His posture shifts. But I see it. The tightening of his jaw. The slow lowering of his beer. The way his gaze darkens like he’s not just watching, he’s claiming.
I bite my bottom lip, breath stuttering as my fingers dip beneath the edge of my panties, brushing where I’m already warm and aching.
He sees me.
He knows what I’m doing.
And he’s not moving.
Not turning away.
Not closing his curtains.
My eyes flutter closed for a second as I touch myself, the sounds from the laptop, the thrill of being watched, the danger of it all building like a storm inside me. My breath comes faster, thighs trembling slightly as I circle my fingers, chasing that edge.
When I look again Will hasn’t moved.
His hand’s resting on his thigh now, flexed tight, like he’s holding himself back with everything he’s got. He tilts his head, and his eyes burn straight through the glass.
It pushes me over the edge.
My free hand slaps against the floor for balance as pleasure crashes through me, wave after dizzying wave. I bite my lip to stifle the sound, body arching, eyes locked with his even as I come apart under my own fingers.
When it’s over, I sit there, panting, legs shaking, heart pounding like I’ve just done something reckless. Because I have.
And he saw all of it.
I smooth my skirt back down, close the laptop with a trembling hand. When I look again, Will’s still there. Stillwatching. Only now? He’s smirking. Like he just won a game we never admitted we were playing.
Suddenly, I feel exposed.
My cheeks burn as I stand and all but run from my living room to my bedroom. I kick aside a sock on the floor, peel off my skirt, and crawl under the covers in just my shirt and underwear. My sheets are cool against my skin, but it doesn’t soothe me.
Because now that the rush has faded, all that’s left is the echo of want and a pit forming in my stomach.
What the hell was I thinking?
It wasn’t just about me.
Will saw.
And I wanted him to.
And worse, I liked that he watched.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, but the heat still lingers between my legs. So does the ache in my chest.
What did that look like to him? Desperate? Pathetic?
God.
A sharp sting builds behind my eyes.
I don’t regret the feeling. But I regret the aftermath. I regret wanting him enough to break every wall I’d built just to feel something again.
I curl tighter into myself, whispering the lie I’ve used so many times before.
It didn’t mean anything.
