CHAPTER NINE

HARPER POLSEN

In spite of how tired I was when I finally got up to my room, I feel restless now lying in bed. I’d stripped off my clothes and thought about taking a shower, but settled instead for just cleaning the make-up off my face and brushing my teeth and hair.

My mind is spinning with everything that I have going on. I have the big project waiting for me back in the city. A major novel by a famous author, and I’m the one in charge of it. I’m the one whose name is going to appear as the editor. I’m the one who’s going to get listed in the acknowledgements.

But that’s not all that’s on my mind as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about Zane, and that fact, all on its own, is enough to drive me nuts. Of all the people in the whole world to catch the hots for, it has to be him? I think about the sight of him up on the ladder, tacking down the strings of lights for the party. I think about the lean muscle rippling under his skin, at his arms. The times his shirt rode up and I could see his abs.

I toss and turn in bed, not sure whether worrying about my first major book project or thinking about how hot Zane is is the worst thing. I turn over again and notice there’s light coming from the house next door. I realize that I left my curtains open — I’d changed just like I normally do in my apartment, but there the blinds are never open.

I tell myself that there’s no way that Zane saw me. He probably wasn’t even in his room yet, probably still downstairs talking to his parents or something. But I’m still naked, and I don’t want to risk being seen getting dressed in the morning, so because I’m not falling asleep anytime soon, I get up out of bed.

Before I can close my curtains, though, I see him. Zane, I hope, can’t see me, since I’ve turned the lights off in my room to try to get to sleep, but I can see him plain as day. He’s naked, and for a moment all I do is stand there and stare, he’s just as lean, just as muscular, as I had thought.

And then I notice what he’s doing. His hand is wrapped around his thick, fully hard cock. His eyes are closed, and I watch, fascinated, as he strokes himself steadily, his thumb and forefinger really working the tip. Heat washes through me and I can’t even remember the last time I wanted to be in the same room as someone else as much as I do right now.

Normally the idea of a guy jerking off doesn’t really appeal to me. It seems so crass, so gross in some way, but watching Zane work himself with his hand, I can almost hear him moaning and it makes me instantly wet.

I feel more than a little guilty watching him, but at the same time a little voice in the back of my mind asks the question, is he getting himself off because that’s a thing that guys do, or is it because he saw something? And if he saw me, is he getting himself off because he thought I was hot? As hot as I think he is right now?

Almost on their own, my hands start moving over my body. I imagine Zane’s hands instead of mine, tweaking my nipples and rolling them slowly, sending little tingling jolts of pleasure right to my pussy. I feel the tightness deep down between my hips, feel my muscles flexing and my knees feel wobbly in a way they haven’t in ages.

I pull a chair over to my window as quickly as I can and sit down, still watching Zane playing with himself in spite of how guilty I feel. “God, I’m sick,” I mutter to myself, even as one of my hands slips between my legs to start sliding along my folds. What would it even be like to have sex with him? I’d heard the usual rumors from girls at school. But that had been years ago, and besides, I never trusted rumors.

I imagine a stupid fantasy, something out of a bad porn, of going up to Zane’s room and asking him if he’d like a little help. Even as I shake my head at how corny the idea is, I’m pressing my fingers deeper, finding my clit by touch. Just the lightest brush of my fingertips against the little bead of nerves is enough to make me instantly hotter, instantly wetter, and I let the fantasy play out in my head without even questioning it.

Zane’s shocked to see me there naked, but he gets over it pretty quickly. After all, what guy wouldn’t? I imagine wrapping my fingers around his erection and starting slow, working up and down while I marvel at the girth of him, the length. I imagine Zane kissing me, dipping down to my breasts, claiming one and then the other with his lips and tongue even as he slips one hand between my legs to feel the warmth and wetness there.

I slide two fingers inside myself and press my lips together to smother the moan that rises in my throat. Zane’s fingers would be thicker, longer, probing me harder, but it’s good enough for now, especially with my thumb swirling around my pleasure center. Especially with the sight of Zane getting closer and closer to his own climax only feet away from me. I’m soaking wet, so slippery that suddenly it’s easy to think of how Zane’s cock would fit inside, no matter how tight I am.

I imagine Zane laying me down on his bed, kissing me again and then working his way down, down, until I’m trembling from how much I need him to get to the point already. In my mind, he buries his face against my pussy. I start working my fingers faster, spreading my legs wider as I imagine Zane worshipping me with his lips and tongue and his fingers. I can’t even really cover the moans leaving my throat anymore. The hand that isn’t working my clit cups and squeezes my breasts as Zane would, teasing my nipples as Zane would, making me even hotter.

I wish I had thought to bring my vibrator with me. But I’m stuck with just my hands as I imagine Zane finally pulling back and slithering up over my body to kiss me again, tasting a little bit like my own fluids. Then, oh God, I imagine him finally thrusting into me, inch by thick inch. I pull my fingers out completely and slowly sink them back inside myself, trying to duplicate the sensation, trying to imagine taking that thick, hard erection inside me.

By the time I finally hit climax, stars swimming in my vision, my whole body tensing and relaxing in little spasms of pleasure. I barely even realize that Zane has long since finished. The light is off over in his room, but I’m still stuck in my own little imaginary place. I keep myself going for as long as I can stand after the climax, but my clit is so sensitive, and my hand is wet from how hard I came. I sit in the chair a little while longer, catching my breath, letting my pulse slow, and stumble into my bathroom to wash my hands, to wipe myself off, before crawling back between the sheets to finally fall asleep.