She lifted her chin and kissed him back.
He had been her teacher: she knew how to taste his mouth, search the corners while he grew still, his lips parting a little for her to invade and learn. His body seemed to respond with a slow tautness, a tightening over her; his hands pressed into her skin, fingers spreading at the sides of her sensitive nipples that had molded into taut buds. And when he cupped her through her dress, she arched her back up and pressed herself into his palm, his finger flickering over her nipple and making it harden.
Yet he lay motionless while he teased her breast and she kissed him, suspended over her, his mouth submissive to hers, as if his whole concentration was on what it felt like for her to kiss him and not the other way around. His lips opened more with each contact, allowing her to seek further—inviting it.
