It was a deep autumn night. The sycamore leaves on campus had already begun to turn yellow, and the wind carried a slight chill as it blew. Holding hands with my girlfriend, we walked slowly along the tree-lined path leading to the dormitory area. The streetlights stretched her shadow long and made the outfit she had specially worn today appear exceptionally clear.
Today she was wearing a light-colored short skirt, the hem just reaching mid-thigh; below that was a pair of black fishnet stockings, the kind that reach below the knees, with mesh holes neither too big nor too small, just enough to reveal a hint of the whiteness of her skin. Her pointed-toe little leather shoes made a soft tap-tap sound on the stone pavement. From the first time I saw her, I thought her legs were especially beautiful—long and smoothly contoured—and today’s outfit made those legs look like a work of art.
We met as freshmen, and have been dating for almost a year and a half now. The first time we had sex was in my dorm room. That day my roommates happened to be out, the curtains were drawn tight, the bed frame creaked a bit, we were both incredibly nervous but also incredibly excited. After that, almost every time was still in bed, either when her dorm room was empty or when mine was free. We've never tried anywhere else.
As we walked that night, my gaze kept drifting downward involuntarily. Her short skirt swayed gently with her steps, the muscles of her calves encased in fishnet stockings faintly visible under the light. A thought suddenly popped into my head, so intense it tightened my throat.
I leaned close to her ear, lowered my voice, and said, 'Wearing this today... really attracts me. I can hardly stand it, I want to do it with you...'
Her footsteps paused, she turned to look at me, her cheeks already slightly flushed under the light. 'Don't be like this! We're at school now, and there are people in the dorm, where can we do it!'
Her voice held a touch of embarrassed annoyance, and also a touch of helplessness. I knew she actually wasn't completely without feeling, it was just her first time hearing about doing it in a non-bed setting, instinctively resisting.
I held her hand, stopped under a big tree, and looked at her seriously: "Let's go try the restroom. The newly built lab building at school, I heard the restrooms are very clean, and there aren't many people at night. If it's really not clean, we'll leave immediately, no pressure."
She bit her lip, glanced around left and right to make sure no one was nearby, then said in a low voice: “The restroom... won’t anyone discover us? And places like a restroom always feel... kind of weird.”
I continued to coax and persuade, lowering my voice even more, almost whispering into her ear: 'Just try it once. If anything feels off, we'll stop immediately. I promise. And... you're dressed like this today; I'm already so hard I can't stand it.'
She was silent for about ten seconds, finally sighed, and whispered: '...Then let's go take a look. If it's really dirty, or if there are people, we leave immediately.'
My heart surged with wild joy. Holding her hand, I steered away from the main path and headed toward the lab building. That building had just been put into use not long ago; at night, it was brightly lit but sparsely populated, with most labs locked. We circled to the side and found the women's restroom on the first floor.
As agreed beforehand, she pushed the door open and went in first. I stood not far outside the door, pretending to look at my phone, but my heart was pounding wildly. After about two minutes, her phone vibrated with a text message: 'No one inside, it's clean. Come in, be quick.'
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Once the door closed, the sound of the wind outside was immediately cut off. The bathroom was brightly lit, the floor so clean it almost reflected one's shadow. The stalls were all Western-style toilets, with instructions posted on the walls. Next to the toilet seat was a stack of seat covers, and the hooks were brand new. The air carried only a faint smell of disinfectant, none of the unpleasant odors I had imagined.
She was already standing at the door of the innermost stall. Seeing me come in, she immediately pulled me inside and, with a turn of her hand, locked the door. The latch made a crisp “click.”
The cubicle wasn't very large, but it was enough for two people standing. As soon as I steadied myself, I pulled her into my arms and pressed my lips directly onto hers. She let out a soft gasp, which was immediately swallowed by my kiss. My tongue forcefully pried open her teeth, entwined with her soft tongue, and stirred vigorously. Her breathing quickly became ragged, her hands instinctively grabbing the hem of my clothes.
While deep kissing, I reached my hand into her top, kneading her breasts over her bra. Her breasts weren't large but had a good shape, with nipples already slightly erect. I rubbed back and forth over the fabric with my thumb, feeling her body tremble lightly.
After kissing for about a minute or two, I pulled back slightly, panting as I lifted her top. She cooperated, raising her arms so I could take off her clothes piece by piece, until only that black half-cup bra was left. A bit of soft flesh was squeezed out along the edges of the bra, making her skin look even fairer.
