Slowly, inevitably, his hand drifted back up her thigh, over her hip, and under her sweater. XXX She was having a hard time splitting her concentration between her own building climax and teasing Ron’s fantasy. “Oh Lavender, rub me,” she moaned out as she began rocking her hand back and forth over her clit. He desperately hoped that she wouldn’t fully retreat, so he brought his hand back up to rest on the smooth flare of her hip. She was probably in there, upset and crying about God only knew what. Her voice got a little louder, her cries becoming clearer. Throughout the story, she had used his hands in sympathy for her own. At the bottom she would rock her hips back and forth. His hand stopped on her stomach, awaiting her tacit approval or denial.
