Soap. Unless you want the whole team to bombard you with whistling and clapping. He could feel my hole clamp down and pulse from where his thumb was lodged, and instead of pulling away, he pressed in further, pulling out slightly only to push in again. I was trapped in the prison of having an unwanted erection at the worst time. Not just because of him—but because I realized I wasn’t sure what I was more nervous about: the exposure, or how much I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to hate it, to push him away, but instead, I leaned into it, giving myself over to the pleasure he was apparently so adept at giving. When he found my most private entrance, he pushed in, and I saw stars. I had never felt anything like that. I was hyper-aware of every inch of his hands as they pressed against my body, the heat of his skin, the rough texture of his palms, the skilled pressuring of his fingers.
