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“I’m not going under your clothes. I’m not using my mouth. I’m not at any risk of giving you anything I may have.” His eyes stay on mine. “You can say stop. Or you can ride my thigh.”
I blink at him.
He doesn’t move me. He just sits there, broad and bare-chested and painfully hard in his boxers, offering me his leg like it’s the most reasonable solution in the world.
I rock once, more out of curiosity than anything. The pressure hits exactly where I need it and my breath catches.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” His voice drops. “There you go.”
He guides the next one. Not grinding me down, just a slow rock of his hands on my hips, showing me the angle, and then he lets me take it. I brace on his shoulders and roll my hips, dragging myself along the hard line of his thigh, sweatpants soaked, clit catching on every pass. It’s not enough and it’s too much. The cotton drags. The muscle under it is solid. I can feel the heat of him through both layers and it makes my thighs shake.
“Simon.”
“I’ve got you. Just like that. Don’t think. Use me.”
My forehead drops to his. He watches my face like he’s memorizing it, jaw clenched, cock straining in his boxers, untouched, and he still doesn’t reach for himself. He just holds my hips and lets me ride his thigh in messy little circles until I’m gasping against his mouth and trying not to be loud.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, and it’s almost funny, because he’s the one who sounds destroyed. “Theo’s asleep. Come on, sweet girl. Cum for me.”
I grind down harder. The friction burns in the best way. I’m so wet the sweatpants are useless, clinging, sliding, and every rock sends a shock up my spine. His thigh flexes under me on purpose and I whimper into his neck.
“That’s it,” he says, rough. “Right there. Don’t stop. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
I cum like that. Face buried in his shoulder, hands fisted against his sides, riding his thigh through the last of it while he holds me steady and doesn’t touch me anywhere he’s not allowed to. It’s sharp and embarrassing and so good my eyes sting.
I slump against him.
He’s shaking too.
I look down. His boxers are tented, a wet spot already darkening the fabric at the head, and his hands are locked on my hips as his muscles shake beneath me.
He laughs once, wrecked, and tips his head back against the headboard. “Fuck. Watching you. Feeling you soak through on my leg. I can’t—”
His hips jerk up, helpless, cock trapped and twitching, and he comes in his boxers with a broken sound bitten off behind his teeth. He grips my hips harder, not moving me, just holding on while it hits him, chest heaving, eyes shut, looking almost angry at himself for how fast it happened.
Then he goes still.
The room is very quiet except for Theo’s white noise and both of us trying to breathe.
“Fuck,” he says finally.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go get tested first thing Monday,” he says, “and even still… if you’re not ready. We’ll wait.”
My throat gets tight for a completely different reason than the bathroom mirror. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to go clean up before this gets worse. You can grab a pair of my sweatpants from my dresser if you want.””
I slide off his thigh. My legs feel like jello.
He stands, grimaces at the state of his boxers, and heads into the bathroom.
I stare at the closed door for a second and then press my palms into my knees.
Pull it the fuck together Blaire.
