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She never directly asked for what she wanted, never said how she felt unless it was in anger. And I hadn't seen through the snarky jerk that needled me to the lonely young woman underneath that was terrified to say what she wanted for fear she'd be rejected yet again. And then, when she tried to make herself vulnerable to me in the only way she knew how, when she tried to reward me with her body-- as though that was the only thing besides her power that I could possibly value-- I told her I didn't want it. Bernie looked at me, face a mess of black mascara and tears, then laughed sardonically. ”Just want to sit and talk, huh? Is this the 'I just want to be fri--'” Briefly stunned, she froze for a moment as I pulled back, then surged forwards towards me, locking lips and running her fingers through my hair. Bernie almost climbed into my lap as my arms went around her, gently pulling her against me, those perfect breasts pressed against my chest as my tongue danced with hers. When we finally broke apart, she was gasping for air and eying me with an expression somewhere between lust and suspicion. ”Why? I mean, why now and not after the race?” She smirked. ”Is that why you're always checking out my ass? Because you're so over objectifying women?” Bernie darted in and kissed me, a brief, playful peck. Erotic story in stockings.She stepped through the frame gracefully. The room mirrored the opulence down in the drawing room.
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