She is nearly naked, save for an elegant scrap of dark underwear encasing her hips. Her body is smooth, all taut curves and downy skin. He admires her torso, the valleys of her ribs, and the gentle curve of her muscled belly sloping to the wettest and warmest place he has ever had the pleasure of knowing.
“Mulder, please,” she requests. He’s been working her up for the past fifteen minutes, and she’s practically thrumming. He can see a small damp patch on the crotch of her underwear.
He gives her a teasing little smile as his slips his fingers into her panties, letting his knuckles brush against the neatly trimmed nest of curls guarding her vulva. She moans and her hips rise slightly to meet him. She smells of laundry detergent and the earthy aroma of female arousal. He’s drunk with it, wants to inhale that particular scent for the rest of his life.
He can see her curls peeking out from between his fingers, the milky plane of her stomach clenching slightly as she tries to press further against him. He slides the back of his index finger up her slit, bringing forth a whimper and slick moisture. Her hips rise further, she’s practically fucking the air.
“Please,” she sighs, “God…please, please, please, please…”
The dry sob of relief she releases when he finally pulls her free goes straight to his dick as he leans down to lick her. She never asks for anything, he can’t refuse her now.
Just Holding Hands 