Chapter 7: Heights of Desire

At first tentative, my hand trailed, brushed on her thigh, fingers dragging heat slick and warm through the silk like a rippling whirlpool, her sigh measured, not startled, but a siren call to go further, her hand nudged mine further, eyes locked in Ferris lights, black with desire to “explore,” her breasts’ strong gravity of unasked question, to behold and then probe, plunge, lungs humming nice and warm with promise of climax, knee-jerk in perverted way; the wheel creaked, like sugared twig bed springs rusting and groaning under strain. The gondola hung in the roll, isolation amplified every warm sound, the wind ran through her hair like phantom fingers tapping, rustling, rubbing, nurturing bent-to-be needs.

Her skirt beckoned higher in a breeze, whipping like lover’s lashes, revealing more, the damp silk barrier thin translucent, undulating her mound, hairiness a haptic symphony conveying the true over the coy. My fingertips found their place under the hem, tracing out lips outside the softness of the cloth, slick, whipping wind carrying her musk rising with arousal, mingled with brine erupting fierce. She widened her legs, her beachy, mannered wide hips rolling waves upon my knuckle, fullness drawing like sirens of the sea.

“Feels like flying,” I gulped, stifling my wants, but my clamp tightened, fingers found new course, cutting silk, reaching heat pulse, slickness dripping like seafoam upon my flesh.