This is one of my "relationship" stories. There's no actual sex involved, just foreplay. Most of the dialog is shared thought rather than speech. If it's difficult to distinguish his thoughts from her thoughts – that's part of the reality...
He sat on the floor, in front of the couch, his laptop on a mini-desk. His fingers wrestled with the words while his eyes threatened them with torture. It was the right moment. He wasn't getting any serious writing done and he was working too hard at not doing it.
He needed to stop working.
There was just enough room between him and the couch for her to slip behind him. She imagined herself on the back of a motorcycle, her arms wrapped around his chest and a hot engine between her legs.
At first, he seemed to not notice her but she knew how to fix that. Her arms around his chest, her breasts pressing into his back and a brief wave of her wrist under his nose – that got his attention.
He made the kiss-noise and smiled for her, but his fingers and eyes continued their assault on the words.
Unconcerned, she pressed forward, introducing the topic.
How would you do it?
He stopped, looked up - remembering a conversation about another outlet for his frustration... He relaxed into her and closed his eyes. All thoughts of writing were banished from his mind.
She licked her lips, tasting her easy victory.
Do what?
It.
A moment.
I want you to enjoy it.
I'm afraid I would hurt you.
So hurt me – I won't break.
She slid her hips forward and leaned back, giving him a reclining chair in her body. She kissed the peach fuzz on his earlobe as he lay back into her.
He released his body to her so his mind could explore the place that she wanted him to visit with her.
If I go too far, I'll lose you. You'll hate me for taking advantage of you. If I don't go far enough...
There was a desert fork on the plate, set aside.
Her tongue tasted blueberry as she cleaned it. Her left arm took his right elbow to hold it in place. Her right hand brought the fork to his side, pausing to find a target at the base of his ribs.
Hold still. Keep your eyes closed. Don't resist.
He took her upper arm in his right hand, readying himself.
Slowly, the four tines of the fork pressed on his skin.
Ignoring his twitch, she applied more pressure. Ignoring a guttural warning, she pressed further. Ignoring his "Ah!" she broke the skin.
He held his ground. He accepted the pain. He didn't resist. He trusted.
She twisted – and pressed. Red droplets coated the tines.
Breathing deepened. Muscles tightened, helping to restrain. He winced. He cried out.
She went no further - but didn't withdraw. The droplets threatened to form a trickle.
