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In my room, I strip out of my clothes and toss them in my hamper—I was downstairs for a whole fifteen minutes, and I’m already covered in beer—debating on a shower before I decide I’m too tired. If Jaxon’s not coming over, then what’s the point? I settle for washing my face and brushing my teeth, pulling on an old pair pajamas.
Leaving the bathroom, I turn off the overhead lights and switch on my reading lamp. Choosing a case from the row of Blu-rays in my collection, I pop it into my player.
I’m snuggled into bed with the lights off and the movie cued, but I don’t really want to watch it. What happened with Jaxon has been playing on a constant loop in my head. What he said. The way he touched me. The way his mouth felt against my neck. The strain of his hard cock, working and flexing against my throbbing center, fucking me through our clothes. Now that I’m not moving, focusing on the next thing I have to do, it all pushes its way to the front of my brain, so real, so vivid, I can feel my pussy start to pulse and swell. I’d be on the edge of an orgasm when we’d had to stop, and it left me feeling achy. Needy.
Closing my eyes, I let my hand slip past the waistband of my pajama bottoms, brushing between my legs, along the outside of my panties. I’m so swollen, so sensitive, the slightest touch makes me gasp. I draw my fingertips up the seam of my slit, the press of them instantly soaking the crotch of my panties...
My phone lets out a chirp, the sound of it so loud it startles me.
Expecting a don’t be lame, come back downstairs text from Bri, my heart leaps at my throat, getting stuck there when I see a text from a number I recognize.
Jaxon: I’m outside
your house.