When I'm certain Amelia has left for the morning, I turn on the shower. My palms are resting on the counters as I wait for the water to heat up. I look to my side and see her pile of clothes has gotten bigger.
Either she's truly the most absent-minded, messy woman there is, or she's doing it to annoy me. And I don't know her well enough anymore to be certain which it is. Probably both.
I kick her clothing so it's in a neater pile, but when I bring my foot back, her thong is laced around my big toe.
"Don't do it, Theo."
I'm already naked as I wait for the water to reach the perfect temperature, and my dick twitches. Her thong is black and lacy, with two thin straps that hold it together. They sit coiled at my feet and I try not to move.
I picture it in my head now, her curvy, luscious thighs, the small piece of fabric covering her most intimate areas, the two straps hugging her skin flawlessly.
She's a fucking tease leaving these out like this. We share this bathroom. She had to know I'd stumble across these sooner or later.
Did she want me to find these?
My dick is already rock hard and I want to know how they feel more than I want to breathe. I bend down and grab her thong and hold it in my hand.
My pulse is vibrating through every nerve ending, craving a release.
"Fuck it," I concede and bring my hand to my dick.
The fabric isn't as delicate as I thought, but I deserve it for beating off with her panties in my fist and rubbing them against my length.
But fuck, it feels so good. To know these touched her pussy and are now touching me, it’s so inappropriate. And yet I can't stop.
The irrational part of my brain doesn't care how good this feels, doesn't care I'm about to spew a hot load into Amelia's panties in under sixty seconds because the images playing in my mind are so dirty and wrong.
Amelia's spread open legs.
The way she tastes.
Amelia begging to be fucked.
The shock on her face that I do know what the fuck I'm doing.
Amelia coming and screaming my name.
Running to the shower, I finish in her thong and in my hand.
"Fuck," I groan as the water washes over me. I'll have to hide her thong until I know what to do with it. Will she notice if I rinse it out now and return it back to her pile? Should I toss them?
I'm tempted to keep them, but I need to showsomeself-control.
WhenIstepoutof the shower, I get dressed for the day and make myself a late breakfast.
My mom put both the reunion invites on the fridge, despite Amelia's looking like it got run over by a semi-truck.
All I know is mine is in three weeks, and I haven't decided one way or the other. Of course, I'd like to show up and show off how much I matured. That's what ten-year reunions are for. To flaunt how amazing your life is. The twenty-year reunion is the one that's more authentic. You can be divorced and unemployed at that one, but not for the first time you reconnect with your friends.
And I have nothing to show for myself at the moment.
I barely even know where my high school friends are at this point. They might still be in town, they may have moved out of state. I don't know or care since the two-way street of reconciling never happened. Neither of us reached out and I have no friends to name.
Amelia may be in a similar position, but her personality will still shine through. Her old acquaintances will be impressed with what she’s accomplished so far. Who cares if that piece of shit Beckett broke her heart and she had to move out? She can spin this to her advantage and still have a blast at hers.
This is the only time I wish we went to the same high school so we could go together. But she can barely be in a room with me without whipping out the armor. We're incapable of being friendly, yet an idea forms in my head.
One that will take many days to convince myself it's worth asking.
