I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hold back my pure joy from the thought of him fondling himself on the other side of this door. My body heats up, a dull throb pulses between my legs, and my mouth goes dry. It’s so incredibly hot that he’s touching himself.
So freaking hot that I lean more toward the door . . . aching to hear him.
I want to hear him groan.
I want to hear his hand moving over his cock.
Hell, I want to see the way he stares at the phone intently, listening to everything Patty Ford has to say.
The urge to see him grows strong, and for an instant, the thought of walking in on him flashes through my mind.
What would he do?
Would he scramble to hide himself?
Would he just look up at me while he strokes himself?
Would he ask me to join in?
My pulse pounds heavily in my ears as questions creep up my spine.
What would happen if I actually walked in? I could pass it off as ignorance. I could apologize profusely. I could lean into him, pressing my hard nipples against his arm while showing him my favorite videos of hers.
Oh God, that last thought, that last idea. Yes, I want that. I want to be on his bed, with him naked, enticing him. Telling him how I like to masturbate when I watch her videos.
I want him to know.
I want him to break out in a sweat.
I want him thinking of me when he watches her.
And before I can stop myself, before I can convince myself this might not be the best decision, I push down the door handle and walk in.
Immediately my eyes land on Levi, who is propped up on his bed, his back to the headboard, his dick covered by his blankets, but his hand slowly working under the sheets. His other hand holds the phone as he stares down at it intently.
So.
Fucking.
Hot.
Bare up top, his chest muscles flex as his teeth pull on the corner of his lip. His bicep flexes with every stroke as the sinew in his forearm fires off with every motion up and down his length.
Mmmm, I want him.
I want him bad.
I want to trade places with him. I want to be the one that strokes him, licks him, sucks him. I want to be the one telling him what to do. I want to be the one he’s fantasizing about.
I could stand here all day, watching him, but given our situation, I know I need to make myself known, so I say, “Oh gosh, I’m sorry.”
He scrambles under the sheet, fumbling with the phone.
“Fucking hell,” he cries out as his wide eyes find me. He tries to find his phone in the mess of the sheets, but is so concerned with covering his dick, that he can’t find it, so Patty Ford’s voice rings through the quiet room.
“That’s it, just like that. Oh God, I love when you touch yourself.”
“Fuck,” he says, his hand moving over the sheets, blindly looking for the phone that I actually spot on the edge of the bed.
I walk up to him, and his eyes grow wider as I approach. He takes in my lingerie set, his tongue wetting his lips, clearly interested in what he sees—exactly what I wanted.
I pick up his phone and then look up at him with a smile. “I love Patty Ford. I come the hardest when watching her videos.” I turn the phone toward me and stare down at the seductress. “I love this video,” I say as I move closer to him and sit on the edge of his bed . . . right next to him.
He’s stiff, unmoving—fairly sure he’s still in shock—so when I lean in, he doesn’t even flinch.
“She has the best boobs ever, and they’re real. There’s nothing fake about them. And I love her movements. They’re not overly sexualized, but they aren’t jagged either. She knows exactly what she’s doing with her hands and how her fingers glide over her nipples, pulling against the hard nub. God, I love her.”
I glance over my shoulder at Levi. His eyes are heady now, the shock gone. In its place, lust.
Definite lust.
The kind of lust that will make me turn toward him, straddle his lap, and take what I’ve wanted for a long time.
After a few seconds of staring at each other, he whispers, “What are you doing here?”
“Had some questions,” I say as I turn more toward him.
I watch his eyes move from my face, down my neck, and to my breasts. His hand is still under the sheets, probably gripping his cock in a death grip.
“Wylie?”
“Yes?” I ask, feeling breathless.
“You . . . you’re, uh . . .”
I smirk and take a chance by bringing my hand to his chest, letting my nails run along his chest hair. His eyes stay fixed on mine, and when he doesn’t tell me to stop, I set his phone down and completely turn toward him.
“Were you trying to tell me something?” I ask as my finger circles his nipple.
His head tilts back against the headboard, and the strain in his neck turns me on even more. From the corner of my eye, I catch him moving his hand along his covered cock, and I’m so tempted to pull down the sheet, to watch him touch himself.
“Fuck.” He breathes heavily just as Patty’s voice continues.
“Like that, oh fuck, my pussy is so wet knowing you’re touching yourself.”
My thoughts exactly.
“Levi?”
“Hmm?” he says as my fingers glide down his abdomen.
“You were saying something.”
He lazily nods and pulls on his lip before saying, “You’re . . . you . . . fuck, that top you’re wearing.”
I smile, knowing I have him right where I want him.
“You like it?” I ask as I puff my chest out.
“A whole fucking lot,” he says.
“It’s so comfortable. I love sleeping in it because it feels amazing against my skin. I love how the silky fabric rubs against my nipples, too.” I trail my fingers farther south, right above where the sheet is.
His hand moves under the covers, and I know for a fact that Patty Ford is no longer part of his thoughts anymore. It’s me.
All me.
From the way he’s looking at my tits.
The way he’s wetting his lips.
He’s one temptation away from giving in.
So, with my other hand, I drag my nails along my collarbone, watching his eyes trail my movement. Slowly I glide them down my chest to my breast, where I lightly run my nails across my nipples, a moan slipping past my lips.
He sucks in a sharp breath and then, to my dismay, looks away.
His expression is pained as he mumbles, “Fuck.” Then he releases his cock and lets out a deep breath. Keeping his eyes fixated in front of him and not on me, he says, “I think you should leave.”
Hope crashes around me. In some made-up land, I envisioned him asking me to take my shirt off.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, wanting to stay casual, even though my entire body is burning. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for your trip tomorrow.”
He wets his lips once again, his eyes now connecting with mine. “You need to leave,” he says tersely.
I glance down at his lap—at the sheet tenting between us—and then back up at him. “Are you going to come?”
His jaw clenches together, and he says, “Once again, you need to leave.”
Seeing the strain in his neck, in his sexy chest, in his shoulders, I decide to push him just a touch more. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m so wet.”
His head falls back against the headboard again, and he takes a few deep breaths. I watch his chest heave, the air filling his lungs and then leaving. “Wylie, I don’t need details. I need you to leave.”