Late for Work — Anna Austen Leigh

I smacked the alarm clock hard into snooze. Just another five minutes, that’s all I wanted, five minutes to drift and dream in the warm half-sleep of early morning.

Trying to remember the shreds of a dream that was escaping me already, the night palaces and moonlit landscapes of another world wafting away like fragments of mist.

Turning a couple of times, twisting myself in the duvet, searching for warmth and comfort against the winter morning outside. My hand idly searching, stroking my back, my side, as I curled into the darkness under the covers.

I won’t sleep, I thought; just a light doze, just for ten minutes. I’ll still be on time.

No use to catch that dream now, it was gone forever. But I had last night to remember; sitting up too late with Esme, drinking too many armagnacs, till the pub closed at two in the morning. And in the end she went home, refusing the offer of coffee, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek – damn!

I thought of what might have happened; replayed the night as I wanted it. A tentative kiss on the lips; hips flexing into each other; my hands unwrapping her, unfolding her.

I felt the dull insistence of a nearly-hangover at the back of my left eyebrow. My hand unbidden closed on my own breast, holding it, thumbing the nipple absently.

If I carried on, I would be late. The alarm would ring again, more insistently.

I thought of her elfish looks – pale blond almost-white short hair, her green eyes in a white face. Her perfect, small, high breasts beneath her white t-shirt.

My nipple was hard, and as always that invisible chain of excitement tugged at my clit. Lust seethed inside me. I dragged a dreamy hand over my mound, twirling my pubic hair into curls. I was warm and half-asleep and yet aroused. I wondered if this was what snakes felt like when they slept, curled, on a hot stone?

I thought of Esme’s narrow hips, the low slung metal belt she wore. My fingers found my own warmth and wetness and I thought of undoing her tight jeans, opening her up to my fingers and my tongue.

I wrapped myself around the memory of her, and found my clit with my fingers, and rubbed, hard, till I could hardly breathe. And suddenly all the birds were singing outside, and the sun was blazing, and the alarm was buzzing, and I was coming, hard, and fast, and alone.

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Read Anna’s other sexy stories published on Every Night Erotica, here.

Anna Austen Leigh has already published two erotic novels, The Diligence de Lyon, an escapade set in the eighteenth century world of the Grand Tour, and Pilgrim for Love, a Chaucerian pilgrimage with a raunchy, happy ending. She also publishes on Smashwords, and is now working on an erotic romance set in the Napoleonic Wars. . You may find Anna here: http://erotic-history.blogspot.com.