My nipples are barely covered, peaking out ever so slightly if I take too deep of a breath. Suddenly, your hand snakes around my waist, pulling me in tight. You place one hand on the back of my head and the other one around my shoulders and pull me close. I wore a plain black pencil skirt, a teal tank top, and a sheer button down shirt with wisps of glittering thread here and there. I simply close my eyes and moan, leaning into you as your fingertips trace feather light touches across my spine and back, making my shiver in reaction to your touch. Between our height differences, it places us at eye level. Since that first day of training, we’d made it a tradition to email each other multiple conversations, usually ones filled with heaps of innuendo.
