I woke up soaked between the legs, throat dry, chest tight. The image of him stroking his c**k burned behind my eyelids like an afterimage of lightning. No matter how many times I blinked, it stayed. Hard. Unforgiving. Beautiful.
I should have felt shame. I didn’t.
Instead, I rolled onto my stomach, pressed my thighs together, and bit into the pillow until my teeth ached. I didn’t touch myself. Not because I didn’t want to, but because the ache had become something more than physical. It was in my head now, in my spine, in the tension of my own restraint. I wanted him to break it.
I stayed in bed longer than I should have, delaying the inevitable. Eventually, I got up, threw on a loose shirt that barely reached the tops of my thighs, and padded barefoot down to the kitchen. The house wa
