Page 17 of Little Did You Know

I was already attracted to her, and it made it worse that she would be living with me for a while, which made her off-limits, and now the thoughts of her pleasuring herself were going to terrorize every inch of me! My dick was already excited; it was so hard it painfully pulsated against my shorts. And speaking of masturbating, it looked like I'd be heading to the shower now.

My chair scraped against the patio tiles as I stood abruptly, angling my body away from the table. "I should go get ready for work." The words came out strained, barely recognizable as my own voice.

Just when I thought my manhood was at maximum capacity, she smiled—a gesture somehow both innocent and devastating. "I'm going to hang out here for a while." Her fingers played with the condensation on her water glass, drawing small, absent circles that my eyes couldn't help but follow.

I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak again, and retreated. Each step toward the house was deliberate, a conscious battle for control. I retreated into the living room, each step an awkward negotiation with my dick begging for a release. The cool air of the living room hit my flushed skin as I crossed the threshold, the temperature change doing nothing to clear my head.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched in front of me like sheets of liquid silver—a fortress of mirror-tinted glass that had kept the paparazzi's hungry lenses at bay. Now they served a different purpose, transforming into a private theater where I stood in the cool shadows while she moved through the sun-drenched morning, unaware of her audience. I told myself I was just catching my breath, just gathering my thoughts before heading upstairs. But even as I formed the excuse, I knew I was lying.

I couldn't touch her, because that would break all my rules, but I didn't have rules against watching her and touching myself.

She drifted toward the pool like a dream. Each movement was casual grace, unaware of its power. When she knelt by the water's edge, trailing her fingers through the surface, my grip tightened on the doorframe. The morning light painted gold across her shoulders, down the elegant curve of her spine. My imagination supplied the feel of that sun-warmed skin beneath my palms, the soft gasp she might make if I traced that same path with my lips. The glass between us felt like the last thread of my control.

I freed myself from my shorts, pulse hammering in my palm as I wrapped it around the base. I slowly stroked my length, thumbing the tip before gliding down and back then repeating the action over and over.

Time stretched, fractured. Outside, she bent toward the water, enough of her ass hung out to fill my dirty imagination for weeks, completely unaware of her audience.

Then—a pivot toward the glass. Our eyes met across impossible distance. A collision of gazes with the weight of touch. The bitter knowledge that she saw only her reflection while I witnessed everything made something dangerous uncoil inside me. She stretched, studied herself in what she thought was a mirror, every movement an unconscious performance for an audience of one.

My gaze followed her bending from side to side, making her large tits sway with her. Using the moisture from the tip I increased my pace. I wanted to savor the moment, the feeling but I was working with limited time before she came in or Arlena came back from the store.

Olivia stretched upward, giving a clear view of every inch of her from head to toe; my eyes traced the curve of her delicate throat before moving down from her tits to her tight abs, and her tanned and toned legs.

My hips pumped forward and back driving myself faster and harder working in sync with my hand and I hissed as I imagined what it would look like, feel like with her on her knees and her pretty lips wrapped around my wide head.

I'd never been so turned on,ever. The ache in my cock built as the tension coiled tighter and tighter with every thrust. My balls tightened as my heavy breathing filled the quiet room.

I was so fucking close. So fucking close to reaching the release I’d craved for months.

My hips snapped forward and my grip tightened as every muscle in my body clenched. My eyes were still on her as I pictured my mouth on her, tasting her smooth skin, making her scream my name, and that image was all it took. I growled her name as I released myself into my hand.

I pressed my forehead to the cool glass as I came down from my high.

I'm so screwed.

The realization came with neither guilt nor shame—only the hollow certainty that the lines I'd spent years carefully drawing had just been crossed. I cleaned myself with mechanical precision, using my shorts to hide the evidence of what I’d done.

Though I'd experienced the best orgasm I'd had in a long time, it hadn't been enough. By the time I made it to the shower, I'd pictured Olivia in all kinds of different sexual scenarios that left me hard again. I was waging a battle against my mind and my cock. My mind told me that I was crossing dangerous lines, but my cock was telling me ‘fuck those line.’

I had to get out of this house. Most of my blood flow was in my dick, and I was afraid I was in danger of brain damage from loss of blood to the brain.

I listened for her movements through the wall as I dressed, timing each action to avoid an encounter I simultaneously dreaded and craved. The shower in the guest bathroom shut off. A door opened. Closed. The subtle creak of floorboards tracked her path down the hallway. I paused, one hand on my tie, waiting to see if her footsteps would continue past my door or stop before it. Each second stretched like taught wire. When her door clicked shut down the hall, I released a breath—equal parts relief and disappointment.

I managed to get out of the house without running into her. It felt wrong to leave without saying goodbye, but my body couldn't handle seeing her again. I needed a break, and hopefully, my mind would take one, too.

Chapter Nine

Work became my sanctuary. It was the only thing that would keep my mind from wandering. I'd at one point considered calling one of my regulars for an afternoon blow job, but that was enough to lose all interest. I didn't want them; I wanted what I couldn’t have—Olivia.

"Good morning, Mr. Pearson." Hannah breezed into my office, her heels clicking against the marble floor in a rhythm that matched my growing headache.

I glanced up from my laptop, biting back a comment about her questionable wardrobe choices for Olivia. "Morning, Hannah."

She dropped a thick file onto my desk, the thud making my coffee ripple. "Here's the paperwork you asked for." Her nails drummed against the folder. "How's Olivia?"

"She's fine." I reached for the file, hoping my curtness would end the conversation.

Hannah lingered, adjusting her bracelet. "That's good; I was worried she would be discouraged after last night."

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