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My eyes flutter closed. It's not as if I've never touched myself before. I made it to twenty-one without ever having sex. I touched myself plenty. But never with an audience.
My breath goes all the way to my core. He's never done this before either. No reason to be self-conscious.
I slide my hand between my legs with a soft touch. It's a tease, at first, the kind of thing Miles would do. I work my way to my clit then back off again. Slowly. Until I can't take it anymore.
Through the speakers, his breath is heavy. Desperate. It stirs something in me. Makes me just as desperate.
No more waiting. No more gentleness. I rub myself hard.
It's not as good as when Miles touches me. It's lacking a certain patience, a certain heat. But it's still damn good.
The pressure inside me builds at record speed. I lose control of my breath. Of the sounds escaping my lips. I let out a soft moan. Then a louder one. My hand moves faster, drawing circles over my clit. I make the circles smaller and tighter until they're in just the right spot.
"Oh." My voice picks up. I'm almost screaming.
No room for shyness now. His voice is louder, heavier, more desperate. I'm affecting him, and that feels so damn good.
I rub myself until I'm at the brink. Deep down, I know this won't be enough to satisfy my craving. I need more than Miles's breath in my ear. I need his hands and his mouth and his cock.
The ache between my legs is so intense. Almost more than I can take. The pleasure in my arms and legs and chest spins inward, pooling in my core until it's a deep, desperate pressure.
A groan flows through the speakers. It sends me right over the edge. That pleasure drives a little deeper, squeezing me until I can't breathe. One more brush of my fingers and I come. My orgasm is pulses of ecstasy. The pressure releases bit by bit, spilling into the purest, deepest bliss.
Miles lets out a low moan. "Don't know how I can
follow that."
My cheeks flush. "You moan more than that on one Sinful Serenade track."
"Depends on the track." He growls. "You sound so fucking sexy. Can't remember the last time I was this hard."
"I want to hear you, too." No awkwardness. I have to say it. "I want to hear you come."
No snappy retort. There's some shifting, sheets moving, a body planting on the bed. He must be getting into position.
His breath gets heavier and heavier. He must not have control of it any longer. It's strained and desperate. I relax into my bed, letting the sounds of his pleasure wash over me. He moans, low and deep and purely animal. The moans get louder and lower. It's so much better than anything on any song—and I've paid very close attention.
"Mhmm."
He's not wasting time either. Everything that flows through my speakers is desperate and needy, like he wants this as much as I did. His groans run together. Louder. Higher. Like he can't control them at all.
There. He's coming. I'm not sure how I can tell, but I can. His voice strains. His breath gets choppy. He lets out one last moan, louder than I've ever heard before. Then, he's sighing in pleasure. His breath steadies. Still strained, but not completely out of control.
"Relaxed?" he asks.
"More like keyed up and wishing you were here."
"Happy to listen to you go again."
"I should get to bed."
"When's your last midterm?"
"Friday night. Why?"
"No reason." He exhales slowly. "Goodnight, Meg. And good luck."
"Goodnight."
