sliding his hands up my legs, pushing my dress until it sat in the crease of my thighs. His fingers caught on my wool leggings, easing them down from my waist over my curves, so slow I wanted to scream, his mouth a pace behind. His facial hair scratched against my inner thigh, my knee, my calf. When he slipped my leggings off and flung them onto the pile of clothes on the floor, his hands returned to my thighs.
