She really didn’t need to.
He made so much noise that she could make out almost everything. Every little moan and gasp—and there were a lot of them, too. Lots of thick, guttural moans that started on an ah and ended with a kind of abrupt sigh, as though a knife had sliced through his throat before he could finish. So many soft mmms and gasps, like he honestly couldn’t get enough of whatever he was doing.
Though it was the whispers that hit her hardest. They got her right in the gut, low down and deep enough to ache. Oh yeah, he murmured, as though the hottest sex in the world was happening onscreen. As though they were fucking like animals, up and down and left and right. His tone even sounded sort of tremulous, and it got more intense as time went on. Soon he was panting, and rocking, and every now and then uttering something he was clearly imagining himself doing.
“Ah, yeah, suck my cock, just like that,” he said.
Then just to make it extra agonizing, he spat into his hand.
To make it extra slick, she thought, like someone’s mouth. Someone sucking him the way he’d described, slow and steady until he was actually shuddering, right here and now. The bed was moving, at least, and it wasn’t because he was working that cock hard. He wasn’t. He was going slow, so slow, squeezing and rolling rather than the short, fast kind of thing she’d always thought guys did. They almost never seemed to do anything else in porn…but then again they never did all this other stuff, too. She dared to turn her head a little more and saw to her astonishment that he had his hand pressed to his mouth. He was almost biting his fist, chest heaving, body shivering all over—but most important, eyes closed.
He couldn’t even see her looking. She was free to do as she pleased.
Yet something held her back. She couldn’t seem to do more than peek out of the corner of her eye, and even that made her feel strange. She kept getting this clenching sensation—sort of like embarrassment or humiliation—and it got worse when his back arched. When he actually said out loud that he was almost there, that he was so close, that he was gonna come all over her sheets. I need something to do it on, he said, and even that had a shameful frisson of its own. She had a brief flash of him kneeling up and suddenly coming all over her face, or maybe pulling down that ridiculously large neck hole to expose her breasts.
Followed by an image of that thick white liquid coating her, striping her face, dripping off her tight little nipples. Him pushing his cock past her lips to finish off, groaning as he flooded her mouth.
And he would have flooded it, too. She glanced at him just in time to see him shove his sweatpants down, that big dick swelling under the pressure of his too-tight grip. Thick ribbons of come already hitting his bared belly, over and over until she was sure he must be done. He had to be, yet more kept flowing over his still-working fist. She watched it run down over his fingers in slippery trails before pooling in his lap.
Though none of it was what she kept seeing behind her eyes in the aftermath. Instead, she saw the way his face had looked as he shot his load. The open mouth, and the closed eyes, and most of all the strange, wrenching vulnerability that had covered him for a moment. No mischief, no macho bullshit—just a completely open and abandoned sort of ecstasy.
And all of it for her.
He knew she had watched him. He still knew now. She flicked her eyes back to the screen as he started to catch his breath, but the first thing he did was include her.
“Guess I kind of made a mess here,” he said, everything about his tone suggesting two conspirators, finishing off their evil deed. She even got up after he’d said it, to get him a tissue.
Though when she got back he’d pretty much taken care of most of it.
She stopped in the doorway to the bathroom at the sight: Him, casually licking his messy fingers.
It took her a good two minutes after that to go over to him, with her fistful of toilet paper. And when she did go, it was on very shaky legs. Her whole body felt shaky, in fact—though not in any way she’d experienced before. This was like being full to the brim with something burning hot, skin so close to ripping that it couldn’t keep still. Sometimes she thought she could see it shivering slightly under the strain, and every inch of it was tender, so tender. His leg brushed hers as she sat down, and it was agony.
She even winced—then immediately regretted it.
He had been concentrating on cleanup. Now he looked up at her sharply.
And asked questions she was loath to answer.
“Have you…not? I mean have you not—”
“I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”
“God, you must be bursting.”
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
The problem was though, she didn’t seem fine.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. Her hands were fists on her thighs.
And of course he could see all of that.
“You look like you’re bursting.”