After coming in, putting the groceries down on the counter. At the end of the hall, the sound of tapping of keys.
Piece by piece, can by can, each finding its’ spot. All the time, listening, hearing the clicks and soft murmurs.
Quietly I trod, reaching the doorway, half open, and the sounds grown louder and more frequent. Peering in, not making a sound, I spy my baby clad in one of my shirts, at my desk, fingers busy on the keyboard.
Enjoying my view, not sure if she knows I’m here or not. One foot on the floor, the other on the chair, knee pointing up. Her body movement shifting every so often, unaware that it allows me to see the shirt isn’t quite buttoned all the way.
One hand now typing, the other resting in her lap. Moving the mouse over, clicking on the files. Pulling up the list of stories I have written. Most she has read some she hasn’t. Watching her scroll down the ones she knows, pausing every so often at a passage, taking the time to reread something she liked.
Leaning now against the door jam. Seeing her click on some of the new stuff, things I had yet to present to her. As her eyes followed the lines on the screen, one after another, I began to blush, knowing the content. The only movement in the room was one hand on the mouse, scrolling, the other, fingers pressed against, with determination, her powder blue panties.
As they glide, back and forth, back and forth, her eyes pursuing each word. A gasp. At first I know not if it was the story or her touch, but I come to realize it was both.
Moaning again as she leans back further, her eyes half closed. Her hand leaves the mouse to take hold of the edge of the table. Her smile changes, looking as someone going from pleasure to bliss. Noting how hard she is stroking, seeing the spot she is touching, a slightly darker shade of blue.
Part of me wonders. Wonders if she knows, knows that I’m here. Knows that I am watching, and knows how turned on I am by her actions.
Lazily her head rolls towards me. The smile leaves that perfect mouth for a moment, as our eyes meet, then her lips pucker to a kiss, never slowing her fingers.
Assuming that this is an invitation, I cross the room, loving her body, the way she moves. Walking behind, peering at her progress over her shoulders.
She watches me, aware where my eyes are fixed by my expression. Her own eyes sparkling and glittering, her lips moist and full, down the neckline, plunging to the open shirt, her breasts shaking from the motion of her hand, still atop of the blue cotton, down her long luscious legs to toes outstretched and spread.