She opened her mouth once as if to say something — an apology, a thank you, a plea for me to turn back around; she didn't even know which — but no sound came out.
Her throat felt too tight. In the end, she only curled her sticky fingers into the soft grass, pressed her thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the empty throbbing between them, and stayed completely silent.
She listened to the quiet, strained sound of my breathing as I lay with my back to her, still painfully hard because of everything she had done, while the heavy weight of her own guilt, embarrassment, and confused arousal pressed down on her chest until it was almost hard to breathe.
The treehouse remained otherwise peaceful. Rachel and Victoria continued to sleep deeply only a short distance away, completely unaware of the filthy, emotional storm that had just taken place between their two companions in the moonlight.