I lowered my head and gently bit her collarbone, my hand already reaching down into her short skirt. Through her thin panties, I felt she was already somewhat wet. My fingertip pressed against her clitoris through the fabric, slowly circling.
She immediately let out a suppressed 'Mmm...', leaning her body into my embrace. I sped up a bit, feeling that spot gradually swell up like a small bean. Her breathing grew increasingly rapid, occasionally leaking fragmented 'Hmm... ah...' sounds.
I put down the toilet seat, placed a seat cover, and had her sit back against the tank. Her short skirt was pulled up to her waist, black fishnet stockings and pointed shoes still perfectly intact on her legs. She sat there, legs slightly apart, her panties already showing a small wet patch.
I knelt down, slowly pulled her panties down to her ankles, then pulled them out from her shoes. Her skirt, fishnet stockings, and pointed shoes were still on. I started by licking from the inside of her thigh with my tongue, all the way up, past the edge of the fishnets, finally landing between her legs.
Her private parts were already glistening wet. I first lightly touched her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, and her whole body shuddered, letting out a short 'Ah...'. I didn't rush to go deeper, instead using my tongue to slide back and forth on the outer labia, occasionally licking around her anus, feeling her body tense and then relax.
“Don’t……there……” she protested softly, but did not really push me away.
I intensified my efforts, sliding my tongue into her opening, gently stirring, then withdrawing to focus on her clit. After a few rounds, her voice noticeably grew louder: 'Hiss... good... so good... ah...'
I looked up at her slightly flushed cheeks and asked, "Do you want to continue? If you do, beg me. If not, we can leave now."
She bit her lower lip, her eyes a little wet, and nodded. Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible: “I want... I want to feel good... make me feel good again, okay... please... I want... want to have sex... want to climax...”
At that moment, her expression was both shy and anxious, making my lower body ache with hardness. I lowered my head again, this time licking her clitoris with more force, my tongue quickly moving side to side, occasionally sucking with my lips. Her hands gripped the edges of the toilet tank, and her waist involuntarily arched upward.
The lewd fluid flowed more and more, down the perineum to the anus, then dripping onto the toilet seat. I licked all that liquid with my tongue and found it had almost no odor, just a faint腥甜 (fishy-sweetness). Her moans grew more urgent: 'Ah ah... fast... almost climaxing... hiss... so good... don't... don't stop...'
At that moment, the door to the women's restroom was suddenly pushed open.
Both of us froze simultaneously. The sound of high heels came from outside, then the sound of a stall door being pulled open and closed again, the lock clicking shut. Followed by the sound of a zipper, fabric rustling, and finally the clear sound of urination, the water hitting the squat toilet.
My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my throat. My girlfriend's eyes were wide open, her mouth tightly shut, afraid to make any sound. But I felt myself getting even harder. The thrill of possibly being discovered at any moment made my lower body swell painfully.
I didn't stop. Instead, I attacked her clitoris more forcefully with my tongue, while slowly inserting two fingers into her already soaked hole, curving and pressing against her inner walls.
She immediately cursed me in a voice almost too quiet to hear: 'Don't... like this... someone's outside... ah...'
But her body honestly clenched around my fingers. I sped up the thrusting and pulling of my fingers, and my tongue never stopped either. Biting her own hand, she still let out fragments of "Oh... ah ah... faster... I'm about to climax..."
The person outside finished flushing, washed their hands, used the hand dryer, and the whole process lasted about two or three minutes. Finally, footsteps faded away, and the main door closed again.
I looked up and whispered, "No one's here anymore. You can let it out."
As if something had been completely let loose by that sentence, her voice suddenly grew louder: “Ah ah ah... I’m climaxing... I’m climaxing...”
Her pussy contracted violently, gushing out a large amount of fluid, splashing onto my fingers and tongue. Her legs trembled incessantly inside the fishnet stockings, the pointed heels of her shoes lightly tapping the floor a few times.
I waited for her to calm down a bit before standing up and quickly taking off my pants and underwear. My erection, hard to its limit, sprang out, the tip already oozing clear fluid. Holding it, I first gently rubbed the glans against her swollen clitoris a few times.
She immediately shook her head: 'Put it in... stop teasing... please...'
