He scratches the back of his neck, his checked shirt riding up to reveal the trail of hair below his belly. “They had an offer on. Thought I’d stock up and it’s a good job I did, or we’d be on rations now I’m having to share with you.”
I nod, my eyes fixed on the hair that disappears under his jeans.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face. “What was the shower like? The boiler was making a racket.”
“The water was hot, but the pipes were groaning some.” I spin around and turn the oven on as Sawyer climbs the stairs.
The ceiling creaks as he shuffles around upstairs. “Arggh. Angelica,” he groans from the top of the stairs. “Did you use all the clean towels?”
My nose scrunches. “Sorry,” I holler.
“Would it hurt to clean up after using the bathroom?” He shouts but there’s a hint of smile in his voice.
I grimace, remembering I left my clothes on the bathroom floor. “Sorry. Towels are in the dryer. I’ll pop some outside the bathroom for you.”
“Thanks.” He clicks the bathroom door and then the shower turns on.
I meander into the utility and open the dryer, the boiler clanking from behind a cupboard. There’s a strange pumping sound, then pipes clink together. Something is definitely not right with the heating system.
After bundling the dry towels into my arms, I carry them into the kitchen to the worktop where I fold them. The aroma from the lamb hotpot fills the room.
Before Sawyer gets out of the shower, I pad up the stairs in my slippers and bend to place the pile of freshly laundered towels outside the bathroom door. As I straighten my body, a growl sounds from the other side of the door.
I suck in a breath and hold it there while I train my ear to the sounds coming from the bathroom. My palms rest against the wooden door, the side of my face pressed against the grain.
Tapping of water droplets against the shower floor is soothing, like rain on a windowpane. “Mmmm. Fuck. Just like that, baby girl.”
His words have me in a chokehold. I lean against the door, needing to hear more. It clicks open. Causing me to jerk myself backwards.
He groans again, oblivious the door is now ajar.
I peer through the small gap, sliding to the floor until I’m on my knees. Steam billows around the room, fogging the shower screen, but I can see his silhouette behind the glass. One hand on the tiled wall and the other beating his erection as if he’s whipping up a bowl of cream.
“Angel,” he groans, tilting his head back under the spray of the shower head.
My eyes widen. I slip my hand into my pyjama shorts and touch my aching centre. My breaths come out in short bursts as my hand trembles and my heart races with all the naughty thoughts rushing through my head.
“Fuck. You feel so good, angel.” His hand jerks slow as his hips take over, thrusting into his palm, bracing himself against the wall with the other. He groans out in pleasure, then places both hands on the tiles as he drops his head low, letting the water hit his back.
I’m wet. Drenched, as my fingers slip between my folds. I’ve never seen a man do that before. He wants me. I rub circles around my little bundle of nerves, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I need more. I need him inside of me. I need to know what it will feel like to have a man inside of me.
After today, I realise he’ll never settle down. He’s not the marrying type. But that’s okay. I just need him to fuck me. They say you always remember your firsts and I want it to be him.
The shower turns off, but the pipes don’t stop banging. I whip my hand out of my pyjamas before I’m caught red-handed again. And I’m left on the cusp of orgasm. Again.
He steps out from behind the glass cubicle, still hard. He’s a big boy in more ways than one, with some serious muscles underneath his chunk.
I gulp at the size of his erection, my mouth watering, wishing it was me gripping him like he imagined. I’m mesmerised by it as I follow the blue vein all the way to the glistening tip.
As he walks towards the door, I don’t have time to get to my feet, so I lift the towels to hide the flush in my cheeks.
The door creaks farther open. “For fuck’s sake.” He steps behind the door, with just his head peering round the wood.
“Towels,” I squeak out.
“Thanks.” He grabs one from the top of the pile, then closes the door.
I want to tell himeveryone masturbatesfor a joke, but I gingerly creep down the stairs, too much of a coward to let him know I watched. Half of me is afraid of the embarrassment and the other half is afraid of what he might do if he knew I liked it.
