He moved his fingers in random patterns avoiding my nipples like he had been avoiding my breasts. I wanted to punch him! I wanted to fuck him! He rolled us so that he was on top, putting most of his weight on his knees and elbows. He kept threatening to touch my nipples and withdrawing. Finally, when I was sure I could take no more, he touched them, still lightly. This didn’t arouse them. They were beyond arousal. I moaned. I could feel the sensations travel from my nipples throughout my body. I don’t care if it’s not possible, that’s how it felt. He took one of my nipples in his mouth. I didn’t care which one. Neither did he. He switched. He sucked and released. He tapped with his tongue. He blew on it. Oh, my God. Then his fingers were back. He was pinching them with more force, but they were ready for the assault. I was sodden at this point. I thought he might have to cut off my jeans and panties with surgical scissors. He ran his nails lightly around my breasts. The sensation was. I opened my mouth at least, but nothing came out. I tried to force ANY words out, and all I could manage was the tiniest of grunts. Miranda shook herself, and grabbed me by the shirt collar, dragging me inside. I formed a small pool of water in her hallway, and taking my glasses off again in another futile attempt at wiping it clean of water, I felt her move away from me. She returned a few minutes later, thrusting a towel into my hands. I used it to dry myself as best as I could, drying my hair roughly, leaving it to stand on end. I heard movement from the living room, and the last voice on earth that I had wanted to hear floated through the doorway. “You OK, Miranda?” Zan was standing in the doorway now. Hair just as disheveled as my own, copper highlights standing out in his blond hair. His jaw was dropped, and in the back of my mind I laughed at the sight of us, as if one person was completely shocked by the image of himself in a mirror. Zan recovered first though, and smiled.
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