I aimed at the moist entrance and slowly pushed in. Just the head going in, I could feel it was hot and tight, tightly wrapping around me. I continued inward until the entire length was buried. She let out a long, satisfied sigh.
When the thrusting began, the rhythm wasn't fast; each time he almost completely withdrew before plunging back in fully, allowing her to clearly feel every inch of friction. The short skirt was bunched around her waist, the black fishnet stockings lightly rubbing against my thighs with the movement of her legs. The pointed-toe shoes were still on, sometimes accidentally kicking my calves.
I lowered my head to look at where we were joined, watching my cock plunge in and out repeatedly, bringing out more fluid. Her cries were no longer suppressed: 'Ah... so deep... a little faster... ah ah...'
I increased my speed, holding her waist with both hands, making her meet my thrusts. The water tank lightly knocked against the wall, emitting a rhythmic, muffled sound. Her breasts swayed up and down with the motion, her black bra already somewhat displaced, revealing half of her areola.
After thrusting for about ten minutes, her breathing suddenly became more rapid, and her pussy also started contracting in waves. I knew she was close again, but I deliberately slowed down, almost stopping, just grinding shallowly inside.
"Do you want more?" I asked into her ear. "If you want it, say it again."
Her eyes were red, her arms wrapped around my neck, her voice choked with tears: 'I want... to keep going... please... make me climax... don't stop...'
Only then did I resume thrusting forcefully. This time, holding nothing back, each thrust went to the deepest point. She soon reached her second climax, her passage convulsing violently, gripping me so tightly I could barely move. I gritted my teeth and persisted for several dozen thrusts before roaring lowly and ejaculating inside.
After we finished, neither of us moved immediately. She leaned against the water tank, panting, while I lay on top of her, feeling myself still buried inside her, pulsing slowly.
After a long while, I slowly withdrew. The mixed fluids flowed down from between her legs, dripping along the fishnet stockings. I took a tissue from my pocket, carefully wiped her clean, then put her panties back on and straightened her skirt.
Looking at me, her eyes were both shy and soft: 'Next time... next time you can't just suddenly...'
I smiled and kissed her forehead: "Next time if you still dress like this, I might not be able to help myself."
We straightened our clothes, confirmed there was no sound outside, and then cautiously opened the door to leave. The hallway was empty, only a distant light was still on.
On the way back to the dormitory, she kept her head down, occasionally looking up at me, her cheeks still flushed. I held her hand, feeling her fingers tremble slightly, but she didn't pull away.
After that night, we would occasionally bring up that experience in the bathroom. She would pretend to be angry and punch me, saying 'You're really bad,' but there was a smile in her eyes. And every time I saw her wearing a short skirt with fishnet stockings again, my mind would automatically conjure up the image of her on the toilet lid, in front of the water tank, biting the back of her hand but unable to hold back her moans.
The campus is big, and clean restrooms aren't limited to that one. Later, we tried a few different places, but the tension, excitement, and heart-pounding fear of almost being discovered from the first time remained the most unforgettable.
Sometimes late at night lying in bed, she would suddenly turn over and ask me softly, 'That day... did you plan it from the very beginning?'
I answered honestly: 'Not fully planned. I just saw you dressed like that and suddenly really wanted... to have you somewhere else once.'
She was silent for a moment, then buried her face in my chest, saying muffledly: '...Next time, tell me in advance. At least let me prepare myself mentally.'
I smiled and agreed, but in my heart, I knew that next time if I saw her walking across campus in the same short skirt and black fishnets, I probably still wouldn't be able to resist pulling her into some quiet corner.
And she would probably, like that day, half-heartedly follow me inside.
That night, back at the dorm, my roommates were already asleep. I washed up quietly, but lying in bed, I couldn't sleep at all. My mind kept replaying every detail from the women's restroom stall: her sitting on the toilet lid, her legs in black fishnet stockings trembling slightly, the way her juices dripped down through the mesh, and how she bit the back of her hand but still let out faint moans when someone was outside.
The phone suddenly vibrated once. It was a message from her.
“Are you still awake?”
I immediately replied: 'Awake. Thinking of you.'
After about half a minute, she sent another message: '...Was today too crazy? What if we were really discovered...'
I stared at the screen, typing slowly: 'But you clamp down really tight when you climax. And you said 'I want it' yourself.'
There was a long silence on the other end before a reply came: '...Shut up. See you at the cafeteria tomorrow at noon.'
