Almost on their own, my hands start moving over my body. I imagine Zane’s hands instead of mine, tweaking my nipples and rolling them slowly, sending little tingling jolts of pleasure right to my pussy. I feel the tightness deep down between my hips, feel my muscles flexing and my knees feel wobbly in a way they haven’t in ages.
I pull a chair over to my window as quickly as I can and sit down, still watching Zane playing with himself in spite of how guilty I feel. “God, I’m sick,” I mutter to myself, even as one of my hands slips between my legs to start sliding along my folds. What would it even be like to have sex with him? I’d heard the usual rumors from girls at school. But that had been years ago, and besides, I never trusted rumors.
I imagine a stupid fantasy, something out of a bad porn, of going up to Zane’s room and asking him if he’d like a little help. Even as I shake my head at how corny the idea is, I’m pressing my fingers deeper, finding my clit by touch. Just the lightest brush of my fingertips against the little bead of nerves is enough to make me instantly hotter, instantly wetter, and I let the fantasy play out in my head without even questioning it.
Zane’s shocked to see me there naked, but he gets over it pretty quickly. After all, what guy wouldn’t? I imagine wrapping my fingers around his erection and starting slow, working up and down while I marvel at the girth of him, the length. I imagine Zane kissing me, dipping down to my breasts, claiming one and then the other with his lips and tongue even as he slips one hand between my legs to feel the warmth and wetness there.
I slide two fingers inside myself and press my lips together to smother the moan that rises in my throat. Zane’s fingers would be thicker, longer, probing me harder, but it’s good enough for now, especially with my thumb swirling around my pleasure center. Especially with the sight of Zane getting closer and closer to his own climax only feet away from me. I’m soaking wet, so slippery that suddenly it’s easy to think of how Zane’s cock would fit inside, no matter how tight I am.
I imagine Zane laying me down on his bed, kissing me again and then working his way down, down, until I’m trembling from how much I need him to get to the point already. In my mind, he buries his face against my pussy. I start working my fingers faster, spreading my legs wider as I imagine Zane worshipping me with his lips and tongue and his fingers. I can’t even really cover the moans leaving my throat anymore. The hand that isn’t working my clit cups and squeezes my breasts as Zane would, teasing my nipples as Zane would, making me even hotter.
I wish I had thought to bring my vibrator with me. But I’m stuck with just my hands as I imagine Zane finally pulling back and slithering up over my body to kiss me again, tasting a little bit like my own fluids. Then, oh God, I imagine him finally thrusting into me, inch by thick inch. I pull my fingers out completely and slowly sink them back inside myself, trying to duplicate the sensation, trying to imagine taking that thick, hard erection inside me.
By the time I finally hit climax, stars swimming in my vision, my whole body tensing and relaxing in little spasms of pleasure. I barely even realize that Zane has long since finished. The light is off over in his room, but I’m still stuck in my own little imaginary place. I keep myself going for as long as I can stand after the climax, but my clit is so sensitive, and my hand is wet from how hard I came. I sit in the chair a little while longer, catching my breath, letting my pulse slow, and stumble into my bathroom to wash my hands, to wipe myself off, before crawling back between the sheets to finally fall asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
ZANE LEWIS
“Why don’t you let Harper have control of the stereo for a while?” I look up from what I’m doing at the sound of my mother’s voice, cutting through Outkast playing over the speakers in the living room.
“Harper,” I call out.
She’s on the other end of the room, sorting through pictures for the slide show my parents want to play on the TV during the big party they’re throwing in a few days.
“You got a problem with what I’m playing on the system?”
“Nope,” Harper calls back, barely looking up from what she’s doing. Part of me is pleased, another part of me wants her to argue just for the sake of arguing. I can remember how she looks when she gets ticked off. After seeing her naked the night before, I want to see her ticked off again. I know before I go to bed tonight I’m going to be reliving the sight of her in nothing at all, and imagining her in my bed.
“Just give her your phone, Zane,” Mom insists. “Let Harper pick the songs for a bit.”