Shanti Aunty 1

Her fingertips crossed the thin fabric and wire of her bra and her hands, knuckle to knuckle, traced the center of her cleavage, up and around the top of her breasts and back down to her stomach. She grabbed her hips and squeezed, feeling the pinch of her nails in her skin. He reached over and touched his finger tips to the side of her knee. He ran his hand up the outside of her thigh, feeling the firmness of her thigh through the coarse polyester skirt. His hand traveled down the front of her thigh to the inside of her knee, then worked its way back up the inside of her thigh, under her skirt. He could see her head tilt up as she enjoyed the feel of his wandering hand. He continued up higher, slowly, feeling the warmth of her body heat as he got closer to her core. She took one step sideways as if to offer free passage to his nomadic hands. Her hands ran up her hips to her ribs and cupped her tits. She let a small moan escape as she squeezed them, pressing them to herself. His hand. She didn’t quite know what to make of the cowboy that she found herself thinking about more and more as the days passed. The ladies’ room line was long and she was somewhat grateful for the passage of time to get her thoughts together and try to sort out what to do from here. She wanted to stay … stay and see exactly if life on a ranch was where she belonged, and yes, even stay and see if what she was feeling for this cowboy could turn into something more. But she had a feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to do either. Lance made his way over to Wesley, a wide grin on his face as he plopped down next to his friend and stretched out happily. ‘Where’s Lace?’ he asked, glancing to Wes and then furrowed his eyebrows, seeing the serious look on his face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Wesley looked at his old-time friend a long moment before taking another swig of his beer. ‘She asked about Anne.’ He said it simply, almost coldly. Anne wasn’t a subject that was ever breeched with Wesley..
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