Chapter Four
Mason
By the timemy back sinks against her bathroom door, I’m so fucking hard it almost hurts. I groan and yank my shorts and boxers down in a haze of lust, and my thick cock springs free to slap my abs. I hiss in pleasure and wrap my hand around my thickness, and I stroke slowly. My eyes close, and I drop my head back against the door, and I think about her.
Layla.
I’ve lusted after this woman for years. I’ve craved her and been obsessed with the desire to sink my fat cock into her and watch her moan so good for me. Hearing that she was moving back here, alone, started a fucking fire inside of me. And today, seeing her in that skimpy little bikini looking fucking incredible has just been gasoline on that fire. And there’s no holding back now. It was this or pulling my cock out right there in her backyard and pumping my cum into her pool.
…That or storming inside, pinning her to the wall, and making her mine. Which I came so, so fucking close to doing not two minutes ago. I told myself to calm the fuck down when I walked into her office like that. But then, our fingers touched when I handed her the book, and I felt it. No, not something cheesy like “the spark” or whatever.
No, I felt wetness.
My one hand still strokes my thick cock slowly, and I bring the other one—the one that touched her hand—up to my face. I inhale, and I growl.
Oh fuck yes.
I open my lips, and I suck my finger inside. It’s faint, but fuck me, it’s there—the sweet, sweet taste of Layla Hughes’ pussy.
Someone was touching themselves. Someone was a bad, bad girl.
I growl, and I start to jerk my cock faster, and harder. My eyes drop though, and suddenly, I hiss. There, hanging on a towel rack next to her glass-walled shower, are two pairs of tiny, skimpy, lacy little thong panties. They’re her brand, “Layla Rose,” too. My cock throbs at the sight of them, and I move before I can stop myself. I pluck the black pair off the rack, and I groan as I wrap them tight around my bulging, throbbing cock.
I hiss in pleasure when I start to stroke again. The lacy panties tease over my swollen crown, and my balls ache for release. I grunt, and I pump my cock, pretending I’m pushing her panties to the side to plunge into her hot little pussy. The pressure builds, and my muscles clench. Pleasure thunders through me, and I snarl as I jerk myself off.
I know I should stop. I know I’m close to blowing my cum all over her fucking panties. But I can’t stop, and I won’t. I let myself go, and I gasp as I feel myself start to explode. I look down at the lewd sight of Layla’s tiny little lacy panties wrapped tight around my fat, throbbing cock, and I lose it. I grunt, my balls tighten, and I start to fucking come.
I groan, and suddenly rope after thick, sticky rope of hot white cum blasts into the gusset of her little panties. I hiss, and I just keep pumping more and more cum out, until her panties are fucking soaked through with me.
I sink against the wall, and I breathe slowly. I glance down, and I smirk at the fucking mess I’ve made of her panties. I know I should feel ashamed, maybe. Or at least concerned about the fact that her panties obviously look like someone’s come all over them. But I don’t care, and I find myself grinning and tossing them right into the laundry hamper.
Good. Let her find them, marked by me, just like she’ll be marked by me too. Because I know one thing after seeing her today. Years ago, I was too young for her, or at least too young for her to allow herself to see me like that. But there’s no excuses now. And now, Layla’s going to be mine.
I’ve lusted after her, and fantasized about her for way, way too long. And I’m done not having the real thing.
I tuck my still hard cock back into my shorts, and I sigh. I glance over and spot the other pair of panties hanging there—these ones light blue and transparent, and I grab them and stuff them into my pocket. I glance out the window, and my brow arches.
Interesting.
There was a wall here before she remodeled. Now, the big expanse of glass in the fancy new bathroom look right across the yards directly into my bedroom. Totally clean shot, and totally unobstructed. My blinds are even still open from last night, and I suddenly smirk when I remember what I was doing in bed last night.
Well shit. I wonder if she’s ever spied on me. I wonder if she spied last night. My lips curl into a hungry smile.
Bad, bad girl.
I wash my hands and head downstairs to find Layla dressed in cutoffs and a t-shirt. I frown, wanting her in a bikini again. Or hell, out of a bikini would be nice.
“Oh, Mason,” she mumbles quickly. She’s avoiding my eyes, and I start to grin, wondering if she’s wondering if I’ve realized her bathroom view yet and put some dots together.
“I actually have to run and… uh, do some stuff.”
I nod. “I’m almost done, but I can come finish up later.”
“Oh! No, that’s okay, you’re welcome to stay and finish. Just let yourself out when you’re done?” She smiles awkwardly at me and reaches into her bag to pull out a business card. “Here’s my number you…” she blushes, and her eyes don’t meet mine.
“If you need anything.”
I nod, and she quickly whirls and rushes out the door. I hear the garage door, and then the sound of that sweet little Porsche firing up. She pulls it down the driveway and then opens the engine up down the road. I stand there, my cock still throbbing in my shorts, my heart still racing, her panties in my pocket, and my desire firmly lit on fucking fire.
If I need anything? Oh, I need something alright.
Her.
Naked.
In my bed.
All mine.