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.
No.
I rolled over onto my side, trying to get a better angle. My hand was squeezed tight between my thighs, and I rocked against my fingers, trying hard to push myself. My other hand clenched the sheets, my fingers curled into a fist.
“Kitten.”
I opened my eyes to find him standing next to the bed, his hand gripping his cock hard in one fist. His eyes were full of desire. I whimpered. I didn’t want to ask him for anything, didn’t want anything from him. Or did I?
He knelt down on the bed and lay next to me. His eyes asked permission and I granted it. Our faces were so close that we shared a breath, and I was still rocking, rocking against my fingers. I moaned. Every part of me ached for release, but my climax seemed to never want to come.
His free hand came up and covered my clenched fist and I abandoned the sheets for his palm. His fingers twined around mine, his palm hot against my own. The bed moved with his rhythm, now, too, his hand moving as fast as mine down where I dared not look.
At his touch, my body arched hard against the bed. I felt the pressure rise inside my body, come close to bursting. Sweat beaded his dark upper lip. I stared at his face, those dark features, those light eyes, and all the while I rocked in rhythm against my hand, pushing harder, harder—
A look in his eyes. That was what did it. As he stroked himself, I could see the tension in every muscle of his mouth, in every twitch of his eyebrows. It heightened every little bit of arousal in my own body, sending my nerves into a deep shiver whenever he twitched. Then he moaned and his eyes went soft, deep, losing themselves as they stared into my face.
His moan was a low rumble, and I felt the shudder of it send me over the edge. My hips pushed forward and my fingers squeezed and he squeezed back and I came hard, god, so hard, the orgasm bursting forth into a low scream that I buried into the pillow. My fingers pressed deep into me as I shuddered over and over again, my body rippling with relief.
His breath caught, and I looked down to see him grip himself tight and with one thrust end it. He spurted between his fingers, his lips parting in a silent groan of ecstasy, his seed soaking the sheets between us.
Then his head fell back next to mine on the pillow and he gazed into my eyes and I could not look away, the same way a rabbit cannot tear its eyes from the owl hunting it. He licked his lips and I tried to catch my breath, my pulse pounding in my ears.
When I finally looked down, I was still holding his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kat
He let go of my hand and got up first, tucking away his softening cock and zipping his pants back up. I was still shivering from the force of my orgasm.
“Let’s go.”
“Go?” A whisper. I could barely talk.
“Outside. That was the trade, wasn’t it?”
Oh, right. The trade.
“If your legs can work properly, that is.”
“I’m fine.”
I struggled to my feet and followed him shakily downstairs. I’d never masturbated next to someone before. It wasn’t sex - not exactly. It had felt, impossibly, more intimate than sex. It had been a release of sorts, but there was no way I could ever have come to such a blindingly strong orgasm on my own.
Everything around me seemed different.
Gav was different, too. When he touched me to guide me through the house the way he normally did, his hand felt gentle on my back, not forceful. I found myself wobbling down the steps and toward the front door, but he had my arm every step of the way, supporting me.