She opened her eyes and looked down to see male hands covering her breasts. She felt warm, wet lips against her neck, and a suspiciously hard object against her backside. She stiffened, preparing to fight off the rapist. Suddenly the hands stopped and she whirled around. She almost screamed when she realized she was staring face to face with Michael Daughton, professor of art history. What stopped her scream was the look of desire, mixed with the look of… it couldn’t be. No, he couldn’t be feeling ashamed at what he had done, could he? She stared in bewilderment as he hung his head and dropped his hands, backing away from her. He felt like the World’s Greatest Asshole. As his dark gaze dropped from her confused ones, he let his hands fall away from her and stepped away. ‘God, Claire, I am so sorry,’ he said, ‘I completely went against what you wanted, I know, its just….Christ, there’s no reason to make excuses, I’m sorry, I’m just going to say that.’ He managed to rasp out as he saw. We surreptitiously lean against each other enjoying the warmth and silent sharing. I chuckle and turn to lean against the door frame. She is behind me and to my right. Still chatting but I can feel her full attention on me. We are close. My arm & hand is against the doorframe. She pushs back against me again and I slide my hand over her side and down towards her arse. Gently cupping and caressing as I move my hand over her, I feel her tense under me. I shift and move away moving further across the room. No one has observed us. It seems miraculous given the heat I can feel from her gaze and the discomfort of my very hard cock.She is looking for me now. Her eyes searching the room until she settles on me. I have met someone I know and we are idly chatting as we sip our drinks. Kerrie has returned to her conversation leaning against the open window sill. She catches my eye, smiling with enough sex to make me get harder still. As her gaze moves I slip away from my conversation and duck.
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