gaze rises slowly to mine. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
My hand pauses. “Wouldn’t be the first time you what?”
She squints one eye in a grimace. “Watched you…jerk off?”
“Wait,” I say, incurably confused. I’m an eighteen-year-old degenerate, sure, but it’s not like I’m whacking off all over the place. “When did you see me jerking off?” Her eyes jump to the side and mine follow, a slow sort of understanding falling over me when I see the window that looks into my own. I look back at her. “You’re fucking with me.”
She groans into her hands, but she’s fighting back laughter. “I’m sorry! You never close your curtains.”
I’m stunned speechless. Or, almost speechless. “Liked what you saw?”
She’s smiling back at me now, her lip trapped between her teeth. “Clearly.”
I wet my lips just imagining it—her watching me. “Full disclosure here. I’m not really in a position right now to give you much of a show.”
She looks back at me, face puckered in confusion. “What do you mean?”
I look between us, slowly working my pants and boxers down my hips. I feel more than see Vandy rising up on her elbows to watch as my cock springs free, bouncing lewdly over her spread legs. I take myself in hand, glancing up at her, and she’s staring at it intensely. God, this is probably the first cock she’s ever seen up close and personal.
That risk management plan is so fucked.
“Show me,” she breathes, blue eyes blazing back at me. “Show me how you like it.”
I sit back on my heels, eyes dragging down her body as my fist starts pumping. She’s still wearing my jacket, and it’s lame. I know it’s lame. But I feel this hot spike of possessive want shoot right to my cock. Her skirt’s still pushed up, revealing her wet panties and all of her thighs, and I really wasn’t lying before.
This is going to be quick.
My jaw clenches hard as I look, eyes roving from her thighs, to her panties, to her hot, eager gaze, and then back again. My hand moves on its own, slow and languid, trying to draw it out, even though I know it’s futile.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, watching my every move.
“No.” I bite my lip, stroking up the shaft, rolling the tip in my palm. “It feels fucking fantastic.”
“It feels good when I do it, too,” she admits, which causes me to skip a beat. “But the best time was when I did it while watching you.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
I focus on her legs, unable to really process what she’s telling me. It’s too much, too intense. Already, I can see her hips subtly wriggling with me, like they’re magnetized to the rhythm I’m setting. I watch the tattoo as it moves with her, her legs still spread open for me like they want to cradle my hips and take me in and—
I fall forward on my palm, hovering over her as the coil finally snaps. All of the tension I’ve been holding in all day seems to erupt with it. “Fuck,” I growl as I watch my come paint the skin of her thighs, my fist wringing it out.
Vandy makes this airy little, “Oh,” sound as she watches—as she feels it fall on her.
“Sorry.” I feel like I’m half-wheezing from the force of it, sitting back on my heels to commit the vision to memory. I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Sometimes I can’t control where it goes,” I lie.
She gives me a look that tells me just how much she isn’t buying this. “It’s okay.”
It’s probably not, but I’m too wrung out to beat myself up over it. Instead, I fish around in her bathroom for something to clean it off with, offering her an apologetic glance when I do.
She spends a long time in the bathroom—cleaning herself up, I guess—and I set myself to rights and linger around the window. I shouldn’t stay. A cautious glance out her window tells me that my dad isn’t even home, but it can’t be a good idea.
But when Vandy walks out of the bathroom in a thin shirt and a pair of shorts, eyes pinging between me and the window, I know before she opens her mouth what she’s going to ask.
“Stay?”
I know I’m going to give in.
“Okay.”
She rests her head in the crook of my shoulder when we lay down, and it’s a different quiet in here than the one in my room. This quiet is full