Copyright 2012 Sophie Baxter
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Ordinarily my dreams are a neon-lit feverplex of exploding mortar packets of data being assimilated as my augments dispatch digital demons to scour the web for information. I choose to sacrifice restful sleep in exchange for keeping my talents on the bleeding edge of electronic warfare, taking comfort instead in the thought that the schematics and white papers which flash endlessly through my mind's eye are only that and not the faces of innocents and colleagues lost because I permitted a dreamless sleep.
This night was different. I don't know for how long his hands had been flowing over my bare skin before they led me from unconsciousness to the fuzzy borders of wakefulness, but my first sensation was the gentle brushing of fingertips like spider webs trailing along the goosebumps of my lower back. As though detecting my rousing their touch grew firmer, confidently stroking upwards along my spine and neck, sinking into my hair while another hand wrapped its way around my ribs, clutching my breast in its palm, lifting it as fingertips fanned out to search for the erect nipple of my other breast, then holding them both as though in protection. He shifted his embrace, pulling his body from behind to above me, one hand still cradling my head as the other swept along the line of my hips, tracing it with the side of a thumb before finding my inside of my leg as I opened my knees wide to him, breathless with excitement and anticipation.