I smiled and put down my phone, but couldn't suppress the restlessness in my heart. My lower body hardened again. I closed my eyes, recalling the glimpses of white from her inner thighs as she walked today in her short skirt and black fishnets, recalling the already soaked entrance after I pulled down her panties, recalling the long, satisfied sigh she let out when the tip first pushed in... In the end, I had to take care of it myself once before I could barely fall asleep.
At noon the next day, the cafeteria was bustling with people. She was already sitting by the window, today wearing a dark blue skirt, but still those black fishnet stockings on her legs. Only this time the stockings were pulled higher, almost to the top of her thighs. Seeing me approach, she looked up, her eyes holding a bit of guilt and also an indescribable anticipation.
I sat down, deliberately lowering my voice: 'Wearing fishnets again today?'
She poked at the greens on her plate with her chopsticks, the tips of her ears quietly turning red: '...Just wore whatever. Don't you think nonsense.'
I stretched my foot under the table and gently touched her calf, feeling the thin fabric through her fishnet stockings. 'I thought about it for a long time last night. I want to do it again.'
Her chopsticks paused, she glanced up quickly scanning the surroundings, confirming no one was paying attention, then whispered: "Are you crazy? There are so many people in the cafeteria..."
“Not now.” I continued to gently brush her calf with my foot, “Tonight. There are still a few bathrooms in the lab building where not many people go. Or… the rooftop. You choose.”
She bit her lip, stayed silent for more than ten seconds, and finally said in a voice so faint it was almost inaudible: “...Let’s eat first. We’ll talk tonight.”
That meal, she hardly touched her chopsticks. I knew she was struggling internally, and I also knew she hadn't truly refused.
At 7:30 p.m., we agreed to meet at the corner on the side of the laboratory building. She had deliberately changed into a loose coat today, covering her skirt and fishnet stockings completely. Upon seeing me, she first looked around before whispering, 'Are we really going? If we get caught...'
I grabbed her hand and led her into the building: "Just try it once. Like yesterday, if it's not clean or someone's there, we leave immediately."
This time we chose the women's restroom at the far end of the third floor. The entire floor was almost dark, with only the green exit light glowing. She went in first to check and soon sent a text: 'No one. Come in.'
As soon as the door closed, the air in the compartment immediately became thick. I locked the door, pressed her against it, and kissed her deeply. Her coat was quickly removed by me, inside still that dark blue skirt, black fishnet stockings this time pulled up to the top of her thighs, the edges squeezing out a bit of soft flesh.
I didn't take it slow like yesterday. My hand directly lifted her skirt, rubbing her already somewhat damp private area through her panties. She let out a suppressed whimper, her hands grabbing my shoulders.
"Already wet?" I asked softly, pressing my fingers against her clit through the fabric.
She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her voice muffled: '...It's all your fault for saying those things all afternoon.'
I pulled her panties down to her knees, had her turn around, and place her hands on the toilet tank. Her skirt was lifted to her waist, her black fishnet stockings intact, and her pointed shoes still on the floor. I pressed against her from behind, my already erect sex pressing against her butt crack through my pants.
“Today, from behind.” I said into her ear, while unfastening my pants and popping out my hot cock, pressing it directly against her wet entrance.
She trembled slightly but didn't refuse. I held myself and slowly pushed in. This time, she accepted me more easily than yesterday, inside hot and soft, soon swallowing me whole.
I started thrusting slowly, my hands moving from her waist to the front, squeezing her breasts over her clothes. Her breathing became increasingly erratic, occasionally letting out fragmented "ah... mmm..." sounds. I sped up, each time almost pulling out completely before thrusting back in hard, my balls slapping against her buttocks, making soft sounds.
“Gently... it’ll make a sound...” She turned back and warned me with her eyes, but the pussy was honestly contracting.
I deliberately thrust even deeper, lowering my head to bite her nape: 'Squeezing so tight, do you want me to go harder?'
She shook her head, but pushed her waist towards me. I reached around to the front, found her swollen clitoris, and while thrusting, quickly rubbed it. Her legs immediately went weak, almost unable to stand, forcing her to brace herself more firmly against the water tank.
After thrusting for about ten minutes, she suddenly tensed her body, and her pussy spasmed violently. I knew she had climaxed, but I didn't stop, continuing to thrust forcefully, prolonging her orgasm. She bit her own arm but still let out an uncontrollable moan.
