His(53)

She flushed harder. God, her lips were delicious when she bit them slightly, the pucker of her cheeks as she got mad.

“I… I’ve never. Not with someone watching.”

“Take your time, then.”

“I was, thanks.” Her sarcasm was clipped and she raised the book to hide her face.

But then, oh then—her hand moved down, under the hem of her dress. I saw the fabric slide up over her creamy thighs, the sweet pink silk of her panties revealed inch by inch. Her fingers grazed the fabric just over her sweet slit.

I’d tasted her there, and the memory of her delicious flesh aroused me instantly. It’s true, we men are visual creatures. I wanted to watch her, every piece of her, as she touched herself. Thankfully, the book slipped lower and I could see her nose peeking over the cover, then her mouth. Her perfect pink heart of a mouth, almost as tasty as the lips between her thighs.

Her fingers stroked slowly, patiently. So patient. The sensation must be barely there. I could see between her legs the fabric darkening, turning wet. Her eyes softened, her eyelids drooping down at the corners as she continued reading, continued stroking.

Shifting in my seat, I was not prepared for the small gasp that came from her as she found herself. Such a slight squeak of pleasure, and yet it caused a rush of lustful thoughts to come over me. I was hard, getting harder with every small whispering breath of hers, and I couldn’t help but stroke myself with the back of my knuckles, as though smoothing out the fabric of my pants.

“Are you touching yourself over there?” Her voice had a hitch in it, but it was teasing, playful.

“Why did you think I wanted to watch you?”

Her eyebrows raised, and just as quickly settled back down as her eyes moved over another paragraph. Her fingers pressed harder, squeezing from both sides through her panties. She turned the page with her thumb, expertly. So she had done this before, just not with an audience.

I unzipped my pants. She moaned, and my cock twitched. I imagined myself between those legs. She was mine, mine and nobody else’s, but I admit that I couldn’t help but feel jealous that it was not me who was arousing her, not me teasing her to the edge. My hand gripped my cock. Most women I took home couldn’t wait to jump into bed with me. This was… different.

Good, but different.



Kat

The words on the page swam before my eyes. I’d gotten as far as the first hayloft scene, where the cowboy had realized that his bride was, surprise, surprise, a virgin. Then he’d gone down on her, and I’d stopped imagining a cowboy.

My eyelashes fluttered as I moved my hand between my thighs. I could feel myself starting to get wet as I read along, but I wasn’t reading the words anymore. There wasn’t a cowboy in my mind, no virgin bride rolling around on the hay. I was imagining Gavriel.

I tried to bring my thoughts back to the book at hand, but it was no use once he started touching himself. I turned the pages and tried to avoid looking directly at him sitting over there in the chair. He’d pulled out his cock and was stroking it slowly, easily. I watched the foreskin sliding up over his head, then back down, his hand tightening at the base.

It was true - I’d never had a guy watch me masturbate before. But also, I’d never watched a guy jack off. I mean, I’d seen clips from comedies where they did it - the classic bathroom scene in Something About Mary. But never for real. No guy had ever masturbated in my presence, let alone while watching me. The strangest part of it was how much it turned me on, to see his long fingers wrapped entirely around his erection.

His breath caught in his throat, and I found myself catching my own breath, matching him. He’d closed his eyes, tilting his head back onto the armchair. I let my book drop, watching him move his hand over his long shaft. His thumb flicked the tip at the end of every stroke. His rhythm became mine, and as the pressure grew inside of me, I stopped pretending to read.

My hand moved faster and faster, harder and harder, and I watched him, stroke after stroke, his cock growing harder and bigger in his hand. God, his lips. Those lips, touching me between my legs, his tongue inside of me… I rubbed furiously, trying to get to the point of release. I needed it, needed to get rid of all these thoughts about him.

Then he lifted his head, and his eyes locked onto mine.

My mouth dropped open in shock, my hand still moving as the ache inside me grew insistently. The book lay limp and discarded on the sheets next to me. There was no pretending that I wasn’t looking at him. To my surprise, he licked his lips but said nothing.

I whimpered, my eyes fluttering shut. I needed this. I needed to get rid of this ache. The sunlight in the room shone red through my closed eyelids. I worked my hand against my swollen clit, my fingers tense and hard. Like he had been hard against me. I wanted so desperately to open my eyes, to look at him. My heart was pumping hard, the pressure of my climax rising and rising inside of me.