Page 31 of Paradox
I need to move.
All I have to do is take the handle, turn it, and walk.
But I can’t.
No matter how hard my brain is screaming at me to turn around, my body is slinking back to the front door.
There’s another moan. “Fuck, you look good like that.” And I know what I’m going to see before I even look.
He’s not covered by the quilt anymore.
His body, all of it, is bare to the warmth inside the cabin.
One hand is resting behind his head while the other pumps slowly, like he’s trying his hardest not to finish too quickly.
I know I should feel ashamed watching him, just like I know I shouldn’t wish I was closer. Or that the banister wasn’t blocking my view. But I don't. I want to see how his hand moves. How tight he grips. How hairy he is. I want to know how far down his tattoos go. And, damn it, I want to know why I’m hard too.
I know I could get caught any second. I’m not even trying to hide, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t leave right away; I was meant to see this. I was meant to feel this way. I was meant to know what desire actually feels like.
I’m holding onto so much hatred for him, but it only makes me breathe faster.
Eden bends one of his legs and starts bucking up into his fist.
He’s so strong, so muscular.
His voice is so low and unapologetic, like he wants me to hear him. Like he’s imagining me in my sleeping bag, desperate for him, knowing I won’t resist touching myself because I already am.
No girl has ever made me hard—not from a distance. If they grinded on me enough, sure. But I never wanted them to see all of me.
I want to feel the shame of being naked in front of him.
I want him to see how much smaller I am.
I want him to touch me.
I want to see his fingers spread out over my chest.
I want his hands around my waist.
I… want to come.
I lick my palm then reach inside my sweats.
I shudder, refusing to close my eyes. I need to see his strokes. Match them. Come when he does.
My eyebrows push together, and I bite my bottom lip to stop from moaning too. He’s doing enough of that for both of us.
Why did it have to be him? The man who made me feel worthless since I was old enough to want his approval. The man who gives no second thought to whether or not he should kick, slap, or punch me.
All he does is take and take without ever giving.
A tear runs down my cheek at the irony, but I don’t stop jerking off.
His speed is frantic, and so is mine.
I brace myself against the door with my forearm.
The hand behind Eden’s head flies out to grip onto one of the poles of the banister.
