scraped across her skin; kneading and sliding in a slippery rhythm, but not so much so that it took away from the delicious friction, nor obscure the under lying coarseness of his touch. It seemed as if his hands were electrified. Then, the sensation shifted as the space between her skin and his buzzed and mingled in volts of passion. He held steady and torturously just out of touch while she tried to pay attention to the symbiotic flow of sparks that erupted over her erogenous zones. How was it possible that she could still feel every stroke of his fingertips, though they stood inches away from her skin? How could each manipulation of empty space give way to flutters deep down inside her? It made no logical sense, and he watched the gears turning, but would not relent in having the spell broken by an overactive mind.

He pressed hard against her and her focus faltered, somewhere along the way he'd stripped do