She's perfect. Small, perky tits with rosy nipples that are puckered in the cool air of her room. I zoom in, memorizing every detail—the slight curve underneath, the way her nipples point slightly upward, the faint blue veins visible beneath her pale skin.
I'm shaking now, sweat beading on my forehead as I work my cock faster, then slower, then faster again. Edging myself to the point of pain. My balls draw up tight, and I squeeze hard at the base again, gritting my teeth against the need to come.
"Not yet, not yet, not yet," I chant, my voice a ragged whisper. I don’t want this to be over yet.
My balls tighten painfully as heat coils at the base of my spine. I'm so close. So fucking close. I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from crying out her name loudly, biting until I taste copper, until the pain grounds me in this moment of pure fucking ecstasy.
The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I explode, cum erupting from my cock in thick, hot ropes that splash across my stomach and chest. The orgasm rips through me with such force that my vision blurs at the edges, my entire body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
Reaching blindly for the box of tissues I keep in my deskdrawer specifically for this purpose, I yank several free and wipe the mess from my skin.
My glasses are sitting crooked on my face, knocked askew when I threw my head back during my release. I straighten them with shaking fingers, blinking as the screens come back into sharp focus.
I tuck myself back into my joggers, tossing the soiled tissues into the trash bin. My body feels wrung out, but my mind is still racing, still hungry for more of her. My breathing is still ragged, heart hammering in my chest like I just played three periods straight without a break.
She gets up, padding across her room to her dresser. My eyes follow every movement as she pulls out an oversized t-shirt—one of mine that went missing months ago—and slips it over her head. The sight of her in my clothes sends a possessive thrill through me, even though she doesn't know I'm watching. Maybe especially because she doesn't know.
I settle in, watching as she moves around her room, going through her nightly routine. She disappears into the bathroom again, and I hear the water running, the familiar sounds of her brushing her teeth. When she emerges, her face is clean.
She reaches for the lamp beside her bed, and the room dims to a soft glow. I switch the cameras to night vision mode; the screen shifts to shades of green as she pulls back her covers and slides beneath them.
She tosses and turns for nearly twenty minutes, fluffing her pillow, kicking at the covers, before finally settling on her side. Her breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even.
I watch the gentle rise and fall of the covers, counting her breaths until I'm certain she's fully asleep. One hour turns into almost two as I sit motionless, guarding her slumber.
Only when I'm absolutely certain she's deep in dreamland, do I finally power down my monitors.
I push away from my desk, my body stiff from sitting so long. My legs protest as I stand, pins and needles shooting through my feet. I shuffle to my bathroom, brushing my own teeth mechanically while my mind stays fixed on the image of Reese sleeping upstairs.
Mine. Always mine, even when she’s not. No one can take my place. I keep telling myself I need to rein it in but I don’t know how much longer I can play at being a saint when it comes to her. Every moment something happens it gets harder and harder and having her in my lap earlier almost severed the threadbare string holding me back.
Chapter 8
Reese
Nothing says "my life is a fucking disaster" like seeing your boyfriend and your best friend facing off in a parking lot like they're about to throw down in a street fight. I freeze mid-step coming out of the dance studio, my gym bag sliding off my shoulder to thud against my hip.
"What the fuck?" I mutter, my voice barely audible over the sound of my heart trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest.
Justin stands near his Audi, dressed in pressed khakis and a button-down that screams "I just came from an important meeting." His face lights up when he sees me, but there's concern etched in the lines around his eyes.
And then there's Ramsey, leaning against his bike like he owns the goddamn parking lot. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up just enough to cast shadows over his face, but I can see the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.That fucking smirk that hasn't left my mind since last Saturday night when I felt him hard as concrete under my ass.
I force my feet to move, walking toward them with what I hope looks like confidence and not the blind panic I'm actually feeling.
"Hey," I call out, my voice embarrassingly shaky. "What's going on?"
Justin moves first, crossing the distance between us in long strides. "Hey, babe." He leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head slightly so his lips land on my cheek instead of my mouth. If he notices, he doesn't let on. "I was worried about you. You've barely answered my texts all weekend."
Guilt twists in my stomach. I've been avoiding him since the couch incident with Ramsey, making up excuses about feeling sick and needing to rest.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I was just…not feeling great."
"But you felt good enough to teach tonight?" Justin's tone is light, but there's an edge to it that makes my skin prickle.
"Dance is different," I explain, shifting my weight. "It actually helps when I'm not feeling well. Gets the blood flowing, you know?"
Behind Justin, Ramsey makes a sound that might be a laugh or a scoff. I shoot him a glare over Justin's shoulder, but he just raises an eyebrow, his infuriating smirk still firmly in place.
