“What do you think about when you masturbate?”
That wasn’t the question she thought he’d ask. Of course, she hadn’t expected to find herself in his bed, writhing against his sheets, flicking her clit, and moaning, either. The smell of sexy man, aftershave, and soap had finally been too intoxicating to deny. And she certainly hadn’t expected to get caught.
When she’d walked into his bathroom, she buried her face in his still damp towel, as usual. His boxers were crumpled on the floor. It took all of her self-discipline not to inhale the musky scent of cock, balls, funk, and piss that were surely ingrained in the crotch. But she wanted to.
Maybe that was the problem. She’d denied herself for so long. He was never home at this hour. It would be safe to indulge herself a little. After throwing the towel and boxers into the hamper and tidying the bathroom, forcing herself to walk away from temptation, it was the sheets that did it. They were the catalyst that convinced her she could give in, just this once.
Those sheets, satin and smooth, had to be filled with his scent and, if she was lucky, his essence. Maybe he’d fucked a woman here, or a man. Maybe he’d stroked his cock in the middle of the night, fantasizing about a woman he wanted. She wasn’t stupid enough to think it might be her.
The sheets were to blame. Definitely.
It wasn’t as if she’d tried to get caught. Based on the time, she should have had at least an hour before he came back. Possibly more. Under normal circumstances, she was usually gone before he came back. They didn’t even pass each other in the lobby or at the elevators. Finding some relief wouldn’t take long, not with all of the built-up, pushed-down tension she’d carried around inside for the past few weeks.
Dropping her skirt to the floor, she gave a mental thanks to the universe that she hadn’t worn panties. It felt scandalous to walk out of the house completely bare under her clothes, but she loved smelling her desire when she was close to him, even if the closest she came was his dirty dishes and wet towels. This was meant to be.
When she heard the question, while fantasizing she was riding him, her breasts swinging in his face, just out of reach, teasing him as she was filled with his (she was sure) thick, long cock, she thought it was part of the dream. It took a moment for her fingers and brain to catch up with her ears.
“Well? If a man comes home early and finds a half-naked sexy woman humping his bed, doesn’t he have a right to know what she’s thinking about?”
What she should have done was jump off the bed, grab her skirt, apologize, and run without ever looking back. Maybe even quit her job. But one word stopped her. He thought she was sexy.
Her nipples turned into tight peaks, making her gasp as they rubbed against the bed. Her hand hovered over her pussy, unsure of exactly what to do. Fuck it, just go for it. The worst he’ll do is fire you.
“You. I was thinking of fucking you. Right here, right now.”
She heard the jangle of a belt buckle and the sound of fabric hitting the floor. “Well, good. I was starting to think I was the only one of us who wanted to fuck.”
She started to roll over when she felt the side of the bed dip. “Oh no, don’t stop. I want to hear how you sound when you come.” Her eyebrows flew up. “I need to know so I can make you scream even louder. And then you can finish cleaning the apartment.”
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! And yes, for once I used the prompt (sort of). The creative juices were flowing (thanks to working on the final Sir and Babygirl book – no really, I’m writing again) so this is the result. Okay, now that I’ve (hopefully) turned you on and surprised you a little, go forth and enjoy more yummy smut on this, the best of all days.