The pointed details of her nipples brush the glass, and my mouth goes dry. God, they must be so cold without me over there to put them in my mouth. I bite down hard on my lower lip, unable to look away as she hooks her thumbs in the top of her pajama pants. Lacey sways a little, tossing her hair over her shoulders as she inches the waistband down. The pants fall to the ground, and she steps out of them. The smallest pinprick of light makes it through the shape of her luscious thighs without them, like a keyhole to heaven, revealing that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
I’m no longer convinced that I’m actually one of the bad guys, because what she’s doing is straight up evil.
It takes so very little before I’m achingly hard for her. My resolve is melting away with every piece of clothing she removes. God, I’m weak.
I need to unzip my suit down from the collar if I want access to my cock. No, I’m not doing that, not outside in the wind while it’s fucking snowing out. I need to cling to at least that standard for myself. I palm it into a more comfortable position, the heat of my desire drawing a very literal line up to my navel.
Even if she can’t see it from over there, she has to know what she’s doing to me.
Lacey fixes me with a sultry look, a sly smile as she toys with the edge of her T-shirt, pulling it up enough to glimpse the heavy curve of the bottom of her breasts.
My cock jumps in hope, frustration, all of it, as she lets go again, the T-shirt’s edge falling back to normal. This is so unfair. Maybe to keep myself from crossing a line, we can just move the line to somewhere on her balcony, and I’ll just press my face to the glass door like some kind of desperate pervert.
Her lips move as she crooks a finger at me, and I’m dying to know what she’s saying. I rake my hands through my hair and search for a gesture to communicate that I would surrender if I knew how.
She rolls her eyes again with exaggerated disappointment, pouts and moves away from the window.
“Wait, no—” I say out loud, uselessly, as her room’s light turns out, and I’m left with only the rapidly fading imprint of her body on the fogged-up glass.
Maybe she should leave me to go home and replay this moment every time I stroke myself for the foreseeable future. Who am I kidding? Probably for the rest of my life.
My eyes adjust to the dark, and see that Lacey doesn’t go far, thank fuck. Instead, she flops onto a bed that I completely didn’t notice was there. This is her bedroom, I realize way later than I should, and that’s her nightstand, and that’s her—
Holy fuck.
Little Miss Weathergirl is a freak in the sheets. I think I’m in love.
I can just catch the way her hands slide in between her legs, her toy disappearing between her thighs at this angle, and I’m palming my cock through the flying suit. I’ve already accepted that I’m going to wash it later.
I want to know how wet she is. I want to crawl between her legs and taste her, lick her until she screams. I want to feel how tight and hot her cunt is around my cock; I need her bouncing and moaning on it. I need to be over there, I need to make her writhe and gasp.
I’m not sure what the last straw is, but somewhere in the moment she turns on her toy, the little pink LED flashing as she buries it between her legs—her back arches, her head tips back, her mouth opens in a moan I desperately need to hear—
I step off the side of the building, the cold wind carrying me across the street as it catches my wings. I’m in the air so briefly it feels more like a leap than flying over.
8
Lacey
When Ellis lands on my balcony, a wave of heat rolls through my body. I almost whimper aloud with need.
The chilly reality of the situation sweeps through when he opens the door. It’s just the two of us alone again, and all I’m wearing is a flimsy old T-shirt.
I’ve teased him too much about this, dangled myself in front of him—I don’t know who this girl is. I used to be the sort of girl who insisted on waiting a few dates before letting a guy kiss me, but here I am.
I push off my bed, but before I can reach the sliding glass door, Ellis is there, taking up the entire frame, wings folding in behind him. His hair, shoulders and wings are all speckled with snowflakes. They stand out particularly against the black of his suit. It clings to every detail of his shoulders, the shape of his arms, the taper of his hips.
His chest rises and falls heavily with every breath, and his gaze dips from my face, snags on my tits. He rasps, “Have...have you always had a thing for little blue guys?”
I blink, glance down, and realize he’s talking about the faded Smurfs on my T-shirt.
“I can...put something on,” I say, hesitantly. I don’t want to. I half expect him to tell me that we can’t do this again, that I have to stop teasing him, but he doesn’t.
He makes a distracted effort to re-establish eye contact. “No, no. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Neither of us says anything for several seconds, the only sound between us is the wind blowing and distant traffic. I wonder how many times he had flown through this way, up here in the dark of the night. My nipples draw tight in the cold. My pussy aches to be touched, to be filled, but this moment feels like walking on a tightrope.
He crossed over here, but now he’s holding himself back. Every reason we can’t do this feels like a physical barrier, a sheet of glass standing between us.
