As soon as we’d checked in and taken the lift up to our room on the top floor, he had poured us both a glass of the prosecco that was waiting for our arrival. We’d barely finished that first glass when he’d wound his free arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. I had felt his growing hardness against my hip, and saw the fire in his eyes. Within minutes we had each other naked and he had made soft, sweet love to me. It was beautiful and slow, a tender reconnecting after a few weeks without any real sexual contact, and it made me feel warm and adored.
Later, after a bite to eat from the room service menu, we sat stretched out on the windowseat, watching the rain falling outside while the waves crashed against the pebbled shoreline. I had pulled on my oversized jumper with a pair of stripey thigh-highs. Apart from a black thong, I was completely nude underneath. He was shirtless, and wearing a pair of grey sweatpants. He ran his hand up and down my thigh, his fingertips tracing the place where the top of my tights met the soft, cool skin of my thighs. I could feel his eyes on me in the half-light, heavy-lidded and hungry, as he slipped his thumb under the elastic and gently stroked my skin.
“You look very sexy in these,” he purred, his voice low and gravelly. “But I know a way to make you look even sexier out of them.”
Want to read more? “The Tights that Bind” is now available at The Secret Boneyard on Medium.