"Am I wet?"
Did she... did she want me to check? I mean, I could, but I'd just kind of... assumed she'd know. I have, after all, heard many girls - realistically, quite a large number - saying "I'm wet" without visually confirming this, taking a glance between their nether regions.
Since I'd spent the last few minutes being quite indecent to her boobs - at her request, of course, I'm not a total vagabond - and we had both slept naked throughout the preceding night (which is, sadly, an anomaly; I always sleep naked, while she rarely does), I'd guess that she was at least a little wet. She'd been making all the right noises while I had her nipple in my mouth, so to be frank, were she not wet, I'd have been a little disappointed.
I ran a finger across her slit.
"Yes, you're wet. Very," I confirmed, running the finger over her thigh, both showing that she was wet and wiping the moisture off my hand. Surely you should know?"
"I'm going to make you late for work," she moaned.
"Sounds like a challenge," I said, only I didn't say that.
However it happened after that, this is how I ended up with my fingers inside my girlfriend that morning, two gently pushing into her vagina while my thumb pressed against her clit, my ring finger curled up against her perineum while my little finger teased her anus. I wouldn't go so far as to say either of us was particularly awake, but I kind of knew what I was doing. And my head didn't even have to leave the pillow, so I count that as a win.
I made it to work on time, having channeled my inner Barry Allen to get down to the bus stop. I even had time to go and get a coffee from the café before setting up at work, which was even better.
And then I sneezed.
Raising my handkerchief to my nose, the distinct scent of sex was impossible to ignore. It was there. There, on my hand, all the way through work, like a badge of honour and a stone of shame all in one. My hand had the scent of sex, and it was my dirty secret...
...and then I managed to get ink on it, so I had to wash.