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“Go for it,” I tell her.
“What?” She scoffs. “No way. Watch porn like a normal guy if you need some live entertainment.”
“I can’t see shit.” Not totally true. I can see shapes. Shadows.
Her touching herself under the covers, I wouldn’t get to see. But it’d be one of the hotter things I’d experienced and technically wouldn’t be breaking my no women and no booze vow to Shawn. I’ve rationalized not sticking to sobriety is fine as long as I’m at home.
“I don’t care,” Sophia replies. “I’m not touching myself in front of you. It’s too weird.”
“Want me to do it?”
What the fuck are you saying? I know what I’m doing. I’m dying to do something fun. And getting her off but denying myself feels like another loophole.
“How drunk are you?”
“I’m a little buzzed,” I reply. “Went through a sober spell, so my tolerance is absolute shit.”
“You were right. It does get you into trouble.”
I smile at her reference to our first conversation. “Night, Sophia.”
There’s a long pause, and then she asks, “Mouth or fingers?”
“Fingers,” I respond. “I don’t do oral.”
“How generous,” she drawls.
“Hey, I offered to help you sleep, remember?” I say, rolling toward her. “That was charitable.”
“You sure are?—”
She stops talking when my hand lands on her thigh. As soon as she asked the question, I knew this was going to happen.
The oversize fabric she’s wearing—my clothes—is so easy to slip a hand under.
I catch the motion as her head turns toward me, hear the rustle of cotton as she spreads her legs beneath the sheets. I wish I could see her, and it’s also surprisingly sexy that I can’t. That this is happening when it’s dark and quiet, taking place like a secret with no distractions around us.
My fingers move higher and higher, drawn toward the center of heat like a magnet pull.
She’s soaked, I discover, as I run teasing circles around her entrance before moving higher to rub the swollen bundle of nerves.
Sophia gasps when I touch her clit, shattering the stillness around us.
“Does that feel good?” I whisper.
Her breathy whimper has my dick swelling. Fuck, she’s so responsive. Wet and warm and rocking into my touch like she’s desperate for it. Her thigh is quivering against my wrist, and I realize she’s close. That she was already turned on before I touched her. I trail my fingers lower, along sensitive skin, until I reach her pulsing pussy.
There’s a weird hum of nerves buzzing beneath my skin. I’ve touched a lot of women a lot more intimately than this. Most of them, I didn’t even know their last name.
I forgot—or maybe I’ve never experienced—what it’s like to touch someone and care. Notice how they react. Observe every response.
Even in the darkness, I can’t focus on only the sensation. I’m hyperaware it’s Sophia reacting.
I press a finger into her pussy, unable to contain the groan when I feel her cunt clench around me.
She’s so wet that she’s drenching my hand, so wet that I can smell her arousal, mixing with the floral scent of her shampoo and the lavender laundry detergent I accidentally purchased because I just assumed the packaging here was purple. But she’s so tight; it’s still a struggle to fuck her with my fingers.
I’m fully hard now, and there’s also something erotic about ignoring the arousal and focusing on her pleasure. Of knowing my gratification will be delayed.
