He let his voice drop just a touch.
"Now I want you to imagine this: we're not in a stall. You're not alone. You're in my lap, turned toward me, straddling my thigh."
A soft, startled breath. Then slower breathing. Controlled.
"Good," he said.
His own chest rose a little heavier now, his imagination syncing to hers.
"One of my hands is on your waist, holding you still. The other's between your legs, but not where you need it yet.
"Just resting. Warm~ Teasing~"
His voice got softer, more coaxing.
"You feel how wet you are, don't you? I know you do. You didn't even need to check. I could smell it the second you moaned. Sweet~ Sticky~ Like your whole body's begging."
He gave her a pause, let the tension throb between them.
"You want to touch, right?" he whispered. "Of course you do. But don't. Not there. Not yet."
She exhaled again—this time shaky as hell. Her thighs were probably clenched. Her fingers twitching. Her body torn between listening and needing.