After she calmed down a bit, I pulled out and had her turn around to sit on the toilet lid. I knelt down, spread her legs apart, and the sight of the fishnet stockings digging into her thighs made my mouth dry. I lowered my head, licked the remaining fluid from her opening with my tongue, then took her clit into my mouth and sucked hard.
She immediately grabbed my hair, arching her back upward: 'No... just had an orgasm... too sensitive... ah...'
I didn't pay attention, my tongue quickly moving side to side, occasionally lightly scraping with my teeth. She was soon pushed toward a second climax, her fluids gushing out, dripping down my chin.
I stood up, holding my penis and reinserting it. This time face-to-face, I could clearly see her flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. I gripped her waist with both hands, pulling her forcefully toward me, each thrust reaching the deepest point.
“Say it out loud.” I ordered softly, “The soundproofing here is better than yesterday.”
She shook her head, but couldn't help making increasingly loud sounds: "Ah... so deep... faster... ah ah..."
I increased my speed, the sound of my scrotum slapping mixing with the wet sounds. Her breasts swayed inside her clothes, her fishnet-stocking-clad legs wrapping around my waist. At the most intense moment of thrusting, she suddenly held me tight, her pussy contracting wildly; her third climax came urgently and fiercely.
Gritting my teeth, I held on for several dozen more thrusts before roaring and ejaculating inside. Streams of semen hit her inner walls, and she trembled lightly as she received it.
After ejaculating, neither of us moved immediately. She leaned on my shoulder panting, I was still buried inside her, feeling the after-contractions. After quite a while, I slowly pulled out and carefully cleaned her with tissues.
Looking at me, her eyes were soft and shy: '...You're really getting more and more outrageous.'
I smiled and kissed her lips: "But you always say you want it."
After tidying our clothes, we quietly left the restroom. The hallway was still empty. As we walked down the stairs, she suddenly grabbed my hand and whispered, "Next time... could we not do it in the restroom? I want... to change locations."
I stopped walking and looked at her: 'Where do you want to go?'
She lowered her head, her voice as thin as a mosquito’s: “...The rooftop. Or an empty classroom. As long as... you don’t have to be this nervous every time.”
My heart stirred, and I pulled her into my arms: 'Okay. Next time, I'll listen to you.'
But I know that no matter where we move to, as long as she’s still wearing a miniskirt and those black fishnet stockings, I’ll probably still be unable to resist pinning her against the wall in any quiet corner, lifting her skirt, and entering her over and over from behind or from the front, into her already soaked body.
And she would always, like today, say 'too much' with her mouth, but her body would honestly comply.
Over the next few weeks, we tried a few different places again.
Once it was in an empty classroom at 10 PM. The curtains were drawn tightly shut. She sat on the podium, legs spread apart, still wearing black fishnet stockings. I knelt between her legs, licked her to climax twice with my tongue, then guided my penis inside. Her hands braced behind her, short skirt bunched at her waist, letting out soft moans each time she was hit deep. The classroom echoed with the sound of flesh colliding and her suppressed moans, stimulating me so much I almost wanted to cum immediately.
Another time was in a hidden corner on the top floor of the library. It was almost deserted, the bookshelves shielding us completely. She leaned back against a bookshelf, one leg lifted by me, her net-stocking-clad calf resting on my arm. I entered her from the side, one hand covering her mouth, the other rubbing her clitoris. Her eyes were moist, and she trembled slightly each time I hit a sensitive spot. After we finished, we hurriedly straightened our clothes. Her panties were too wet to wear again, so I stuffed them into my pocket to take away.
After each session, she would pretend to be angry and hit me a few times, saying "Don't do that again next time," but the next time I suggested it, she would always hesitate for a moment, then nod.
I began to realize that she was actually as addicted to the thrill of possibly being discovered at any moment as I was. She was just shyer and needed me to push her step by step.
One Friday night, she suddenly messaged me: 'No one's in the dorm. Come over.'
When I went over, she was already only wearing that black demi-cup bra and those black fishnet stockings, the mini skirt discarded by the bed. Seeing me enter, she dimmed the lights until only a small bedside lamp remained, then climbed onto the bed, her legs slightly parted.
“Today... I want to be in bed.” Her voice was very small, “But... I want to do it while wearing fishnet stockings.”
