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I bend one leg at the knee and rest it against the back of the couch. The other one I leave outstretched. My heart rate spikes as I run my hand down my stomach and pull my nightshirt up to my waist. I’m already clenching at the possibility of getting off.
I hear movement below me. Tristan is home. A thump and other low noises follow. Whatever. It’s fine. I can do this. I drag my fingers through my folds and sigh as I brush my clit. Oh yeah. It shouldn’t take long. I close my eyes, sliding a finger inside, withdrawing to drag the wetness over my clit and circle a few times. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my moan.
I try pulling the pillow beside my head over my face, but it’s too hard to breathe, so I toss it on the floor. I find my vibrator and run the smooth head between my folds, sliding it inside me to muffle the sound before I turn it on.
Tristan’s bedroom door opens, and I quickly turn off the vibrator. He rummages around in the fridge. Two minutes later, he disappears back into his room. I should be good for a while. I can get this done in five minutes.
I turn the vibrator back on and angle it to hit the right spot. At the same time, I circle my clit with my fingers. I close my eyes, but I’m tense, aware Tristan is below me.
And because my brain is an asshole, it keeps going back to that first night when I watched him whack off. Now I’m picturing him on his bed, jerking it while I’m up here jilling. I try to redirect my imagination. If that magazine I borrowed from the workout room was within reach, I might look at that freaking milk ad. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Tristan fisting his goddamn enormous cock.
His bedroom door opens again. I turn off the vibrator. My pussy is raging. I’m so on edge now. I just want to come. This time Tristan uses the microwave. I make slow circles around my clit to keep the vibe flowing—it won’t be enough to tip me over. Eventually he returns to his room. Then comes out thirty seconds later. The door closes again.
I turn the vibrator to full blast and jill off in earnest. I need to come before Tristan makes another appearance. But I can’t seem to get there. I’m teetering on the edge, but every time things tighten up, an image of Tristan pops into my head. And I can hear him below me. Whatever. I’ll use him as fodder. I close my eyes and go back to the time I brazenly faked an orgasm in front of him. I hadn’t meant to grind on him, but then he’d put his hand on my hip, and his thigh somehow ended up between my legs.
I imagine what it might have been like if we’d given in to the electric draw. If he’d pulled me closer. If his mouth had been on mine, his hands in my hair, the sting soothed by the feel of his soft lips against my neck. The rough pads of his fingers working between my thighs.
The gritty sound of his voice when he’d called me bad little Bea.
I give up being quiet and pull out the clit sucker. I’m so close. It won’t take long now. It lights up, then promptly dies. Shit. It needs to be charged.
When Tristan comes out of his bedroom for a fifth time, I lose the battle to stay quiet. “Can I help you with something?” I snap.
“All your masturbating is making me hungry.”
That fucker is fucking with me. I yank the still-humming vibrator from my angry, extra juicy vagina and rush to the railing, pushing the duvet-curtain aside.
He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs and nothing else. My eyes rake over his ridiculously cut body, memorizing the dips and curves for later. I hate that I appreciate his hotness. My empty vagina clenches as my gaze reaches the massive erection impressively tenting the front of his boxer briefs.
“You’re really going for it, eh?” He has the audacity to adjust himself.
I don’t know what I’m thinking as I hurl my still-buzzing vibrator at him. Maybe that it will bean him in the head?
He catches it out of the air. His eyebrow rises as he inspects my silicone pleasure friend. “One, fuck you.” He holds up his middle finger. “And two…” He maintains his grip on the vibrator as he fires a second middle finger my way. “I’m keeping this.”
“Wait. What?” I scramble to the ladder and climb halfway down before I miss a step and fall to the floor, landing on my ass. “Give it back!” I jump to my feet and sprint across the condo as he disappears into his bedroom. I try the knob, but he’s locked it. I pound on the door. “Give it back. Right now, Tristan!”
