Andrew swallowed. “Come over at six. We’ll all head out together. Grab dinner…”
She nodded, poking at her lopsided bun. “Okay fine. But I’m holding you to the three dick joke minimum, Andrew Prince.”
His cock jumped at the husky way she said his name. “I won’t let you down.”
Her eyes flashed at his tone of voice. “Good.”
And he couldn’t help living in that little pocket of intimacy with her. He didn’t ask for much. Just one too-brief moment. “Sorry about that. Before.”
“About…what?” In the moonlight, he could see her brown cheeks deepen to russet. “You’re allowed to be topless in your own bedroom.”
“Yeah, but…I usually draw the blinds first,” he responded, his voice banked in fog. Andrew’s hand hovered just above his shaft where it strained in his slacks, but he wouldn’t touch it while they were speaking. While they were saying good night. He’d die before treating her and these moments she afforded him with anything less than respect. “I only get undressed after I pull them closed.”
A beat passed. “Me too,” she murmured, flushing deeper.
“Yeah?” He breathed the question.
She hummed. “Good night, Andrew.”
“Wait, Jiya.” Both hands landed on the window sill, gripping it tight enough to turn his knuckles bloodless. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Every night when they were both home to wish each other good night, for eighteen years, he’d asked her the same question before retreating to his bedroom.
Sometimes she deliberated for a second, then reluctantly asked him to do something she didn’t have time for. Like pump up the tires on her father’s bike or move something heavy to the backyard shed. Once she’d asked him to drive her to a hair appointment in the neighboring town because her car was in the shop. Walking her to the door of the salon had been one of the proudest moments of his life. She’d even hugged him and kissed him on the cheek to say thank you, prompting the receptionist to waggle her eyebrows at Jiya and ask if Andrew was her boyfriend.
He’d beat off so hard that night, he’d temporarily lost the hearing in his right ear.
Jesus Christ, to be her boyfriend. To be inside the bedroom with her, instead of speaking to her from a different house. To drive her to every appointment she made. Hold her after a bad day. Pick her up and spin her around on a good one. To undress her, feel her thighs tremble around his hips when she orgasmed. Listen to her cries up close, skin to skin. To drive himself into her, watching the root of his cock vanish inside of her and slide out glistening.
Stop. Before she sees every thought in your head.
“Um…” Jiya pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Nope. I think I’m all set.”
Disappointment trampled him. “Are you sure? Without your leftovers, we’d be living off pizza crust and Bud Light. Give me a way to repay the favor.”
His hunger must not have been disguised when he made that statement, because she sucked in a breath and let it out in a rush of laughter. “But you already gave me the free peep show.” In the wake of his surprise, she stood. “Good night, Andrew.”
“Good night,” he said, reluctantly.
He remained kneeling on the floor in reverence, watching her curves disappear behind the blinds she lowered inch by inch. Completely. Slowly. When nothing but her silhouette remained, Andrew still didn’t move, continuing to memorize the endearing tilt of her bun, the slope of her neck, all highlighted by the soft lamp. She would turn off the light now and he’d have to wait until tomorrow night to see her again. Hear her voice.
His knees were beginning to protest the position, but he froze in the process of rising to his feet. Right there, mere yards separating them, Jiya’s shadow stripped off its shirt.
Time stood still and moved way too fast at the same time. He was only given seconds to look at her silhouette and know she wore nothing but a bra—and the light went out.
“No. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me.” He sidestepped the window and ground his forehead against the wall. His very survival in that moment hinged on reaching into his black slacks and taking rough hold of his cock. “Don’t tempt me now, when I can’t have you.”
That first stroke almost got him off, the next one sealed the deal. How could it not when Jiya had just stripped for him, knowing exactly what she was doing?
Knowing exactly what she was doing.
Andrew’s knees bumped the wall, his hips thrusting into a brutally tight fist as he spent himself all over his bedroom floor, stomach constricting painfully at the speed of his orgasm, the intensity of it. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Just like every other time he got himself off, it fell short of satisfying. He’d had years to wonder why even the best jerk off sessions left him hollow. There was no satisfaction for Jiya in the solo act. That’s why. What should have given him relief only made him more agitated.