A framed photo on a chest of drawers catches my eye. It’s the four men who live here, looking very similar to how they look now, wearing hardhats and holding shovels. The bright sunlight accentuates their muscular bodies and I can’t resist picking it up to get a closer look.
Why do these four particular men have to be so damn attractive? I’m starting to think I’m going to be perpetually hot and bothered while I’m under their roof.
They looked so good when they left for work this morning. I may have to start trying to avoid them as much as I can, so I can stop lusting after them.
I also need to stop thinking about how the night with Khalil might have been. His tongue did really nice things to my nipples, and it’s such a shame that I won’t be experiencing that tongue on other parts of my body.
Also, the fact that I won’t be seeing more of his body just isn’t fair. He’s wearing jeans in the picture I’m holding, and it looks like they were made for him, the way they wrap around his thighs and hug his hips, and his red t-shirt is stretching across his broad chest like it’s holding on for dear life.
I remember how his strong shoulders felt under my hands. The way that I squeezed them, and how his body responded …
I put the picture on the edge of the dresser and sit down on the floor with my back against the side of Khalil’s bed. Remembering his mouth on my nipples, I push the cups of my bra down and brush my hand over the sensitive tips of my breasts, making them poke against the thin fabric of my t-shirt as I slide my hand lower.
My fingers slip under the band of my shorts and dip into the wetness between my legs as I focus on the picture of the four men and imagine that it’s Khalil’s hands touching me. I bring my knees up and spread my legs apart for better access, the tips of two slick fingers stroking over my clit. My other hand slides under my shirt to tease a nipple, pinching, twisting, pulling as my breath grows shallow.
The hand in my panties picks up the pace, and I picture Khalil’s tongue there, his head between my legs as he feasts on my pussy. To better get into the fantasy, I close my eyes and rest my head back against the side of his mattress, breathing in the manly scent in his room as I rub my clit, faster and faster.
My eyes jerk open at the sudden sound of movement, and focus first on the denim-clad legs in the open doorway.
17
One time only
My hands pull frantically out of my clothes as I dare to look higher to find out who’s standing above me.
The man watching me is possibly even more surprised than me. Possibly. But he also looks one part amused, and another big part turned on.
“Becca. What are you doing in here?” Khalil’s voice is rough, like his throat’s gone dry.
Leaping to my feet, I scramble for an answer. He saw what I was doing; there’s no point in lying about it. “I wanted to be helpful around the house. I was dusting and emptying trash cans —” I gesture to the bag lying near the bathroom door, “and when I got in here, in your room, I … kind of got … um …”
“This isn’t my room,” Khalil says, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveys me.
“Oh … I thought with the posters and the telescope … knowing you like science fiction.” I glance around, wishing I could disappear into one of the pictures on the wall and float off into space.
He chuckles. “I read science fiction; Marcos learns about the real thing. If we were on The X Files, he’d be Scully and I’d be Mulder.”
Knowing this is Marcos’s room, I’m itching to get out, but Khalil is blocking the doorway. Marcos barely seems to tolerate me, and here I am masturbating in his bedroom.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, not that I have any right to. This is his house, after all, not mine.
“I forgot my phone this morning. I called your name downstairs, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
I laugh, needing to ease my tension. “That’s pretty obvious.”
His eyes drift lower to where my nipples are still poking against the thin cotton of my shirt. I move to adjust my bra, which is bunched oddly beneath my breasts, but the look in his eyes stops me.
When he takes a step closer, I say, “I was thinking about you … and how things could have been if we hadn’t been interrupted.”
“I don’t think about much else,” he says before picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder like a caveman. I don’t protest one bit as he carries me into his bedroom and lays me on his bed, after first pushing the door closed behind us with his foot.