Page 125 of Vying Girls
‘Would you rather I waited outside?’
She laughs out a hesitant breath. ‘I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not. I thought you didn’t want… Are you tricking me?’
‘Have you ever known me not to be serious?’
She shakes her head wordlessly, phone forgotten in her hands. She stares at me. I stare back, aware of my breaths sounding louder through my nose.
‘Nic…’ she whispers.
I tilt my head. ‘Hm? Is this not what you had in mind when you left that kiss on my bed?’
‘I don’t know why I did that.’
I chuckle darkly. ‘Oh, I think you do. I don’t have a fucking clue, but I think you do.’
Her phone pings again. We glance at it, then back at each other.
I see the exact moment she makes up her mind. The resolve settling over her face, phone dropping to the tent floor. Not taking her eyes from mine, she lowers a hand beneath the sleeping bag.
‘This better not be a trick.’
I don’t reply, can barely breathe. There’s movement under the quilt, the material bunching slowly, rhythmically. Is she really doing it? Or is she the one tricking me? I watch her face carefully. It doesn’t change. There’re no heavy eyelids, no gasps. She just watches me defiantly.
‘I’m doing this for them.’
I grin. So fucking full of shit. Both of us are. ‘Sure, cutie. Just keep that hand moving.’
Now she caves, a loud breath flowing from her lungs, her legs shifting to give her more room. She closes her eyes, blocking me off from that green fire. I frown, feeling bereft. I put a hand on her leg until she opens them again.
She runs her gaze over my dishevelled state, lingering on the amount of chest bared through the unbutton shirt. Her eyes meet mine. ‘I need some inspiration for this.’
It only takes half a second before I throw back the sleeping bag and straddle her. I work the button on my trousers almost frantically, shoving my hand inside and meeting my wetness. A breath escapes me, Tilda’s mouth falling open in response.
She touches herself faster, her breaths stuttering. ‘Are we doing this hatefully?’
I huff through my nose. ‘So hatefully.’
There’s a strange clarity in my mind as I touch myself above her. I’m not drunk. Not high. I’ve no excuse to be doing this. Nothing but being wet from hearing them all fuck for hours, my own orgasm barely touching the sides.
Maybe it’s the tent. The dark. The nearly full moon. Just another pocket away from reality and consequence.
‘I did this earlier,’ I find myself confessing. ‘Listening to you and the others.’
Tilda stares, something like awe in her face. ‘Tell me.’
‘Nothing to tell. I rubbed so hard, so fast, it was over in a minute.’
Her brow puckers, head pushing into the camping pillow. ‘You liked hearing me?’ she breathes, eyes closing.
‘No. Fucking hated it.’
She opens her eyes. ‘But you liked hating it?’
A smile curves my lips.‘Loved it.’
She hums, beginning to writhe now.
‘Do it faster,’ I demand through clenched teeth.
