On Tuesday morning, I cook breakfast for us again. This time, I eat it leaning on the kitchen counter while she sits on a barstool. When a drop of yolk falls onto her woolen sweater, she mumbles a curse and removes it. In her jeans and sheer bralette, she takes it to the laundry room to throw it in the hamper and returns to finish her plate. I only last a few minutes before deciding to finish mine in my home office.
On Wednesday evening, she settles in the living room to watch a movie on the big screen. She’s back in her sheer tank top, but this time with a pair of tiny shorts. Every time I pass, she’s sprawled on the couch in a somewhat lascivious pose, as if inviting me to come take her. That’s when I decide I must do something about my desire for her. After a long shower and a quick release, I’m a little less tempted.
Thursday almost breaks me as she leaves the door of the bathroom wide open while she showers. By now, she must have realized I come to the room every day to get some clothes after I exercise. I only catch a glimpse of her bare profile through the steamed-up glass, but that’s enough to send blood rushing straight to my cock. Pissed at myself for falling for it, I stomp to the walk-in closet, pick up the empty laundry basket there, and fill it with things to avoid going through this again.
I wake up early on Friday and stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering what new torture she has planned for today. Maybe she’ll do what she did in Seoul and pleasure herself with the door ajar, letting me hear every sigh of pleasure, every moan. Fuck, I’m not sure I’m strong enough for that. Knowing she’s right there, craving a good fuck. Craving thatIfuck her good… I think I’d break. The idea alone has my cock swelling.
Like I did yesterday and the day before that, I slip a hand under the sheets, lower my boxer briefs, and wrap it around my hardening length. With my eyes closed, I imagine myself getting out of this bed and walking up to my bedroom. Given the hour, I’d find her still in bed, wearing that fucking tank top. Slowly pumping myself, I envision herstretching, the brown tips of her breasts pebbled in the fresh morning air, poking against the thin fabric. She’d give me one of her knowing looks, one that’s a clearer invitation than any word she could say.
I’d walk up to the bed and tear the cover away from her petite body. In my fantasy, I find her wet, her arousal smeared onto the cotton of her underwear. She was always so wet for me, I’m sure she’d be drenched. Like the tempting siren she is, she’d slide the garment down her legs and then spread them, proudly revealing how much she needs me. I can almost taste her on my tongue, and my hand hastens, gripping tighter. I’m so fucking starved for her that precum seeps out of me already, dribbling down the slit under my head and spreading under my pumping hand.
Fuck, I know she’d throb under my tongue. It was always so easy to make her come, but after over three months away from one another… Something tells me we’d break some personal records. Her slim hands would tug at my hair tightly as I fuck her pretty pussy with my tongue and lips. My scalp tingles, eager for the pull, the slight ache of it. A groan rumbles in my chest as I imagine her coming on my tongue, her swollen clit quivering with every wave of pleasure.
Then, she’d urge me to fuck her. She’d swear she’s ready, beg to be filled, stretched, wrecked… And I’d do it. I’d crawl up her heaving body, spread her legs wider, and thrust into the perfect warmth of her drenched little cunt. She’s always so fucking tight around me, no matter how much I made her come around my fingers or cock.
I’d fuck her so good. It’d be hard, and desperate, and eager… But I can make it so good for her. I know it. She’s as hungry as I am for it, so she’d probably come so fast. Fuck, I would too.
I can smell the sweat, hear her moans, feel the softness of her inner thighs at my sides… It’s all so fucking vivid that my climax almost takes me by surprise. But I grab a tissue from the box on the nightstand just in time, and, grunting her name, I empty myself into it. My balls draw up tight as I come, narrowing the ring of my fingers around the tip of my cock, massaging it to draw out more pleasure, more cum, more shivers.
The climax leaves me a little dizzy, almost lightheaded. I did this three times yesterday, but it still hasn’t made up for my months in Sheridan. Despite having a cell to myself, I didn’t feel like indulging. Or at least, rarely. My week in the SHU was rough, and such moments of pleasant escapism were one of the few ways to pass the time. Thinking of Andrea in such a place had felt wrong at first, but she became the reason I didn’t go completely mad in there. I spent hours thinking of all the things I’d do to her if I ever got out. I imagined new ways to make her come, new challenges, new positions…
I would have given anything during those days to be where I am now, but things have changed since. She was reckless, and her actions are forcing me to do the last thing I’d ever want to do. But I have to be the reasonable one in this equation, since she clearly can’t be it.
