But he left the door open… it was his mistake… maybe I didn’t realise… maybe I wanted the toilet…
The sight of him makes my tummy flutter and lurch. He’s got his back to me, his big fingers lathering shampoo into his hair. His shoulders are broad, and his back tapers into a slim waist. He’s muscular… toned… I can see the definition in his back even through the steam.
Oh Lord, please don’t let him see me…
He tips his head back to let the water rinse his hair, and his hands move over his body. I wish I could see the front of him. I wish I could see all of him.
He leans back, and his hands move lower. His perfect ass tightens, his thighs so tense, and I can see his arms, moving… and it feels so…
Dirty.
He’s touching himself.
The wave of shock ripples through me, and it makes my brain pop … like the time I turned on the TV in the living room and it was on a channel it shouldn’t be, playing one of Mum’s boyfriend’s dirty DVDs…
I’d closed my eyes instinctively, then watched it through splayed fingers knowing perfectly well I shouldn’t. Knowing I shouldn’t be tingling in private places, shouldn’t want to touch myself at the sight of those big veiny dicks on screen.
They’d looked so big. Much bigger than I’d imagined.
Those men made the same noises I heard through my bedroom wall.
And Nick’s making noises, too.
Quiet ones. Nothing but breath and grunts. I can barely hear him over the sound of the water but it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.
My thighs clench tight, and it flutters there. I want to race back to Jane’s bed and touch myself, but I can’t, I can’t stop watching. It seems to take forever, standing statue still as Nick’s arm jerks and the water washes over him, but I don’t care. I want it to take forever.
He braces a hand against the tiles and lowers his head, and his grunts are a bit louder now, his hips thrusting forward. He swears under his breath, and I know this is it, know he’s about to come. I’ve seen it on the internet, I know how cocks look when men come. I wonder if Nick’s looks just like that. My breath is so fast, but so shallow.
I watch it all. Watch him tense and thrust, soaking up the way his body looks, all the noises he makes.
When he’s done, he relaxes, washes himself off like nothing’s happened, and reality crashes in, the horror of knowing I’ve been spying on someone’s most private moments. He turns off the water quicker than I expect, and I’m sprung right out of my dazed state. I back away, clumsy this time, dash back across the landing to Jane’s room and close the door behind me.
It closes too loud and I feel horrendous.
Embarrassment burns so hot.
I dive under the covers and pull them high over my head. Screw my eyes tight shut and try and calm my racing heart.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What the hell have I done?
I flinch as I hear a rap at the door, waiting for Nick to order me out of here, waiting for him to demand an explanation that I don’t stand a hope in hell of giving.
The handle turns.
Slowly.
So slowly.
Chapter Four
Nick
I only caught a glimpse of her. A flash of pink as she darted from the bathroom, her presence confirmed by the sound of Jane’s bedroom door closing across the landing. I don’t know how long she’d been watching, but the thought of her blue eyes staring at my nakedness through steamy glass makes my balls tingle all over again.
I remind myself that this is unacceptable. I also remind myself that this is also going to be short-lived. A dirty flash in a very dangerous pan, but one I’ll relive over and over in my fantasies when little Laine is long gone.
I rap at her door and give her a few seconds before turning the handle.
Her eyes are wide as I swing the door open and step inside, the bedcovers up to her chin, her pretty cheeks flushed pink. She looks guilty. Embarrassed. Gorgeous.
It suits her, and does nothing whatsoever to ease the temptation.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I say, as though I haven’t got any inkling she’s just watched me whack one off in the shower. I cross the room with her eyes following me all the way, and her eyelashes flutter as I pull the curtains wide. Bright morning sunlight falls perfectly on her blonde hair. She looks so innocent, a little angel in a little girl’s room. “I hope you slept well?”
She smiles a relieved smile, and she’s so beautiful here, in this room. Her presence brings the place to life again.
She nods her pretty head. “I did. I slept really well. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”
“Your clothes will be dry,” I tell her, wishing I didn’t have to. “Let’s go down, get some breakfast. Are you hungry? You must be hungry, Laine.”
She nods again, then throws back the covers, swinging her tiny feet out onto the floor. “Breakfast sounds really, really good.”
She looks so warm and cosy wrapped in Jane’s pink dressing gown. The urge to hug her is strong, to feel her tight against me. To hold someone again.
I take a breath. “Let’s see what we can rustle up.”
She follows me downstairs with bouncy steps, and her feet barely make a sound on the wooden floor as I lead her through to the kitchen. I pat one of the stools at the breakfast bar and she hitches herself up, adjusting her pink robe with a delightful little hint of self-consciousness that makes my mouth water.
I know I should show restraint and offer her a regular breakfast. Muesli or yoghurt, like I’ll be having, maybe some toast with marmalade, but that perverse little thrill is tickling through me, and I veer away from sensibility enough to pull out the box of frosted puffs I picked up from the petrol station last night. I shake the box and hold it up for her to see, a grinning cartoon leprechaun gracing the packet.
“Do you like cereal, Laine? I thought you might like these.”
How my dick twitches as her eyes light up. “I love frosted puffs! How did you know?!” she says.
I shrug. “A lucky guess.”
“They’re the ones with the marshmallow stars, aren’t they? I begged my mum for those when I was little!”
Little. She looks so little. Perched on the stool.
I pour them into a bowl and pick her out one of my smallest spoons. A little spoon for a sweet little mouth.
She beams up at me as I place the bowl in front of her, as though I’ve just bought her a show pony, not a cheap box of cereal. I pour the milk, ask her to say when.
“When!” she giggles, and stirs the bowl with her spoon, watching the marshmallow stars drift around. They turn the milk pink.
I get us both an orange juice and sit myself down opposite her to eat my muesli. I watch everything. The way she scoops out just the right amount of frosted puffs with her stars. The way she closes her eyes as she crunches them. The innocent enjoyment in her smile.
I would happily watch little Laine Seabourne eat frosted puffs forever, and I feel a jab of resentment at the knowledge that I won’t. It pains me that such a sweet, gracious girl has nobody waiting back at home to look after her. Nobody there to keep her safe.