Underneath, she’s wearing what can only be described as a granny bra. Enormous cups. Full coverage. Absolutely criminal.
Oh, Emily.
How much longer am I meant to watch you waste yourself in this grey little existence?
My mouth goes dry as she reaches behind her back. The clasp gives, and that hideous bra slides off her arms, crumpling to the floor like it’s been relieved of duty.
And there they are.
Soft. Heavy.Perfect.
She’s a mess.
A beautiful, curvy, delicious mess.
All belly and thighs and soft, tan skin that I want toworship. I want tomapher with my tongue. I want toteachher what her own body is capable of.
Fuck. I’m hard.
When she peels off her shorts and underwear, standing there completely bare, I nearly groan.
It’s like she’s offering herself to me. Like sheknows. Like she’s giving me permission.
So I do it.
I slide my hand down, stroking from base to tip, breath catching in my throat as I drink her in.
She climbs into bed too fast—damn it—but the damage is done. That image is scorched into me.
My fist works faster. The rhythm matching the thud of my heart. Her name slips out of me like a prayer—
And then I’m gasping, shaking, spilling into my boxers with a guttural sound that’s part relief, part hunger.
I don’t bother cleaning up.
Don’t bother tucking myself away.
Because she’s still there.
On-screen. Peaceful. Breathing slow.
And I watch.
Because she’s mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
3
I Can’t Let Her Go
Eli's Search History: How to track a phone without the owner knowing.
Eli
“Eli?”
Her voice hits like a drug—immediate, invasive, electric. My neurons light up the second it slides into my ears.