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Fuck. I needed to get out of here.
I didn’t though. Instead, I reached out to brush my fingers across her cheek, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear.
Her blue eyes stared into mine, stormy and still damp from her tears and I yearned to climb into bed and hold her against me until she fell asleep safe in my arms.
But I couldn’t. It was an impossible dream, one that would only lead to her ruin.
So instead, I allowed myself one last touch, one last caress of my thumb across her cheek and then I forced myself to turn around and walk away.
It took every bit of my willpower, but I didn’t look back and my heart withered away into a dry husk with every step.
The sound of her door closing behind me was like the sound of my own heart shattering.
Once it shut, I stopped in my tracks and pressed my back against the door, taking a deep breath to try to gather my bearings once again.
I wanted her.
It was as simple as that.
I wanted her and I shouldn’t.
She was young, vulnerable, and I had absolutely no right.
With a heavy sigh, I walked down the hall until I reached my bedroom door, and I groaned as I closed myself inside, creating yet another barrier between the two of us. A part of me hated that it was necessary, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
Taking a deep breath, I looked around the room. It was spacious. When I moved forward, my steps echoed softly across the dark wooden floors.
I brushed my hand against the cold, smooth surface of the bedspread, the Egyptian cotton devoid of warmth without another to share it.
Every single bit of the room seemed to amplify the fact that I was alone.
Turning away, I strode across the floor, my hand trailing along the back of the leather armchair, its surface worn from evenings spent lost in thought. I had meticulously chosen each piece of furniture, yet none of it brought comfort tonight.
Reaching the edge of the bed, I sat down heavily, the mattress barely yielding under my weight. I looked toward the en-suite bathroom, its door ajar.
A shower might feel nice.
With a weary grunt, I pushed myself off the bed and walked to the bathroom, shedding clothes along the way. The cool air of the room brushed against my skin as I walked. I turned the knobs of the shower and when I was ready, I stepped inside, letting the hot water cascade over me. I hoped that it would wash away the turmoil bouncing around in my skull, but the steam only seemed to cloud my thoughts further.
I leaned against the cool tile, the water streaming down my back, and closed my eyes. Images of her, so close, so untouchable, played behind my lids. I wanted her—more than I was willing to admit, more than was right. And yet, knowing the depth of my own longing only made the barriers I had erected seem more necessary, and even more painful.
I forced myself to focus on the physical sensation of the water sluicing over my back, trying to drown out the yearning boiling inside of me. The steam filled my lungs, the heat seared my skin, and for a moment I could pretend like that was enough.
But it wasn’t.
I envisioned her bare bottom flexing over my knee as I spanked her, then the image of her arousal stringing between her thighs and her soft cries and moans as my hand struck her bare flesh.
Would she touch herself thinking about being put over my knee? Would she take care of that needy, wet little pussy and come hard while under my roof?
She would if she was in your bed…
Without meaning to, my hand drifted to my dick, my length already hard and heavy. My fingers brushed against the surface of my cock, and a frisson of pleasure made my balls squeeze tight.
I could pretend.
It was a fantasy.
But it was just a fantasy, right? That’s all this was. Nothing more than that. I was just a man taking care of his needs.
