Part 12 (1/2)

”This is the s.e.xiest thing I've ever seen.”

It's Chance's voice.

My body is frozen. I slap the s.p.a.cebar key to pause the video, and in the reflection on the monitor I see him standing in my open doorway.

Why, oh why didn't I close the door? Because n.o.body is home! Oh, I can't believe this is happening to me.

I pull my skirt down, put my legs down, and press my knees together. I swivel the chair around, even though I don't want to. I turn to face him, knowing I can't hide from this, knowing I can't just vanish into thin air.

My cheeks are burning. I know he's going to have that stupid and annoying smirk on his face. I know he's going to have some smarta.s.s thing to say.

But what else can I do? It's not like I can just pretend he's not there. It's silly to think that maybe if I sit still for long enough, don't turn around for long enough, he'll just disappear.

”What are you doing in my house, Chance?” I ask as I turn, finally meeting his eyes. I try to imbue my glare with stony indifference, like I don't care that he just caught me touching myself to p.o.r.n.

That's when I notice that he's not really smiling. No, he's got another look on his face... something hungry, something I saw at the beach.

”I saw your door was open as I was driving past. I came to check on you, since I know you're alone these days.”

It must have been Jess who left the front door open. G.o.d, so this is all her fault!

”I'm fine,” I say, looking anywhere but his eyes. My ears are now on fire in addition to my cheeks, and I'm trying to get angry at him, trying to find some way to displace my embarra.s.sment into some less awkward emotion, but I find that I can't.

A silence falls between us, and that's when I notice that he has a hard-on. I can see the outline of his c.o.c.k through his jeans.

I look up at his eyes, feel this insane urge to just rush over and kiss him, and as I s.h.i.+ft in my seat, he shakes his head.

”Don't get up.”

I blink. ”I, uh-”

”Keep going.”

I bunch my brow and shake my head. ”What?”

He nods at the computer monitor. ”Keep going. I want to watch you.”

A storm rages in my mind. Half of me for some crazy reason wants to do it, wants to let him watch me. It makes me feel s.e.xy that he wants to, makes me feel desired... even a little naughty.

The other half of my mind is horrified at the thought of... performing for him.

My heart is thumping in my chest. I can hear it like the hooves of a racehorse. Blood is roaring in my ears. It's like there is a hurricane around me.

I'm breathing quickly, but I realize that my ears aren't burning any more.

I realize that, for some stupid reason, this is what I want. He keeps calling me little-miss-smart but I'm anything but if I want this. I know it's stupid because he's bad for me, because sooner or later, I'm going to get hurt.

Either he'll hurt me, disappoint me, or I'll leave to England, and never see him again.

But, oh G.o.d I so want what's bad for me. Chance is bad for me. There is no possible way in this universe that he can ever be good for me.

It's idiotic.

I want him because he drives me crazy. I don't want him to leave my room. I want him to watch me.

And I want to watch him.

”Only if you do,” I say. My voice is barely a whisper. I'm putting myself out there. I'm walking the plank. I'm stepping onto that tightrope with no harness or safety net.

”Okay,” he says, without hesitation. ”But I want to see your body.”

”I want to see yours,” I counter. It's the truth. It was always the truth.

We stare at each other, a pregnant pause, and then he's pulling his t-s.h.i.+rt off his amazing body, and I watch as his carved, lean lines come into view.

He nods at me, fire in his eyes, and I pull my tank top up over me, and unhook my bra. It's the first time I've ever been naked in front of a boy, but somehow I don't feel the sting of modesty.

He's working at his belt buckle next, and when he steps out of his jeans, I see the shape of his manhood pressing through his tight boxer-briefs.

”Your turn,” he says, and so I unb.u.t.ton and unzip my pleated skirt, and pull it down over my legs. I'm still sitting in the chair, and he's standing up in the doorway.

The words leave my mouth, but it's like it's not me that's speaking them: ”Come closer.”

Naked but for his underwear, he steps toward me. I watch as his whip-cord tight body ripples, as I can see each muscle flex and relax as he walks. His tattoos give his whole right side of his body a darkened edge, and they're s.e.xy looking, accentuating his figure.

I nod at his underwear, and he removes it, pulling it down. His c.o.c.k springs out from a tuft of trimmed pubic hair, thick, dripping pre-c.u.m.

He's pretty d.a.m.n big. Definitely bigger than the guy I was just watching in the video.

I pull my own underwear off, and just as I'm about to drop it to the floor he sticks out his hand.

”Give it to me.”

I look at him with horror. He wants my underwear?

But then my gaze trails down his body. The sight of him naked makes something rumble deep inside me, and my eyes settle on his hard c.o.c.k.

I hand him my underwear a so glad I wasn't wearing a ratty old pair, or, heaven forbid, granny panties a and watch as he presses them against his nose and inhales my scent.

”You smell amazing,” he groans, and he brings his other hand down to wrap around his c.o.c.k, and he starts pumping himself.

I just sit there, staring, watching him while he jerks himself off, watching as his stomach muscles crunch, as his arms flex, as he works himself while he smells me.

So I start to touch myself, too. I turn to face him fully, and I don't bother with the video. We won't need it.

I'm turned on like I've never been before. He's putting on a show for me, and I am determined to put one on for him as well.

I lift my feet up onto the chair, spread my knees, and begin to rub my c.l.i.t. He watches me out of hungry eyes, and I watch him out of hungry eyes.