So. Close.
Only, that’s where I stay, balancing on the edge, no matter my efforts or how filthy the audio becomes.
Nothing.
My moans of pleasure turn to groans of frustration.
With my vibrator lost in one of my unpacked boxes, my hands are all I have. Giving it one last shot, I try a new tactic and push my index finger into my pussy.
More images of Warren enter my brain.
Corded muscles. Tight ass. Dark happy trail. Thick cock.
The audio becomes background noise, and when I hang over the precipice, ready to fall, there’s a loud bang outside my room.
Then, my door blows open, and a wild, manic-looking Warren looms in the doorway.
I’m stunned, fingers frozen, questioning whether he’s an apparition of my mind. An earbud slips out just as his furious expression morphs to surprise.
“Fuck, Harriet. You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried about you.” Surprise turns to something else. Frustration laced with hunger? His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
Finally moving, I slip my hand free and tug the hem of my sweater over my panties. “I’m busy!”
“Shit.” He averts his gaze. “I’m sorry. I saw your car outside and you weren’t answering the door or my calls. Then, I heard…noises.”
My entire body ignites. He heard me getting myself off to images of him. Or trying to. “Did you kick down my door?”
“I have a key.” His eyes stay glued to the floor. “Like I said, I was worried.”
“Here I thought I was getting the full firefighter treatment,” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood. My body has other ideas. It lights up at the idea of Warren storming in here, furious and determined. This time, he doesn’t stop in the doorway. He stops to kneel at the foot of the bed.
And watches.
Jesus, Harriet. Horny much?
Yes!I scream back to myself, only I actually say it aloud.
Warren jumps at my outburst, eyes darting to where I’m still slumped on the bed.
His gaze lingers this time, swirling with midnight, lighting a path over every inch of my skin, leaving a trail of pebbled flesh in his wake. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He doesn’t move, as if an invisible force locks him in place.
He should go; if he stays a second longer, I’m going to throw away the handbook of our friendship. Maybe he senses my dilemma, because he waits, dangerously patient.
This is reckless. Stupid. Absurd.
He’ll say no. Tell me it’s a terrible idea. We’re friends.
“Warren?” I whisper.
His fists clench at his sides. “Yes?”
This isn’t fair, and I know I’m taking advantage of his caring side but my brain is swamped with desperation.
I sit upright. “I need help.”
His nostrils flare. “With what?”
