"Have you met me?" Amber asked, near incredulous. "Of course me too." If there was one impression she doubted she'd left Eric with, it was that she was a modest, sex-depriving girl. Aside from that night she'd frozen up-- which was partially his fault, for not reading her signs and going too fast-- she'd instigated most of their hook-ups. If anyone was coming out on the prudish side, it was him.
Amber's mouth opened, captured by the image Eric had just evoked; by the hand he'd so casually dropped in his lap, bringing her groin to sudden, sharp awareness. He’d be using that same hand to pleasure himself, tonight. Shit. At this rate, it'd be everything she could do to keep from demanding he find private parking so that she could climb into his lap and properly address all the longing that had been building up since she'd seen him naked this morning, heightened sensitivity or no. Now she had one more item on her to-do list; she'd meant to spare herself an orgasm or few, letting her body recover, but there was no way she wasn't going to be stuck on that thought, of Eric stroking himself, lingering on thoughts of her. "And I'll be thinking of you thinking of me." God, now there was masturbation fodder. She was a bit discomforted by the notion that he’d be revisiting last night—she suspected she knew which part would get his attention—as Amber could barely think of how what she’d done, of how she’d reacted, without getting entangled in embarrassment. She’d been far, far too affected. But Eric seemed so happy, cheerful at the memory. Like it was going to be a favorite in his collection. Wasn't entirely sure how she felt, about that.
A smirk lit up her face. Eric had said something about videos. Well. She could present him with a nice little surprise, come Friday. Or Thursday, even. It'd be a nice way to commemorate their one-week fuck anniversary. Amber didn't care to actually make a big deal out of it, didn't need bullshit flowers or cards; the fact that Eric had come to care so much about her was what mattered to her. The rest could go to hell. But man she wanted to see his expression when she handed him that DVD. Was sorry she wouldn't be there when he actually watched it. Would it be weird to ask him to record his reaction to a recording?
When Eric absolutely failed to make a significant reply about how long they'd been together, Amber just brushed her fingertips against his wrist, the base of his palm. He wasn't good at words, she knew that. Chose terrible ones to express affection, like "honey" (and if she hadn't burst out laughing at him, it'd been because she'd been so confused and upset; belatedly, she did snort) and "you're gorgeous." Amber was pretty sure all this between mattered, to him. Her heart sank. Pretty sure wasn't actually sure. Maybe all his one-week long girls went this way, with lots of fucking and vague statements of sentiment. The promises, too, they weren't much, just dates to see each other some more. And his brother in jail could be a sob story to get into someone's pants-- though why he'd bother jumping through that hoop with her, she didn't know, all he had to do was show some flesh and she'd be all over him. She couldn't ask for more; there was no way to ask for more, they were going as fast as she was comfortable with. They'd have Friday, at least. And two days of discreet flirting in between. God, she was going to miss him. Didn’t know how to tell him that, so she just looked out the window; already they were so near the hospital.
“The whole hospital probably knows,” Amber commented quietly. It was the closest she could say, again, how much of an impact their being together, so far, had already had.
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Amber's mouth opened, captured by the image Eric had just evoked; by the hand he'd so casually dropped in his lap, bringing her groin to sudden, sharp awareness. He’d be using that same hand to pleasure himself, tonight. Shit. At this rate, it'd be everything she could do to keep from demanding he find private parking so that she could climb into his lap and properly address all the longing that had been building up since she'd seen him naked this morning, heightened sensitivity or no. Now she had one more item on her to-do list; she'd meant to spare herself an orgasm or few, letting her body recover, but there was no way she wasn't going to be stuck on that thought, of Eric stroking himself, lingering on thoughts of her. "And I'll be thinking of you thinking of me." God, now there was masturbation fodder. She was a bit discomforted by the notion that he’d be revisiting last night—she suspected she knew which part would get his attention—as Amber could barely think of how what she’d done, of how she’d reacted, without getting entangled in embarrassment. She’d been far, far too affected. But Eric seemed so happy, cheerful at the memory. Like it was going to be a favorite in his collection. Wasn't entirely sure how she felt, about that.
A smirk lit up her face. Eric had said something about videos. Well. She could present him with a nice little surprise, come Friday. Or Thursday, even. It'd be a nice way to commemorate their one-week fuck anniversary. Amber didn't care to actually make a big deal out of it, didn't need bullshit flowers or cards; the fact that Eric had come to care so much about her was what mattered to her. The rest could go to hell. But man she wanted to see his expression when she handed him that DVD. Was sorry she wouldn't be there when he actually watched it. Would it be weird to ask him to record his reaction to a recording?
When Eric absolutely failed to make a significant reply about how long they'd been together, Amber just brushed her fingertips against his wrist, the base of his palm. He wasn't good at words, she knew that. Chose terrible ones to express affection, like "honey" (and if she hadn't burst out laughing at him, it'd been because she'd been so confused and upset; belatedly, she did snort) and "you're gorgeous." Amber was pretty sure all this between mattered, to him. Her heart sank. Pretty sure wasn't actually sure. Maybe all his one-week long girls went this way, with lots of fucking and vague statements of sentiment. The promises, too, they weren't much, just dates to see each other some more. And his brother in jail could be a sob story to get into someone's pants-- though why he'd bother jumping through that hoop with her, she didn't know, all he had to do was show some flesh and she'd be all over him. She couldn't ask for more; there was no way to ask for more, they were going as fast as she was comfortable with. They'd have Friday, at least. And two days of discreet flirting in between. God, she was going to miss him. Didn’t know how to tell him that, so she just looked out the window; already they were so near the hospital.
“The whole hospital probably knows,” Amber commented quietly. It was the closest she could say, again, how much of an impact their being together, so far, had already had.