—
The next night,against my own better judgment, I follow her back to the dorms.
I figured out which side her room was on, and I walk around the building, looking up until I see the light come on. I told myself as I followed her back from the library that I just wanted to make sure she got home safe; that this was about protecting her, not my growing obsession with her.
The coiling, aching need in my gut tells me that I’m lying to myself.
I see her silhouette moving through the space. She drops her bag by the door, kicks off her shoes, and moves toward what I know is her bedroom.
I should leave. I should go home.
Instead, I stay. I watch her silhouette as she pulls off her jacket, then moves to the window and looks out over the street.
I step deeper into the shadows, but I don't think she can see me. The streetlights create a glare on the glass, and I'm far enough back that I'm just another shadow in the darkness. She stands there for a long moment, and I wonder what she's thinking. Is she thinking about Whitmore? About her father's expectations? About the life she's supposed to want?
Is she thinking about me?
She moves away from the window, and I see her silhouette reach for the hem of her shirt. She's going to undress. She's going to strip down to nothing, and I could stay here and watch, and she would never know. The thought sends heat through my body, the arousal sharp and immediate.
But this time, I don't stay.
I turn and walk away, heading toward where my driver is waiting with the town car, because I want to see her naked. I want it with an intensity that's almost painful. But I want to see it in person for the first time. I want to be the one undressing her, my hands on her skin, her eyes on mine. I want her to know it's me, the first time she’s bare in front of me.
Not hiding, watching her from a distance, as if she’s not mine to look at.
The town car is parked two blocks away. Marco—my driver for the past five years—opens the door as I approach.
"Home, Mr. Ciresa?"
I nod. "Yes."
I slide into the back seat, and Marco closes the door behind me. The memory of Savannah at her window, her fingers at the hem of her shirt, feels like an itch beneath my skin. My cock is throbbing, every muscle in my body wound tight. I’ve resisted the urge thus far, but a man can only resist so much.
All of my remaining self-control was used up on walking away from watching her at the window.
The privacy divider is down, and I reach forward and press the button to raise it.
"Sir?" Marco glances back at me in the rearview mirror.
"I need privacy. Don't lower the divider until we reach the house."
"Understood."
The divider slides up, and I'm alone in the back of the car. All I can think about is Savannah. Her silhouette in the window. The curve of her body. I’ve never been so hard in my life. I’ve had women utterly on display for me, spread out like feasts, mine to have in any way I please, and I’ve never felt arousal like this.
I can’t wait until we get home. I need relief now.
I reach for my zipper with a shaking hand, dragging it down as I slide my fingers in and slip my cock free. A hiss escapes through my teeth as I feel the pleasure of skin on skin, and I wrap my hand around my length, tilting my head back against the leather seat.
I don’t care that I’m in the car, that Marco is on the other side of that divider. I need to come. I’ve never needed it so badly.
Savannah is the only thing in my head as I start to stroke. The line of her leg as she sat under that tree, the graceful arch of her throat, the curve of her waist and hips and breasts in every dress I’ve ever seen her in. I picture her laid out under me, fabric giving way under my hands, every inch of pale skin revealed like a treasure as I undress her.
I shudder when my palm slides over my leaking tip, my hips arching up as I thrust into my fist when I wrap it around myself again. I’m not going to last long. I’ve been on the edge for days, fighting my basest needs, and now that I’ve given in, the onrush of pleasure is dizzying.
I picture her lips, parted on a moan. Her back, arched as I make her come. The sweet, perfect pink folds between her thighs, glistening for me as I run my tongue over her and taste her for the first time…
I don’t even get as far in my fantasy as fucking her before I feel myself tip over the edge. My balls tighten, heat curling up my spine, and I feel my cock start to throb just in time to grab a handful of tissues and thrust my tip into my palm. I clench my teeth against a groan as I spurt, shudders of pleasure rippling through my body as I empty myself into my hand and picture Savannah crying out my name.
