My Red-Painted Fingernail

Standing in the hallway, my fingernail draws a line down his chest and I feel him shiver.
“You’re teasing,” he says.
“I am,” I reply, loving every moment.
“Almost cruel,” he says, “stringing me along.”
“I know,” I respond. “But know you will get the pay off.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I mean that dragging my luscious, red-painted fingernail across your chest, over your shoulders, and down your arms is really for me.”
“What do you mean?” he asks again.
“Well every time you shiver, a wave washes over me, and I shiver and more.”
My nail begins to trace the line of his jaw, moving toward half opened lips.
“More?” His eyebrow lifting.
I stop and look him in the eye.
“Yes, much more …”

This is an excerpt from A Dozen Tugs, A Sacred Hot Quickies Collection.