"I didn't know you were going to be here," he whispers warmly into her ear. She turns to look back up at him over her shoulder, with a look that suggests she knows he's lying.
"Really?" she asks him, pretending to be coy. "You thought I was going to miss the chance to see all of my brother's frat friends drinking Coors Light and commiserating about the rise of feminism? You know me better than that..."
He moves his lips up her ear to the top of her head, kissing her gently as his left hand slowly grazes up her side. His thumb traces the outline of her tit, teasing her with mock restraint. "Uh huh. Feminism...let's talk about that..."
Gently at first, then forcefully, he circles her nipples, coaxing them hard to his touch. She's not wearing a bra, and it quickly becomes obvious that, if nothing else, her body is responding to what's happening.
She pushes his arm away and stares sharply into his eyes. "You're impossible, and you're out of line. Not here. Miles would kill us."
He moves his hand up, placing his fingertips on her collarbone and kisses her there. "You're right. Totally out of line. You seem to have that effect on me, though..." And he gets up to leave, reaching just below her skirt to gently graze the tops of her thighs as he walks away.
+ + + + + + + + +
A few hours go by before she sees him again. She's pouring chips back in bags, sweeping the last crumbs into the trash, stacking the bowls so the space feels cleaner, without actually being so. He comes up from behind and places a hand on each of her hips, holding her firmly in front of him as he leans into her, places his lips on the back of her head.
She's sleepy and wine drunk, and likes the idea of rewarding herself for cleaning by letting him take her from behind over the half clean kitchen counter. But there's just no way she's going to fuck him in the kitchen of her brother's house while there are still party-goers stumbling around, no matter how out of it everyone may be.
Still, she hinges, bending forward slightly and gyrates, slowly, deliberately back into his hands. He presses his thumbs down her hips, caressing her ass cheeks. His right hand slides down her outer thigh and back up between her legs, caressing her thigh under her dress as he works his way up. He leans into her, tugs playfully on the corner of her panties and whispers in her ear, "can I take these off?"
She bends further over the table, spreading her legs subtly wider and shakes her head. "No chance," she says, then adds "not until I tell you you can."
His thumb slides over the lace of her panties, searching for where it feels warm and wet. He stokes her back and forth, applying varying degrees of pressure as he watches her body react to his touch. He doesn't slip a finger into her...yet.
She presses her body back into his, rubbing her ass against his cock. He's not too drunk to get hard, she realizes with a satisfied grin.
Slowly, his free hand traces its way up her stomach. He cups her tit for a moment, before sliding his thumb inside her dress. He twirls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger slowly, teasingly applying more pressure and then less.
