She expected that he was going to release her, but he did not. Instead, she heard the shifting of the chair against the floor and the rustle of the newspaper. Was he... was he reading the paper as if her naked arse weren’t a foot or so away? Her cheeks flushed brightly when she felt one of his fingertips trace along the seam of her labia. She was soaked, from her own arousal and from his semen, and so the glide was slippery. She rested her forehead against the table in a combination of arousal and embarrassment. Was he going to finger her, or...?