I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw aches. Her chest is rising and falling faster now, like she’s so turned on, she can hardly breathe. When her hand dips low and disappears between her legs, I fucking groan. She works her fingers between her folds, and I watch with rapt attention, as she fucks herself. Olivia rides her fingers, tossing her head back in ecstasy.
My cock is throbbing painfully, and I fight it. Fight the urge to stroke myself. To stroke my cock to the image of her. There would be no going back. There’s a moment when we lock eyes, and I can almost hear all the words she doesn’t say.
Touch yourself. Please.
I can’t come without you.
Fucking hell.
Popping the button on my pants, I take out my cock. It springs free, bobbing heavily. The head is swollen and angry, demanding attention. I wrap my fist around my erection and stroke. Gritting my back teeth together, I pump up and down, as I watch Olivia fuck herself harder, her fingers working faster with each passing second. She clutches onto the windowsill for support. My balls tighten, and I imagine it’s her hand stroking my cock. Her hand milking me.
She lifts her leg, baring herself to me. I can clearly see her fingers disappearing into her tight channel, and fuck me, if that isn’t the hottest sight I’ve ever seen.
Even with both of our windows closed, I still hear her guttural moan. She tosses her head back, mouth dropped open, as she cries out, her body jerking from the aftershocks of her orgasm. It doesn’t take long for me to follow; my cum spurting from my cock, that is still throbbing angrily. I’ll be hard for the rest of my goddamn life at this rate. I won’t be satisfied until she’s stroking me, and her pussy’s draining my cock.
We both come down from our high, the endorphins leaving our body. Slowly, she stands upright and picks up her towel, covering herself. She walks to the wall, and the light in her bedroom flips off. My eyes slam shut.
She couldn’t do that any sooner?
Jesus Christ.
After some time, I force myself to get up and head into the shower. I have to be up early tomorrow. I have a meeting with Mrs. Archibald, and the last thing I need is to be thinking about Olivia, when I should be thinking about Ryder and getting him back.
I’m shifting anxiously in the chair in the waiting room, frustrated that I’m still waiting here. I don’t know what the hell I’m here for. Mrs. Archibald didn’t specify. Though, I’m sure if it was good news, I would’ve been out of here already, but for some reason, I know it’s not. Whatever they called me in here for can’t be good. My stomach muscles tighten at the thought.
“Mr. Banks? Come on in.”
I push up from the chair, tamping down how uneasy I feel about meeting with Ryder’s caseworker. When I lower myself into the chair, in her small office that resembles a cardboard box, I square my shoulders, not finding any reason to get comfortable. I’m sure we won’t be here long. She’ll deliver the dire news, and I’ll be well on my way.
“I wanted you to come in, so we can talk.”
“About?” I ask in a no-nonsense tone.
Just get on with it already.
“I’d like to set up another home visit. Give you another chance.”
I freeze at her words.
My heart stops.
Everything screeches to a halt.
“You’re serious?”
She releases a breath. “I am. It’s obvious getting your brother back means the world to you. The least I can do is give you both a fair fight.”
Something spreads through my chest. It’s so completely foreign, and I refuse to acknowledge it. It takes everything in me to nod my head, while I process, not letting anything show on my face.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
She smiles. “I think I do. But this time, try not to mess it up. There are only so many chances I can give, understand?”
Before I leave, she gives me the potential date of the next home tour, and the entire drive home, I’m determined to be better. For Ryder. For his future.
He deserves it.
I might not have had someone looking out for me when I was his age, but I want a different life for Ryder. I want him to have options. I want him to grow up around family who cares, not be