Page 49 of Taking Turns

“Hurry up then. I’m tired and I need you to fall asleep before I do.”

He opens the glass shower door, grabs a towel off the rack, wraps it around his waist, and then walk out of the bathroom.

What do I think of this new development?

He can’t touch me, but he can use other things to touch me.

Yes, this could get interesting very quickly.

Smith, I think as I rinse my hair. He’s not really what I expected.

I expected the asshole he’s shown me he can be. The one who creeps around, breaks into my house, makes himself a key, and changes my alarm code.

But this no touching stuff. Why? And then to demonstrate how nice it can be by shaving my legs? Again, why?

“Chella,” he calls from the bedroom. “I’m fucking tired. Hurry up.”

What will he do now? Will he sleep next to me? How can he? If he can’t touch me, surely he won’t get in the same bed with me?

I turn the water off and step out, dry myself off with a towel, then wrap it around my hair and walk out into the bedroom, naked.

He’s sitting in a chair, his back to the window. His usually slicked-back dark hair is all tousled and wet. A few pieces of it fall over his eyes in long, soft curls. He’s not wearing a shirt, but he does have on a pair of sweats, the waistband tugged below his huge balls. And his hand is on his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watches me watch him masturbate.

“If you think I’m not gonna jerk off to you every chance I get, you’re insane.”

“And me?” I ask, unable to stop looking at his hand on his cock.

“I sincerely hope you do the same. I’ll be very disappointed if I watch you tonight and you don’t put on a show.”

So this is how it is.

My time with Smith will be nothing but self-pleasure.

No, that’s not all it is. It will be self-pleasure while he watches me.

“Put on the lingerie, take that towel off your head, and get in bed, Chella. Lights are going out in two minutes.”

He’s serious about the two minutes thing. I’m still messing with the alarm on my phone when he reaches over to the lamp next to his chair and flicks it off.

There’s a little bit of light from the street lamps outside, but he’s all shadow. “I can’t see you,” I whisper.

“You don’t need to,” he replies. “I can see you and that’s all that matters.”

“Will you get in bed later? Or will you leave?”

“I won’t leave,” he says. “But I won’t sleep with you either. It’s too much.”

“Too much trouble?”

“Too much temptation. Now tell me what you think of the game so far.”

I smile up at the patterns of light on the ceiling. “I think it might be fun.”

“Come for me, Chella. Come for me and I’ll come for you.”

We do that. I have my hand between my legs. My breathing is rapid as I try to create enough friction to orgasm. But in the end, it’s not my hand that gets me off. It’s him. From across the room. It’s Smith’s heavy breathing. His moans. His groans.

And when we come together, I get it. I understand what they’re trying to tell me with this rule.