Not Yet: Chapter 3
Large hands with long fingers gently traced lines across her belly from top to bottom and back again. They dared not venture further. Not yet. Instead, they explored every inch of bare skin in this small area, twisting and turning fingers and hands from back to front to savour the different sensations of rough against smooth, tracing circles and patterns with only a fingertip, drawing goose bumps and gentle sighs, heightening hidden desires and needs.
Minerva quivered under his gentle touch and tried to resist the spasm his tickling fingers triggered. She allowed herself to forget for a moment that he was not here by choice - that they had had no choice - and gave herself up to the sensation of his hands. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure, allowing her fantasy of nearly forty years to overrun her thoughts. As she relaxed, her arms lifted above her head and rested against the headboard of the bed. She felt a first flush of arousal between her legs and arched her body slightly. The touch of his hand was exciting her and drawing her so deep into her fantasy that she was sure she would implode if he ever stopped.
As she was thinking this, she felt the slight and wispy sensation of his beard on her stomach and then…
Albus had run out of space on Minerva's belly on which to trace the designs his desire inspired. He moved his hand to her side, the material of her dressing gown shifting slightly as he ran his hand under it, revealing a glimpse of the edge of one of her breasts as his hand traced the skin to its' side. Yet he was afraid to touch it. Not yet. Instead, he moved his mouth to barely a millimetre from her skin and gently blew. And then he closed his eyes and allowed himself to do one thing he had been dreaming of doing for years. He kissed her skin.
She gasped again at the feeling of his breath so close to her body and her back arched uncontrollably, pushing her stomach towards him. She bit her lip in a vain attempt to stifle her moan but any attempt to restrain herself was futile as his lips touched her bare flesh and she was lost. She had never felt so aroused in her life, and was certain that her time was soon. She tried to pull herself out of the fantasy she had slipped into, but it was too late. The dull ache of desire spread from her belly to below and she gasped at the exquisite torment, her eyes filling with tears at the beauty of this man she loved and the gentleness of his caress. She felt her moment drawing close, when suddenly his hand began to tentatively trace a line from her knee to her inner thigh, drawing the material of her dressing gown up as it rose, and she could hold back no longer. She burst.
"Albus!" she cried his name in triumph, her body convulsing with pleasure and by this very action, knocking him away from her. It had been so sudden, her cry so sharp, that he drew back with concern, certain that she was angry.
"Minerva?" He was confused.
She waited for her breathing to slow and the tears of her rapture to evaporate before she turned back to look at him. He looked cross. She was ashamed that she had made such use of him, that she had gained pleasure from something that could only be a torment to him. Her misery threatened to crack her mask. She could not risk exposing herself to him. Not yet. Gradually she regained her breath and sat up, drawing her open dressing gown back over her exposed flesh. She could not look him in the eye as she said it, and she hated herself for it afterwards, but she was so ashamed…
"It tickles!"
Albus was left kneeling on the bed, completely flummoxed as Minerva disappeared into the bathroom in a flurry of tartan.