So his hand slides up the inside of her thigh and there it is again, the pleased little puff of breath against his skin, desperate for his touch. He traces the hem that runs over her hip and across her thigh, until he’s at her center. The heat of her warms his fingers. His lips graze her ear as he glides over the fabric, and he thinks about asking if this is okay in the seconds before he shoves her knickers to the side, but when his mouth opens, all that comes out is a curse. The way her legs spread for him is an answer to his unspoken question, just as her soft wet cunt is the answer to a hundred of his late-night wishes.