Shana woke up tingling, as if her body had awakened moments ahead of her mind. She floated straight out of dreams into a half delirious sense of desire filtering into her pulse through the surface of her skin. She stretched, feeling the rub of the sheets against her body. She could have sworn she felt every cell.

Body heated cotton on her skin let her feel the shape of her own body like something she'd always felt but never seen. Her skin was a beautiful place for her to spirit to live inside. She placed her hands on each juncture between hip and thigh. A current of warmth seeped in through her fingertips, following a languid circuit through her body. She touched and felt at the same time.

She became a profusion of contours and silk.

A sleepy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she thought back on the voice of the man in the elevator the night before.

As she stretched her sinews hard and taut in her bed, she could almost feel the strength of the hand that had suddenly gripped her shoulder from behind. The cut of her panties pulled against the motion of her hips as they rolled against the mattress. The tapered edges of the gusset cupped her mound. She remembered the hand and voice and felt the tingling warmth flush through her skin.

"Don't turn around," he'd said.

The whisper had slithered into her ear like a trickle of warm cream. There'd been no threat in his tone. No more than the force of his ardent what ifs. His grip had merely been firm enough to suggest he had the strength to hold her, but giving her room to pull free if she chose. The whisper, she knew, had been because the elevator was crowded.

She hadn't turned - hadn't pulled away – but smiled to herself at his clandestine audacity.

She reached up along her body and touched the hollow at the base of her throat, simply feeling her breath go in and out a moment or two before letting her hand drift back down. Her palm made the slow, upward scoop over the smooth swell of her naked breast, her nipple puckering toward hardness. She paused to pinch the smoldering nub and remember. She paused again – pinching again – harder – just to feel herself in the here and now of a brand new morning.

This morning, she was a luxury only she could afford.

Her hand started to move further down but then stopped and changed direction, sliding back up to slip over the other breast. She closed her eyes and languished in the feel of her own flesh. Breasts were beautiful. Her breasts were beautiful. Her hand slipped up and over one and then up and over the other. Hardening nipples softly scraping against the undersides of her fingers. Then she clutched herself lightly, fingers mashing into her pliant mound.

She kneaded herself with a sigh.

"Your perfume is slaying me," the man had whispered in the elevator. "I saw your face when you got on, and now your hair is gleaming even in this dingy light."

She felt herself blushing, even now as the morning sun slanted through her windows. Her knees rose up and her heels dug into the mattress as she raised her ass in the air just to feel the play of interconnected muscle and sinew, from her ass down through her thighs and calves.

Her left hand clamped over her right breast while the right slid down her skin – I am my own Silk Road, she sighed - until the tips of her fingers found the edge of her white panties. They were thin and lacy – sheer – and she was starkly aware of the way her sweetly pampered slit was visible through the film of fabric.

Clustered fingers moved slowly over the silky skin of material - sliding and curling – forming to the flared shape of her pouting mound. Her ass slowly drifted back to the mattress, but she kept her knees in the air. The supple skin of her thighs formed an aura of warmth around her cupped hand as she pressed into the meat of herself.

A sigh escaped her throat, as if the gentle dig of the hand between her thighs was pushing the air out of her body.

"I want to be drunk on the taste of your neck," he whispered. The elevator had stopped. Three more people got on and he guided her backward into the corner, still not letting her turn and see his face.

Her fingertips made a light drag over the simmering slit beneath her panties while she felt his voice as if it were still in her ear. The skin across the pulsing vein in her neck remembered the humid brush of his pineapple breath. Her mound began to throb lightly with the warm rush of blood into the puffed flesh beneath her fingers, searching into her own pleasure through the soft texture of her panties.