Museum Rules
If you like, sprad the word.
“Let’s do something different,” Jason said. “Tonight, museum rules.”
“Museum rules?” Harriet asked.
“Yes. No touching.”
They were still in the early part of their relationship, the part where you went to bed every night 20 minutes early because you knew you would not be sleeping for the next hour.
They had clicked from the very start, and each night was a new game, a new experience. Jason loved her body — the way her hips jutted out and her stomach slid in, he liked her perky breasts and her long hair. He loved the way her pussy felt against him: tight and smooth and always wet.
She loved his passion. His chest. His cock. She loved that he knew what she wanted without having to ask. He knew when to take control. When to lie back. He made her feel special. He knew her body like no man had before.
“OK,” she said. “So what do we do?”
Jason moved over an inch, his skin not touching hers. They were already nude, lying on top of the covers.
“That is your side of the bed. This is mine. You do what you want to do. I will do what I want to do. But no touching.”