As I prepare today’s breakfast, I’m almost on the lookout, anxious about her next attempt at breaking my resolve. Andrea has been eating her plates every morning, down to the last crumb, and it has been gratifying. She’s been eating in the evening as well, from what I’ve seen, and she leaves every day with something for her lunch. We, as a couple, might not be doing better, but she, as an individual, is. And that’s all I need to know.
I’m almost done frying the eggs when she appears. As suspected, she isn’t done yet with her little scheme. This time, she’s in her underwear, and not the simple cotton ones. No, the fucking minx pulled out the big guns and wears one of the ensembles she bought during her shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret months ago. It’s the lacy pink ensemble I’d told her to get. She’s wearing a pair of tights over it, but they’re so sheer they spoil nothing.
Jesus, she’s not even trying to be subtle about it anymore. Not with the way she boldly meets my stare before heading to the laundry room. Fucking hell, I can not only see the circles of her nipples but also the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs, the one I imagined having my nose pressed into fifteen minutes ago as my tongue ate her out.
Since she isn’t just okay with me looking but actually wants it, I allow myself to watch her until she disappears into the laundry room. It might be all in my head, but her ass seems slightly fuller already. All those hearty meals are slowly but surely working their magic.
This mind over flesh thing isn’t my strong suit, it seems, because my cock awakens. At this fucking rate, what is even the point of masturbating? I glare at the bulge forming in my shorts and groan between clenched teeth, “No.”
I’ve plated and served her breakfast when Andrea returns, wearing a dress. Is that her excuse for parading around in fine lingerie? The dress she needed was over there? Her strategy is getting lazier.
But to my dismay, it still fucking works.
“Thank you, baby,” she says, sitting at the counter where her breakfast awaits. Her pretense of innocence, as if she weren’t actively trying to drive me mad, would irritate me without the pet name.
She starts eating with appetite, and I grab my plate, leaning on the counter like I’ve been doing for a few days. When some food falls off her fork, she looks down at her dress, making sure she didn’t mess it up.No, fuck this. We can’t have another run like on Tuesday. My cock will explode if I have to watch her eat my food wearing nothing but lingerie.
“If there’s a spill, you better keep the fucking dress on, Andrea,” I command.
She doesn’t reply, but I see the way she struggles to contain her grin. Yes, her plan is working. Yes, I’m going mad. Yes, I’m in hell trying to resist her. Maybe I won’t wait for her to leave on her own. Maybe I’ll be the one leaving. Off to somewhere she can’t find and torture me.
I only let my guard down once she leaves for work. Aware that I have ten hours without the constant reminder that she’s in arm’s reach, I don’t waste any time heading to the hidden room. I have to finish going through her reckless actions. I’ll work on my actual duties later.
In fact, that’s what I’m doing when she returns from Kelex. So, I stay in my home office the entire evening, only coming out to fetch some sustenance. She already ate, and she left a plate there for me—green beans, seasoned rice, and two burgers waiting to be grilled on the stove.
I’m handling that when she strolls in wearing her night clothes for a glass of water. It’s one of my T-shirts this time, but she makes the best of it as she stretches, arms high above her head, flashing me her ass and the thong that doesn’t hide much of it. I resist with unwavering composure once more, but the sight will be put to good use during my evening shower.
It’s a little after midnight when I finally relax, thinking myself safe from more of her torments. She went to bed over two hours ago, and I haven’t heard from her since.
With my back to the bed’s headboard, I read a couple of emails I haven’t had time to handle today. I spent a long time going over Andrea’s work one last time, and to my utter amazement, I confirmed what I’ve been sensing for a couple of days. Her heist was flawless. Not a crack in her plan, not a weakness in its execution. She not only studied my old work, but she also improved it, strengthened it. She might be the only person in the world capable of making me doubt my own abilities. Her brain is fucking brilliant, and I think it might be time to admit that, for the first time in my life, I’m not the smartest person in the room whenever she’s in it with me.
And that makes her recklessness even harder to fathom. How, being as smart as she is, could she think that doing what she did would be a good idea?
I’m almost done answering the second email when a sound catches my attention. Was that a scream? My brain hasn’t even processed it when my body does, hairs rising on my forearms. It was… chilling. She sounded terrified.
