Formally posted as 'Forbidden Fruit Ch. 01 Her Story'.
This story is a joint writing effort with author Fireball XL5. I'm writing here about her side of the experience. You'll definitely want to compare it to his side!
I can feel the electricity in the room as I watch his hand reach out to me, the beat of my heart and the blood rushing through my veins. Taking a deep breath I try to focus on the wall behind him, trying not to be too obvious that I want his touch, need his touch. For weeks now I've tried to show him in many different ways that I was interested. I remember catching his eyes and holding his gaze while we were in our meetings together, I've pressed myself closer than I should when we part ways with friendly hugs. I even got the nerve up to invite him here for some friendly conversation after the office party. I'm not going to blow it by coming on too strong.
My thoughts race inside my head as I take in my surroundings, though it is my home, everything looks different with Mike in the room, brighter, more electric. It's like seeing something you're doing but you don't realize it's happening to you, I'm sitting here imagining all the things I should be saying to make this moment stop, but the words just won't come out. He hasn't said anything to make me want him to stop, he hasn't said "Are you sure" or "Just tell me to go" . I was so scared he would, that he'd offer me a way out, a way to let myself continue to live this life without passion as I have done for so long. Praying that he wouldn't and very glad that he doesn't.
Watching his hand reach out to me is like watching a movie in slow motion, I want to press my breast against his hand and move my body closer to his. Finally I can feel his hand upon my turtleneck, I draw in a deep breath and bite my lip, relishing the first wave of heat course through my body. Letting myself take in the first touch of his hand, I close my eyes and allow my other senses to take control. As my head lays back I feel his fingers slowly trace the roundness of my breast, the outline of my bra, my breathing is heavier now. I can tell that my body is beginning to awaken to a new sense of self, as if a need that has never existed has awakened in me and I have to feed it, nurture it, and he is the feast I must partake in.
I lean forward and I feel his hands run across my breast until he finds the nipples. I whimper as he allows one hand to stay on my breast and removes the other; it is the loss of that one hand, that brings an anguished gasp from my lips. In it's place a moan comes forth, as I feel his lips on my mouth, the slight pressure is all I need to let my own basic instincts take over. His tongue slips to my lips to slide gently across them, letting my own want to take control. I taste his tongue with mine, letting the sounds of passion escape my throat. Our kiss is like a dam just beginning to open, allowing only a small trickle of water to escape. We kiss gently and slowly, but yet with a deep need we both want fulfilled. I feel my body press closer to him and my throat allows more sounds of desire to spring forth and as our kiss deepens, it takes me by surprise at its sweetness along with its sense of power hidden beneath it.
His hand is caressing my neck, I can feel the texture of his skin as he runs his fingers across it. His touch reminds me of butterflies flying through the air and resting ever so gently on an outstretched hand, soft and welcoming. Yet I hesitate, when I feel his hand pull at the material of my shirt, just like the butterflies would if they were presented with a new place to land, not knowing if it is safe, but wanting to find out what comes next. My mind takes control of my senses and forces me to take a moment, gives me another chance to end this torment of emotions, I pull back from our kiss and look at him. Closing the part of me that is still grasping to reason I hear myself say "Yes" and let my lips return to his pulling him to me and letting him lead us in the dance.
When Mike's hands glide up the sides of my body, my breath is suspended, as if a cap has been placed on a bottle and with the continuing movements of his hand along my ribs, the cap is slowly released and I am able to suck in more air. When those hands come to my breast, once again my mind sits back and lets everything else work for me. His hands stroke my breast through the material of my bra, feeling the texture of the design, as if he is outlining them, trying to determine the pattern, but I know that he is allowing me time to adjust to his presence, his ownership of my body. Taking the next step I lean toward him, and hear my sigh of longing as his hands reach behind my back and quickly unclasp my bra. I give a whimper of anguish as he leaves my lips and I watch him as he gazes into my eyes, he lifts my bra, allowing both of my breasts to be free of their confinement.