You wanted to touch me everywhere, and you moved very quickly from my chest to my belly and my back and my legs, feet and ankles and hips, insisting that I touch you, too, squirming under my hands until we were both breathing fast, half-dressed, wholly roused, glazed and hard and delirious with it.
"We should stop," I breathed as you kissed my bare chest and ran your hand up my thigh; my erection strained against my briefs and yours was equally visible.
"I don't want to," you said, and you didn't.
And I didn't either.