In and out of sleep.
I’ve never felt so safe.
In and out of sleep.
Until I wake to a different feeling, something hard against my lower back.I didn’t register it at first.I’ve never lain in bed with a man before, so I have no idea what things feel like or what is normal, and it isn’t until I wake fully that I realise what this must be pressing into the base of my back.
Oh my God.
He’s hard.
Trying not to flatter myself, I recall reading somewhere that most men wake with a hard-on, so this has no direct bearing on me.But even so, I tell myself it’sbecauseof me.I’ve done this to him.Me.This is the way I make him feel.
How I wish this were true.
It starts to brew.The feeling between my legs, the hot wetness that pools when I imagine what I’d like to do to him, what I’d like him to do to me.I’m not even aware of it, but I must start to grind against him because he stirs, nuzzling his head into the back of my neck.
I push back.
God, I want him.I want him so badly I could cry.
His erection presses harder into my back, and I reciprocate, pushing out my bottom and wanting to touch myself, to ease the burn that’s flared up.
He must wake, as he sits up, pulls back, and I feel the cold immediately rush over my skin.
The bed moves, and I hear him shuffling behind me and feel the shift in the weight of the mattress.
I wait a beat before opening my eyes, rolling over to see the en suite door ajar as I hear water running in the shower.
Quietly, I climb out of the bed and tiptoe over to the door.I shouldn’t be doing this, but my feet command me, deaf to the protest of my conscience trying to convince me that this is wrong.The water is loud, the pressure high, steam already building as I slip my head around the door and stare.
He’s in the shower, his beautifully naked body soaked from the spray.I can make out the scarring down his side, how it grips his skin and rolls down his tortured torso.It should repulse me, but it doesn’t.His head is down, eyes closed, as his hand works himself.
Steam clings to the glass door, obscuring his size.By the length of his strokes, he must be well endowed.
I should go, stop watching him.This isn’t right.It’s an invasion of his privacy.He thinks I’m asleep.But I’m not.I’m here, watching him take care of his needs, watching him touch himself, and I can’t stop, can’t move.Because I want to touch him.I want to be brave enough to walk in there, open the door to the shower, and step in with him, lowering to my knees and taking him in my mouth and finishing what he’s started.But I can’t.I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m afraid he’ll push me away, tell me to stop.Then I’d know that this isn’t what he wants.Iam not who he wants.
So, I just watch him, like some Peeping Tom, all whilst my pulse races and my thighs clench as I imagine taking him in my mouth, what it’d feel like to swirl my tongue around him.My hand moves between my legs.I’m so wet.My fingers flirt over my clit, the swell of desire only intensifying as I touch myself whilst I watch Fenrir.
His hand speeds up, and I dip my fingers, wanting my touch to be his.
He places his hand on the wall of the cubicle as if steadying himself, and he lifts his head.Sensing he’s about to come, I press my hand to my clit, wanting to feel what he feels, but then his head turns, his eyes snap open, and he looks directly at me.
Fuck.
I dart from the door and fling myself back onto the bed.
My heart is pounding, my pulse throbbing at my temples.
Did he see me?I don’t know.Maybe.Possibly.
Shit.
The water stops running.
I lie quietly, closing my eyes and willing myself to calm the fuck down.I’ve done nothing wrong.
That’s bullshit.I just watched him masturbate in the shower.It’s very wrong, but so fucking hot I can still feel the tingling between my legs.
