By the following morning the storm outside had settled into a steady wet downpour. I rose with the bleak sun after hours of tossing uncomfortably on the couch. I had spent the entire night shivering from cold and ineffectually rubbing myself through the towel. With Anna just on the other side of the door, I didn't quite dare get myself off lest she walk in on me in the act. Yet the thought of her body had kept my cock in a semi-primed state all night.
I walked over to investigate the clothing we had wrung out and left strewn across the kitchen table and chairs to dry. They felt barely less damp than they had the previous night. With the level of humidity in the air, drying our thick jeans could take days. I couldn't stomach the thought of sitting around with wet clothing clinging to my limbs for hours, so decided to make the best of it with the towel again.
Anna wandered into the kitchen as I was taking inventory of the contents of the cabinets. Her brown locks hung loose over her shoulders and glided down her slim towel clad body. Her eyes blinked tiredly; by the looks of it she had gotten no more sleep than I had, despite having the much more comfortable bed all to herself.
Anna picked through her wet clothing with a look of dismay. For a second, she looked like she was actually contemplating shimmying into her soaking jeans. But she quickly seemed to give it up as a lost cause and gingerly picked up the only item that looked semi-dry: a tiny lacy red thong that was so small I hadn't even noticed it before.
I felt the now familiar sensation of blood rushing into my nether regions at the sight. This was what prim little Anna wore under her pantsuits and her knee length pencil skirts? Vixen! Somehow, the though of that fabric stretching between the globes of her taut ass was even hotter than her current bareness beneath that towel. Images flashed through my mind in quick succession - of hooking my finger into the crotch of those barely there panties and pulling them aside to reveal glistening wetness; of the lace gliding smoothly over alabaster thighs, of red fabric dangling from slim ankle, rocking rhythmically as I pounded its owner into the bed over and over again.
Reluctantly, I struggled to get a handle on my reactions to the naughty thoughts marching through my mind. Based on last night, I wasn't certain I'd get a favourable response to any attempts to seduce her. As much my cock wanted to bury itself inside her, my brain kept reminding me that it wasn't a good idea.
Together, we scoured the kitchen for food. The prospects were bleak. There were several boxes of dried cereal, one forgotten canister of instant coffee, a jar of peanut butter, and an assortment of dusty cans of fruits and vegetables.
Anna scrounged up an old kettle and boiled some water for coffee and we prepared a meager breakfast of dried cereal and canned peaches. Although I kept telling myself that I wasn't going to act on my desires, I kept feeling like there was an invisible force drawing me towards her. I was keenly aware of her every move.
In the small kitchen area, we had spread out the table and chairs in order to get a larger space to lay out our wet clothes. It substantially reduced the already limited space and as the two of us moved around, we were constantly forced to brush up against each others' bodies. Each time this happened, Anna seemed to flush and avoided meeting my eyes.
If she had been the normal, brisk, no-nonsense Anna that I'd dealt with every day in the office for the last several months, I daresay I would've eventually taken her cues and put a damper on the spark of lust that had been brewing in me since last night. But every single move that Anna made this morning was hesitant and clumsy. Several times, I caught her staring at me with what looked like desire in her wide, clear eyes. Each time, she jumped and looked away quickly. She was betraying an attraction to me that was singularly seductive in its awkward innocence, making it almost impossible for me to ignore the rising tension between us and act normally.
After eating our rather pathetic morning meal in loud silence, I found myself sprawled on the couch fiddling with my phone. Anna curled up on the opposite cushion with - of all things - the jar of peanut butter. She was spooning peanut butter directly from the jar and then licking it off the silverware with sensuous strokes of her pink tongue. Her eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distance, and she was lost in thought.
Try as I did to ignore the sight, my eyes kept drawing back to the girl in front of me. Dear Gods, was she aware of what she was doing? She dipped her spoon back into the jar again and brought it up to her mouth. Her tongue darted out for one long, slow, swipe after another, uncovering the spoon so that silver shone between her lips. I reached down and adjusted the erection that was jutting up below my towel. I longed to give her something else to lick. If I grabbed that jar of peanut butter and smeared it over my shaft, would she take the same meticulous care to clean it with her tongue? Would she enjoy the salty taste of my precum as it mixed with the sweetness of the peanut butter? Would she moan as she wrapped her plump pink lips over the head of my dick?
I watched, transfixed, as Anna's movements slowed and seemed to become more sensual. Her eyes glazed, then hooded. Her cheeks flushed. Could she possibly be having similar thoughts to my own? She scooped another giant spoonful of peanut butter up. This time, instead of licking she dabbed the sticky treat against her bottom lip. Then, she slid that sexy tongue out against her lips for a taste, her eyes drifting closed contentedly. She let out a soft moan.
The unfulfilled lust that had been simmering all morning suddenly welled up and burst out in a bout of frustration. I reached across the couch and grabbed Anna's slender wrist, "You need to stop that right now." I growled.
