His Hands (by Greta Christina)

...His hands also do things that make her blush when she remembers, things that make her flinch and quickly look for something to stare at on the floor, convinced that anone who sees her can read her mind....She thinks about his hands pressing her against the wall, one hand pinning her shoulders, the other sliding up her skirt, pushing between her legs, reaching for her clit like it belongs to him. No, not like it belongs to him. Like a thief. Like he knows it doesn't belong to him and is taking it anyway....She thinks about his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers coiling in her hair and tightening....She thinks about his fingers spreading her lips open down there, prying her apart, exposing her clit and studying it fervently...she feels like he is revealing her soul...her true soul, the selfish one, the dirty one, the one that wants to quit her job and abandon her friends and family and spend the rest of her life on her back, on her hands and knees, pressed against the wall, with his hand between her legs.