Danny and I disengage and it’s then that I notice Mrs. Hannigan, Danny’s elderly neighbour, in the elevator with us. Danny notices too, and we both flush in embarrassment. I hear Danny mumble some lame apology and we both rush out. We arrive at his apartment and stumble through the door in fits of laughter. Poor Mrs. Hannigan! The door closes, and I suddenly find myself up against the door, with my skirt hiked up and my leg around Danny’s hip again. I feel Danny’s hand on my thigh and his other in my hair. He presses closer to me and steals my breath and thoughts with a kiss. There is a need growing inside me that I’ve never felt before, and not just because it’s Danny. The hunger burning in me is not the same kind of sexual desire that I have had for any of my other sexual partners. I realize that this feeling is deeper, more intense. But then I can’t think of anything else as Danny lifts my other leg off the ground and carries me bodily to his bed. His display of strength turns me. Her breasts each time rose up and pushed themselves forward, her mounds pressed still tighter against the fabric of the bra. She felt her flesh stick and fuse into the material. The sensations brought her mind constantly back to her erect nipples, the soft roundness of her flesh, the forward display of her bosom and how much more conscious she was of men looking at it. As she sat in the toilet she had pulled her skirt up slightly and saw the sleek black material poke out from underneath of the cotton fabric. She saw the long stretch between her thighs and the glint of reflected light from the sweeping curve of the material hugging her so closely. She stared at it for a moment and felt the rise of excitement burn her neck. That stupid gel had already got to work and she was feeling the now familiar itch in her groin as blood engorged her clitoris. She should pull them off and wipe herself clean, she should stop this behaviour, she had to get a grip on her life. How could she have let.
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