Pandora's flush deepened, but she met my eyes. "I'm on birth control. So…we're safe."
Relief and heat tangled in my chest. I nodded once.
"I'm safe too." I studied her for a moment longer, letting the anticipation build. "Have you ever touched yourself, Pandora?"
She shook her head, eyes dropping to the porch boards for a second before lifting again. "No. Never."
Something about the simplicity of that answer settled into me with unexpected weight—the trust in it, the complete absence of performance. My cock twitched against the zipper of my jeans, already thickening at the thought of being the first to show her what her body could do.
I took a slow breath and moved to one of the wide wicker rockers, lowering myself into it. The chair creaked softly under my weight. I leaned back, spreading my thighs a little, and looked up at her standing there in front of me.
"Take off the shirt," I said, voice rough but gentle. "Slowly."
Her breath hitched. I watched the way her nipples tightened visibly beneath the flannel, the fabric shifting with each shallow inhale.
She was turned on by the command. I could see it in the way her thighs pressed together, in the slight tremble of her fingers as they found the top button, in the way her lips parted like she needed more air.
She undressed awkwardly, beautifully. No practiced seduction, just raw honesty. Button by button, the flannel partedto reveal smooth skin, the curve of her breasts, the soft dip of her waist. She let it slide off her shoulders and pool at her feet. Then she stood completely naked in the morning light, arms hovering uncertainly at her sides before she dropped them.
Fuck. She was perfect. Soft curves, flushed skin, the faint tremble in her legs. My cock strained hard against my jeans now, aching.
"Touch your breasts," I told her, keeping my tone steady even as my pulse hammered. "Cup them. Feel how heavy they are. Play with your nipples—roll them between your fingers, pinch gently."
She obeyed, hands rising to cover herself. A soft sound escaped her as her thumbs brushed over the tight peaks. Her eyes fluttered, but stayed on me.
"Now slide one hand down," I continued, watching every movement. "Between your legs. Part your thighs just a little. Run your fingers along your pussy. Tell me if you're wet."
Her hand moved lower, tentative. When her fingers slipped between her folds, her breath shuddered out. "I… I am. I'm wet."
"Good girl," I murmured, the praise slipping out before I could stop it. "Slide one finger inside yourself. Slowly. Feel how tight you are."
She did, a tiny gasp leaving her as her finger disappeared. Her hips rocked forward instinctively.
"Does that feel good?"
She nodded, biting her lip.
"Now find your clit," I said, my voice dropping lower. "It's that little swollen spot at the top. Circle it with your fingertip. Light pressure at first."
Her free hand stayed on her breast, kneading it now as the other worked between her legs. Her movements grew surer, breath coming quicker. Finally, her eyes drifted closed, lashes dark against her cheeks. She had to reach out and grip the porchrailing to steady herself, fingers wrapped tight around the wood. Her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat as her hips started to move in small, helpless circles.
She was close. I could see it in the tension of her body, the way her thighs trembled.
"Come for me, Pandora," I said softly.
A broken whimper tore from her throat as she did exactly that. Her knees buckled slightly, but the railing held her up. I watched every second of it—the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth opened on a silent cry, the slick sounds of her fingers slowing as the orgasm rolled through her.
When her breathing started to even out, I stood.
She was still leaning against the railing, eyes half-open and hazy, and she watched me pull my shirt over my head with an expression that did nothing to cool my blood. I held her gaze while my hands went to my jeans, unfastening them and shoving them down. I toed off my shoes and kicked everything—denim, shoes, underwear—aside in one motion. My cock sprang free, thick and hard, and I wrapped my fist around it, stroking once as I strode toward her.
Her breath caught audibly. Good.
"Turn around," I told her. "Face the railing. Grip it with both hands."
She did, spreading her legs for me without being asked. The sight of her like that—naked, flushed from her orgasm, offering herself—nearly undid me.
I stepped in close, the heat of my bare chest pressing flush against her back. Her skin was warm from the morning sun and flushed from her first orgasm, slightly damp with a fine sheen of sweat. The curve of her spine fit perfectly against me, and I could feel the rapid flutter of her breathing where her ribs expanded and contracted.