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Definitely sounds like something weird I would’ve said when I was that age.
“I started to understand that’s why you had your headphones on so much back then. Music makes things beautiful too.”
I slow my hands on her hair. My dad was always on my case for shutting out the world with those headphones.
But…
“You’ve been practicing making something beautiful in your head for a long time, haven’t you?” she asks me. “And it worked, until it didn’t anymore.”
A lump seizes my throat.
She’s right.
I don’t think I even realized what I was doing back then until she said it just now, but the headphones helped me love the world around me. It set my mood. I needed them a lot.
Eventually, though, they weren’t enough. I had to leave.
She turns her face a little. “Can I turn around now?”
I’m still hard.
“Your eyes will be kind,” she says in almost a whisper, and I realize she’s nervous about me seeing her too.
I clasp her upper arm, nudging her around to face me.
Our eyes meet, but not for long. Her gaze trails down my chest, and the closer she gets, the harder I become.
She licks her lips and inhales deep as she takes me in, and in the inches between our bodies, I soak her up. I take my time because she’s letting me.
Droplets of water dot her breasts, making it look like sweat, and I know the curve of her waist would fit my hand perfectly. I lower my gaze to her flat tummy and the thin strip of hair between her legs.
I frown.
It doesn’t grow like that. She’s getting waxed. Why?
My mom has been very vocal that she only endures that hardship for my dad’s sake.
I relax, though. She says no one has ever seen her naked, so I know it’s not for a boyfriend.
“Do you ever rub one out?”
I shoot my eyes back up to hers, processing her question.
Rub one out? Do I ever masturbate? Is she kidding?
I arch a brow, and she chuckles, rolling her eyes at herself. “I mean, howoftendo you rub one out?”
I laugh, rubbing my jaw. “A…a lot,” I finally reply. “You?”
Her cheeks get rosy, and she looks away shyly. “A lot.”
My chest swells with a hundred fucking emotions. I can’t believe we’re talking about this.
She turns to the wall, propping her foot up on the ledge and grabbing her razor, running it up her leg. I can’t take my eyes off the curve of her ass, her toned thigh, the water spilling down her body. She sees me looking, her gaze falling to my dick again. She opens her mouth, looks at me, closes it, and then opens it again. “Can I…?”
But she doesn’t finish her question.
“What?” I press.
