Naughty Thoughts and Naughty Deeds

Hello My Little Rascals!

I've been working really hard to finish a few projects but alas my muse hasn't been cooperating. Until the wee small hours of the morning when this picture I've had in my Pinterest account sparked a little flame of something for me. So what could I do but share with you.

Janet





Naughty Thoughts and Naughty Deeds
Unedited and Copyrighted by Janet Eckford

I watch as he puts his gloves on. Those lovely hands, strong and well formed, with just a hint of roughness brushed along his palms and the pads of his fingers. Those lovely hands placed inside the softest of leather. I love those hands, particularly when they are upon me. Looking away as the last digit of the last finger is tucked away from my view, I shiver thinking of the feel of them.

"What are you thinking of?" He asks softly in ear.

I haven't noticed him get close, so very close in a room with so much space. I feel the heat of his words travel across the surface of my skin, caressing, teasing, and I blush with pleasure.

"Nothing."

The lie is ill formed and sticks as it comes out of my mouth. He will know there is a something. Several something's that involve him and those lovely hands that have now found their way to my arm and hip.

"I think not."

His voice is husky as he leans so much closer to me. Pressed softly against my back. One of those lovely leathered clad hands has found its way from my hip to the small of my back, at the edge of the deep V of my dress, where my skin is exposed. The cool smooth texture of the leather slides gently across me and I still, like one of Pavlov's dogs waiting for a treat.

"Are you thinking naughty thoughts?"

There is humor in the deep timber of his voice that causes my breath to hitch. When he is amused is when he is at his most dangerous. His mind becomes sharp and focused, arrowed to all the subtle nuisances of my body and its responses.

"Naughty thoughts and naught deeds," I whisper back.

I feel a slight tremor in the hand now splayed discreetly across my lower back. I am not without my own arsenal and smile as I look into the thinly dispersed crowd of diners. I wonder if they know what is happening. That as he grows slightly harder behind me, I become slightly softer, warmer and moist.

"Let's go," he says helping me with my coat, "I want to hear more about this in the car."

His words have a hint of urgency and his smile a bit of mischief. I know what will happen when he gets me to that car parked in the darkest part of the lot. Those lovely hands in tight confines of the softest leather will push me ever so gently against the cool metal of the door. One will find its way to my hip as the other lifts up my dress, fingers skimming across sensitive skin until they reach the very edge of my panties. There won't be time for gallant gestures and instead he will push the delicate lace aside, as he spreads me wider.

I am not a passive spectator of course and will have taken my own liberties to free him from his pants. As he lifts me up, just enough to anchor me on the door of the car, the last thing I will feel before he pushes himself inside of me will be the warm texture of his favored gloves pressed against my skin, and I will have to bite my lip to prevent my scream.

Naughty thoughts and naughty deeds indeed.