The wine sipped too quickly, has gone to my head. I watch the way your hands move as you tell your joke and laugh a little too loudly when you deliver the punch line.
His eyes flash at me from across the table. The same disapproving look he shot me earlier, as I was getting dressed.
It’s a bit tight.
Don’t be ridiculous, I say.
How do you know him again?
Just an old friend. We worked together years ago.
He clears his throat, breaking my reverie. My grin fades into a small, restrained smile.
You top up his glass.
The conversation drifts into stocks and bonds. My mind begins to wander, like a bored schoolgirl.
Your hand brushes my leg.
Was it an accident? I look at you questioningly but you are staring straight ahead, engrossed in conversation.
Then there it is again. Very deliberately, resting on my knee.
God, your hands.
They slide up my thigh and under my skirt, lightly skimming the fabric of my panties.
It’s been so long.
I part my legs under the table.
The conversation turns to politics.
A mirror effect, you say.
He looks confused. What’s this about mirrors?
The word sends a jolt through my body.
Your hand slips into my panties.