"I'm going to lie down," she says. "I'm tired."
I watch her walk away, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to follow her. To push this. To make her understand.
But I don't. I let her go… to her bedroom, at least. It’s as far as I can let her go, to give her space.
I stand in the kitchen, surrounded by the evidence of her failed attempt at independence, and I wonder how the fuck I'm going to prove to her that I'm not lying.
I’m in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen when I hear a faint sound. It almost sounds like a moan, and I stop, quickly drying off my hands. The soft whimper comes again, and I walk toward Svetlana’s door without thinking, imagining that she’s crying, that she’s having a nightmare while she’s napping, that she’s…
I pause at her door, and when the sound comes again, every part of my body responds.
She’s not crying or scared. She’s…
She’s pleasuring herself.
Fuck.
I should leave. Go for a walk around the outside of the building. Go to my room and put on headphones. Anything except…
She moans again, soft and needy, and my cock stiffens instantly to the point of pain.
She's trying to be quiet. I can tell. But she can't quite manage it. I hear her gasp, the way her breath catches. My hand goes to my belt before I can stop myself, loosening my zipper, because the sound of her pleasure is the most erotic thing I've ever heard.
The last thing in the world I should be doing is standing here on the other side of her door, my naked cock in my hand, but I… I can’t stop. I suck in a breath as I wrap my hand around my straining flesh, as I feel the slick pre-cum already coating my tip, running my hand up and down my length as I lose myself between the memory of that night in the cabin and the reality of what I’m listening to right now.
I stroke myself slowly, matching the rhythm of her moans. Imagining what she looks like right now. If she's on her back or her stomach, still clothed or naked, her hand trapped between her legs as she works her clit. If her eyes are closed. If she's thinking about me.
God, I hope she's thinking about me.
Her whimpers come faster, and I hear the bed creak. I can imagine her hips moving, thrusting against her hand, and I picture her on her stomach, ass up, arching as she imagines me thrusting into her the way I did that night. I can tell she’s close. I stroke myself harder, faster, and I'm right there with her, right on the edge, so close to coming that it’s all I can do to hold myself back.
And then I hear her come.
She lets out a broken gasp, a tiny cry, the sound suddenly muffled as if she put her hand over her mouth. I hurriedly cup my palm over my tip as my cock starts to spurt, like that one sound was a trigger, setting me off as I grit my teeth against any sound of my own.
I come hard, spurting into my palm as I imagine her writhing and arching on her bed, her pussy fluttering under her fingers, my teeth nearly cracking with the effort of remaining absolutelysilent. My every muscle is tensed, my hand working myself through it until I'm spent and shaking.
For a moment, there's just silence, both of us trying to catch our breath on opposite sides of a door. Then I hear the bed creak. Hear her moving.
I step back quickly, quietly, and retreat to the bathroom to clean up.
When I come back out, the apartment is silent again.
—
In the morning,there’s an odd tension in the air, as I try to pretend that nothing happened yesterday and she clearly wonders if I heard anything. I make us both breakfast, electing to eat at the bar counter while she sits at the table.
After a little while, she sets down her fork and looks at me. "I need to ask you something."
A mixture of curiosity and alarm cramps in my chest. "Okay."
"My old apartment." She's not quite meeting my eyes. "Do you know if it's been rented out or sold? If my things are still there?"
“I can find out,” I say immediately.
"Would you?" She chews on her lower lip. "Would you go there? See if... if my things are still there?"
"What are you looking for?"
