I want her moaning my name in desperation, begging me to take her over the edge and sending her shooting to the stars.
My cock aches, the relief I found in the shower earlier evaporating the second she stepped inside the bathroom with me. She has to know how much she turns me on. Even the hand towel I covered myself with didn’t hide how she affects me.
And that kiss? Jesus. It had more healing power than time and medication, the jolt of her tongue against mine like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart.
Unbidden, my legs spread an inch, and she freezes. I no longer hear her whimper or the rustle of the sheet against her body. Hell, I don’t even think she’s breathing. I hate that I have so little control over my body right now, and if she stops, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Long minutes go by, but then I feel the movement begin again, this time with a hint of agitation lacing her tone. Her hand moves faster, the bed shaking a little more, and it’s clear she’s struggling.
Is it the reminder of who is beside her? The man who seemed to callously take her freedom. Is it something she can never fully move past?
So slowly the movement doesn’t even register, my fingers begin to drift toward her, the creep of them slowing even more when I can feel the warmth of her skin only an inch or so from the tips. I let my eyes slit open only a fraction, and I can see that hers are squeezed tight as her fingers work faster. The heat under the covers is nearly unbearable, in that it makes me want to slide her under me and get her there myself. I want that warmth against me, around me, taking control.
I curse my existence when my finger twitches against her bare skin, but to my surprise, she doesn’t stop or pull away. She’s too far gone, too close to stop now. Her legs spread a few inches further when I brush her outer thigh, and that gives me all the permission I need to sweep my fingers over the heat of her flesh.
She groans, a sound of desperate suffering when I inch closer to where her fingers are working. I’m the luckiest man on the damn planet when her teeth release her lower lip, and she doesn’t hold back the whimper. I swear I could come just from the sound alone.
“Touch me,” she moans, but I can’t even make it to her slickness of her desire before her body jerks with an orgasm. The throaty groan causes my cock to leak uncontrollably as she shudders.
God, I want inside of her, but instead of running my fingers through her release, I gently rub the inside of her leg as she comes down from bliss.
“I—I’m—” She scrambles out of the bed. “I’m sorry.”
I see a flash of bare skin as she makes a hasty exit to the bathroom. When I first realized what she was doing, I figured she just had her hand down the front of her leggings. When I touched bare skin, I presumed her leggings were around her knees or pushed down just enough to access what she needed. Had I known she took those and her panties completely off to touch herself right beside me, I never would’ve been able to resist rolling over and begging her to ride my cock. It’s a good thing I didn’t know. I don’t know if I would be able to handle her doing it and then running away like she just did.
Is it shame or embarrassment that made her scurry away?
I refuse to touch my cock. I don’t think her coming out of the bathroom and catching me stroking the damn thing will make her feel any form of comfort. I also don’t want it to look like I’m making a suggestion or asking for something from her. I have no right to either.
So, I lie perfectly still and wait for her to return.
The shower turns on, and I don’t even try to stop the groan that bubbles out of my mouth, knowing she’s wet and slick, imagining warm water dripping off every inch of her. Jesus, I’m kind of grateful it’s nearly impossible to walk on my own because if I were fully capable, I’d probably invade her space and throw out every reason I have in my head for staying away. Nothing could stop me from going to her.
When minutes turn into an hour, it makes me wonder if she’s in there touching herself again. I pound my fists on the mattress at my hips, uncaring that pain ripples up my arms, the tightness of my stitches and healing flesh not at all impressed with the action.