She’s not there but her scent lingers.
He idly touches her things
the silk robe, the soft chemise she wears to bed
the lace top stockings she wore to dinner the evening before.
He lifts them to his face, inhaling her scent
remembering how she looked fresh from her bath
her countenance rosy as she smoothed the lotion over calves and thighs
his eyes tracking the movements of her fingers
enjoying the way her skin looked
the muscles underneath moving with every new motion.
He rubs the silk against his cheek
remembering how it felt under his hands as he stroked her thigh under the table.
His fingers moving ever inward and upward.
Her dress no barrier to his questing hands
finding the edge of her lace knickers and slipping underneath.
Touching her heat, her wetness.
Knowing she would not betray his actions
delighting in their game.
He remembers how…
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