I let out a breath that I hadn’t known I was holding, the anticipation of waiting for him to touch his cock so intense that I can feel that I’m as wet as the lube coating his skin, my panties soaked from watching him. He looks like a marble statue, pale and lean and muscular, his hand gripping the bedpost like before as he strokes himself long and slow, his palm coming up to rub over the head of his cock before gripping and sliding all the way down to the base. Only his hand moves for several minutes before I can see his breathing quicken. He moves some of the pictures around the way he did before, as if looking for specific ones as his hips start to thrust into his fist, fucking his hand as if he’s imagining a mouth or pussy, his jaw clenching as he groans with pleasure.
I’ve waited as long as I can. My clit is throbbing, my panties soaked and my thighs sticky, a wet spot forming on the gusset of my pajamas as well. I shove my hand inside, biting my lip hard to stifle the gasp of relief as my fingers find my clit, the pleasure only amplified by knowing that I’m disobeying his instructions to me earlier.
The danger doesn’t turn me on, but how forbidden this is, does. Watching Alexandre pleasure himself without him knowing I’m here, rubbing my clit as I watch, trying to time my orgasm with his as my toes curl against the hardwood, it’s hotter than any hookup I ever had back in New York. I know that it’s wrong and unhealthy and fucked up in so many ways, just like my relationship with—to?—Alexandre is. Still, I’m slowly caring less and less with every passing day. It feelsgood, and I’ve had so little that’s felt good in the past months. Whatever happens, right now, my heart is racing. My clit is throbbing against my fingers and pleasure is racing over my every nerve. At the same time, I watch one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen furiously stroke his cock a few feet away—and it feels good.
My life is measured from day to day now. I don’t ever know what’s coming next. So how can I not grasp what pleasure I can get while I can get it?
He doesn’t last as long tonight. I don’t mind—I don’t know how long I could have held out, either. My hand is soaked with my arousal, my clit swollen and aching, and I need to come so badly that I have to shove my hand against my mouth to keep from moaning with relief when I see him tilt forward, his hand speeding up on his cock in the way that I now know means he’s about to come. I rub my own clit faster, hoping he can’t hear the slick sound of my arousal, but I imagine that it’s impossible to over the sounds of his own wet flesh, his groans as he approaches his climax. His jaw is clenched, every muscle in his rippling thighs and perfect ass going rigid as he thrusts forward hard into his fist, ropes of his cum jetting out over his fingers as he moans and grunts, shuddering as he comes hard into his hand.
I let go at the same moment, gasping against my own palm as I shudder, struggling to stay upright as waves of intense pleasure wash over me. I thrust two fingers inside of myself without thinking, grinding the heel of my hand against my clit as I feel my pussy clench around my fingers, imagining that it’s his cock, that he’s coming inside of me right now, filling me with that thick heat as he groans and thrusts. I feel almost dizzy with need, aching with the desire for that to be a reality.
Like the night before, it’s over too soon. As I see him start to gather up the photos, I yank my hand out of my pajamas, scrambling away from the door and carefully making my way back down the stairs before he can catch sight of me or leave his room.
My entire body is pulsing from the aftershocks of pleasure and adrenaline as I shut the door carefully to my room, sinking against it as I close my eyes.This isn’t normal.I know it’s not.
Iknowit isn’t. But what else do I have?