My feet didn’t move. My hands didn’t fidget. I was frozen, rooted to the floor and completely transfixed. He moaned, low and deep, and it vibrated straight through me. I couldn’t look away. Every stroke of his hand, every flex of his body was hypnotic.
I let my eyes roam over him—broad shoulders, carved abs, the thick line of his thigh muscles, the way his hand moved around himself. I bit my lip, my thighs pressing together on instinct.
“You like watching me, baby?”
I couldn’t find my voice, so I just nodded.
His mouth curved into something feral. “I think I like it too.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I didn’t look away.
“Be a good girl and put those pretty fingers in your panties for me. Let me watch you too.”
My breath hitched. “Sawyer, I don’t know if I?—”
“You can.” His voice was silk and smoke.
My eyes dropped to the floor.
“Hey, eyes on me.”
The command lit something low in my belly. My gaze snapped back to him.
“Touch yourself, El,” he said, slower this time. “Let me see you. Let me see what I do to you.”
Unable to resist him any longer, I slipped my fingers beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. The fabric brushed over my hypersensitive skin as I pressed my palm between my legs. Sawyer’s eyes tracked every movement—heavy-lidded and hungry.
“Take them off,” he said, voice deeper now, almost hoarse.
“I’m not…” My voice came out small, breathless.
“Ellie, are you trying to tell me if I walked over there right now and stuck my hand down your shorts, I’d find you bare?”
I nodded, and his jaw clenched.
“Fuck. Parading around my house like that?” He shook his head. “Take them off and let me see you.”
My breath hitched as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my sleep shorts and slowly eased them down.
Sawyer’s gaze dropped as the fabric pooled at my feet.
“Fuck, baby.”
My body trembled under the weight of his stare. I was aching in a way that made my whole body flush, and he hadn’t even touched me. My hand moved without thinking, tentative at first, the lightest touch against my swollen, aching clit enough to make my knees threaten to buckle.
I gasped, and my eyes fluttered shut.
“Keep looking at me,” he said, voice fraying at the edges.
My gaze snapped to him again.
“Touch yourself how you like it,” he murmured. “I want to know everything that makes you feel good. I want to burn it into my memory.”
His words were reverent, almost broken. My fingers circled, slipping lower and finding the exact rhythm that made pleasure thrum through me. I bit my lip to hold back a moan.
Sawyer groaned again, but this time, it was low and drawn out. His hand moved in slow strokes, each one matching the pace of mine, as if we were tethered—connected.
I couldn’t believe I wasn’t stopping this. I especially couldn’t believe how much I didn’t want to.