My throat tightened. I quickly took off my clothes and climbed onto the bed. She was unusually proactive today, straddling me herself, guiding my member and slowly sitting down. The fishnet stockings rubbed against my thighs; that subtle scraping sensation made my scalp tingle. She moved up and down herself, hands braced on my chest, her short hair swaying gently with the motion.
I held her waist to help, thrusting upward each time. She soon cried out, no longer holding back: "Ah... so good... deeper..."
By the time they kept going, she was tired, and I flipped over and pinned her beneath me, entering from behind. She was on all fours, the curves of her ass wrapped in black fishnet stockings held in my hands; with every thrust, slight ripples would rise. I reached around to rub her clit, and she came very quickly, her cunt clenching so hard around me I almost came.
That night we did it three times. The last time, she couldn't even make a sound anymore, could only open her mouth gasping, her eyes vacant as she stared at the ceiling. After I came inside her, she softly said, '...hold me while I sleep.'
I hugged her from behind, my hand still resting on her thigh wrapped in fishnet stockings. She was already asleep, breathing evenly, but her pussy still held the remnants of our mixed fluids, slowly leaking out.
I stared at the ceiling, suddenly feeling somewhat unreal. From the first time, cautious in the dorm, to later daring to do it in the women's restroom, empty classrooms, and library corners, she had transformed from the girl who would blush and say 'don't do that' into someone who would actively message me to come over and even deliberately wait for me wearing fishnet stockings.
But I know that no matter how many times we did it, that first scene in that clean women’s restroom, when someone suddenly came in outside and she bit the back of her hand but still let out a moan, is still the image that excites me the most.
Later one night, we passed that laboratory building again. She suddenly stopped, looked at the women’s restroom entrance on the side, and said softly: “...Want to go once more?”
I turned my head to look at her. Today she was wearing that light-colored mini skirt again and those black fishnet stockings pulled up just below her knees, her pointed shoes tapping on the ground, her legs glaringly white under the streetlight.
I grabbed her hand, my voice a bit hoarse: "Now?"
She nodded, her ears already red: "...just once. Like the first time."
I didn't ask a second time, directly taking her into that building.
This time we chose the exact same booth as the first time. After locking the door, she proactively lifted her skirt and pulled her panties to the side. I held her from behind, my member already painfully hard, and entered directly.
She let out a satisfied sigh, both hands braced on the tank, actively leaning back to match me. I thrust hard, one hand kneading her chest, the other pressing on her clitoris. Her cries were much louder than the first time, and she no longer feared being discovered: “Ah... so good... faster... ah ah...”
Halfway through, someone really came in from outside again. Footsteps, the sound of the door opening, the latch locking, and then the clear sound of water.
Both of us froze simultaneously. But this time, she didn't tell me to stop. Instead, she gently twisted her waist herself and whispered, '...Keep going. Gently.'
Gritting my teeth, I used the slowest speed for shallow thrusts while gently rubbing her clitoris with my fingers. She bit her lower lip but still let out faint whimpers. The person outside seemed completely unaware, finished flushing, and left.
As soon as the door closed, I immediately resumed with force, pushing her whole body forward. She quickly climaxed, her passage contracting wildly, squeezing me until I came directly.
After it ended, she turned around, hugged me, buried her face in my chest, her voice soft and hoarse: '...What have you turned me into?'
I lowered my head and kissed the top of her hair, answering honestly: 'Become someone who actively says 'continue'.'
She lightly punched me but didn't argue back.
When we walked out of the restroom, the wind on campus already carried the chill of early winter. She tugged at her short skirt; her legs, wrapped in fishnet stockings, still looked beautiful under the streetlight. I held her hand and suddenly understood a little: so-called campus romance is probably about hiding, in corners that seem ordinary during the day, the heart-racing madness that only the two of us know, time and time again.
And as long as she was still willing to walk beside me in a short skirt and black fishnet stockings, I probably would never truly be satisfied with only having her in bed.
She turned her head to look at me, her eyes carrying a hint of a smile, and a hint of indulgence: “What are you looking at?”
I answered truthfully, 'Thinking about where to pin you down next time.'
Her ears turned red again, but she didn't let go of my hand, just softly replied: '...Whatever you want.'
The night was deep, and the campus was quiet. Our shadows were stretched long by the streetlights, overlapping together like two people who could never be separated.
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