#nineteen.

Elain bites her lip as she makes her way through the darkened corridors of her girlfriend’s home, candle flame her only source of light.

When she’d glanced out the window the moon had been high in the sky, enough time having passed her lover will surely be fast asleep. Off somewhere in a wondrous dreamland.

Pushing open the door that will lead to your bedroom, Elain is restless and impatient. Craving aches between her legs, and she can’t resist slipping a soothing hand between them, fingers pressing firmly against her heat, cupping herself through the pale fabric of her nightgown.

The candlelight spills through the midnight-blue room, inky darkness heavy across the floor, shadow chased away as Elain approaches the bed.

Her lover is asleep on her back, head tipped away from the window in the direction of her nightstand. One hand rests across her chest while the other is hidden beneath the blanket.

Elain shivers, shutting the door and setting the candle down atop the nightstand, before gently starting on peeling back the covers.

Bare skin meets Elain’s eyes, your breasts soft atop your ribcage. As the blanket reveals more skin, Elain finds her lover’s free hand rested atop her diaphragm—a habit Elain is familiar with. It’s the position your body always seems to prefer sleeping in, even after Elain has made extensive attempts to tuck you against her own body.

A shudder trails down Elain’s spine as she pulls the blanket further, revealing the skimpy, black lace clinging to her lover’s hips.

It’s an effort to hold herself back—to keep from jumping straight to the climax.

Instead Elain coasts her fingers across the lower part of your ribcage, circling slowly as her eyes explore your skin. Goosebumps have lifted in places, nipples pebbling from exposure to the cool, night air. Elain raises her fingers, lightly circling one. Swiping across its peak. Gently plucking.

A noise is caught in your throat. Something so sweet to Elain’s ears—almost a whimper.

Cocoa eyes betray her attempted discipline, flitting back to the dainty scrap of lace strung across your hips. Her throat rolls, then with her free hand she’s running the very tips of her fingers south from your stomach. Pausing to teasingly trail along the black waistband.

Elain wets her lips. But no—she should wait.

Should make herself wait.

It’ll feel better in the end, allowing anticipation to build.

Beneath her touch, your body shifts, head tilting to the opposite side, hips readjusting on the mattress so your knees are inched further apart, providing ample space.

The temptation is a little too much.

Basking in the descend, Elain allows her fingers to graze along your thigh, trailing light as a feather up and down, before slipping into the space between your legs. The edge of her index finger presses flush to your clothed heat, and a sound akin to a whine huffs from your lips.

Elain finds it wonderful, how sweetly you’re behaving without even knowing.

A perfect, private experiment.

She’ll see how much she can get away with, before rousing you from sleep…

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