I stand there, watching like a fucking creep. I should leave the room right now, but for some reason, I can’t make my feet move. She’s mesmerizing asleep like this, and a dark part of me thinks maybe I like women better when they’re sleeping because they can’t touch me or demand anything, and I can just watch them being all pretty and soft and vulnerable. I ought to wake her the fuck up and leave. Yet I still don’t move. Yes, maybe I get to see all her glorious skin on display for me, but I tell myself I’m not like Ace or Rook. I’m different. I’m in control.
Her dream seems to be getting more vivid, and she lets out a small whimper as a smile tugs at her pretty lips. Instead of leaving, I step farther into the room, closer to her and the bed. My mouth suddenly dries as she runs her hand across her waist and down, down, down, until it’s between her legs.
Fuck.
It’s okay. I’m in control.I’m in control. I’m in control.
Maybe if I say it enough times, it will be true.
She turns onto her side, facing away from me, and gives me a perfect view of her ass. I start to lengthen and harden in my jeans. I bite my lip hard and clamp my eyes shut, willing myself to stop looking, but I can’t, and my eyes ping open again. I think at least the dirty dream is over, but then I realize she’s got one leg thrown up over something—a pillow that’s by her side. Her hips move sinuously, like she’s an otherworldly creature, as she presses herself against the pillow then moves back. She keeps that movement going, moaning softly, forward and back, forward and back.
Holy fuck. She’s humping her pillow.
For a long moment, I stand watching her, my better nature losing out to something much darker. It’s something I haven’t really felt before, and it scares me a bit because I like this. I like having her asleep and unaware of me as I watch her and betray her trust. There’s something heady in being able to observe her as she’s totally unaware. For me, it takes away all the worry I have around encounters with women. Will they touch my scars and be grossed out? Will they touch my nerve damage and cause pain? What if I get too rough?
This is perfect. It allows my darkness to peek out, but I can keep a distance.
I should leave the room, but it’s too mesmerizing. Her ass is so fucking perfect. Her whimpers are so hot. My cock is so hard it feels as if it will burst.
Walk away, asshole.
I don’t move.
I press my palm against myself and almost groan.
This is fucked up and not in any way okay.
“God, yes, please.” Camile’s words are moaned in her dream with an almost desperate edge.
Christ, I want to go over there, crawl onto the bed, and sink between her legs. If she can’t touch me, because she’s asleep, I could pull those sensible panties of hers to one side and just look at her pussy. Would that hurt anyone? I bet it’s pretty. Wet, too. Maybe, I can watch as it gets wetter and perhaps take just a taste. Just a small, tiny taste to help her along. Only while she sleeps, though. That’s safest… for me and for her.
I’d be doing her a service.
I’m halfway across the room before reality hits.
No. Fuck, no, that’s so wrong.
Incandescent rage fills me. At her for tempting me. At myself for almost losing all my famed control. At Jack, even, for bringing this naïve, young, far-too-innocent temptation to live among us. It’s easy for me to ignore the sweetbutts. They’re generally aggressive in coming on to the guys in the club, and that leaves me cold. Not because I’m judging them morally, but because of all my fucked-up issues. Not Camile, though. She’s humping her pillow because she’s too good to hump the club guys, yet that won’t save her. We are fucking feral, for God’s sake, and she’s like an innocent little lamb thrown to a pack of wolves.
I leave the room as more moans follow, taunting me as I stagger across the hallway and into the bathroom.
At first, I just wanted to catch my breath, but damn it, I need to come.
With a desire I’ve not experienced in years, I pull my zipper down and take my hard, aching, fucking purple-at-the-tip cock out and wrap my hand around my length. There’s no time to enjoy this or to drag it out, just an urgent need to take this edge off before I do something I will really regret.
As I jerk myself roughly, I stare at the back of the bathroom wall, picturing her in the bed beyond it, a mix of desire and anger thrumming through my veins.
Knowing I won’t last, I move closer to the sink and stand over it. I’m six-four, so I have no trouble aiming my cock down. The fluttering, pulsing slit at my head tells me I only just made it.
“Fuck me,” I curse as the first jolts of pleasure race through my body and up my spine, and cum erupts out of my cock and splashes across the porcelain. It spurts again and again, spattering across the hand soap, and fuck… was that Jack’s toothbrush?
I grimace at myself and sag against the wall at my side, dazed and a bit shocked. I haven’t lost hold of myself like that in a long, long time. That I did so, and masturbated in the Prez’s house, is even worse. I glance around the room, checking for security cameras, although that would be weird in a bathroom. Thankfully, there are none because Jack would kill me for disrespecting his space this way. I’m going to have to throw away that toothbrush and replace it, and already I’m thinking of ways I can explain that to him—perhaps I can say I accidentally knocked it into the toilet.
Fuck. What a mess.
Feeling ashamed, and more than a little freaked out at the power of my need, I put myself away, wipe down the sink, toss Jack’s toothbrush in the small trash can, and wash my hands.
Already, though, mere moments after I have come, the urge to watch her all over again and feel that same high is riding me. I tamp it down aggressively and stalk out of the room.
