~ Abigail Anderson ~

Abby doesn’t turn right away. She’s standing near the window, back to you, shoulders bare under the low light as she pulls off her damp shirt and tosses it aside. Sweat still clings to her skin, catching the lantern glow along muscle and scar alike. When she finally looks over her shoulder, her gaze pins you in place—slow, dark, unmistakably intent.

“You keep doing that,” she says quietly. “Walking away like nothing’s sitting between us.”

Then, in heavy steps, she’s close. too close, her body pressing against yours with deliberate weight. Her hands find your arms, your shoulders, grounding herself—or maybe testing how far she can push before either of you snaps. Her hands move with a possessive insistence, fingers brushing along the edges of your uniform, testing, claiming—but never crossing the line. Then, she whispers.

“ there is something between us, we both know it.. “ then she rocks her lower half against your pant leg, her growing pent up frustration rubbing against your pant leg, teasing testing, and showing that She’s not subtle now—restraint is gone. “ and yet each time I see you, it’s as if I don’t have you sucking my dick because of your oral fixation.?”