Chapter 6 Ilya #4
She doesn’t go out, as I’d thought she might.
She stays in, eating takeout Thai food and watching some reality show on her television.
She leaves it on some program that I can’t quite make out as she goes to sit at an easel, getting out pencils and paints and working as she sips wine.
I watch her from my couch, sipping vodka and ignoring my steadily burgeoning arousal.
And then, just after midnight, she turns off the television, takes her wine glass to the kitchen, and reemerges with a full glass to head to her bedroom.
She drank more than she usually does. Almost a full bottle of wine, if I counted the glasses correctly.
I watch her sip from it as she sheds her clothes, and I wonder if she ever thinks someone might be watching.
Surely she knows this building is across the street, that anyone could see into her bedroom.
That thought makes my hand tighten around my own glass, my jaw clenching.
I’m going to call the realtor in the morning, I think.
I’m going to buy the fucking building and evict every tenant, just to make sure no one else can possibly see her the way I am right now, pale and naked, silhouetted in her bedroom window.
My cock throbs. I let out a slow breath, anticipation curling through my veins. Except for my passive orgasm two nights ago, I haven’t come in over a week. Haven’t touched myself intentionally. And it’s driving me fucking insane.
She disappears into the bathroom with her wine glass, and I groan. I get up, my cock tenting the front of my sweatpants, and walk into the kitchen to refill my vodka. I sip it slowly, scrolling through pictures of her as I wait for her to emerge.
It’s an hour before she does. This time, when she sheds her towel, she doesn’t reach for something to put on.
The thrill that runs through me is indescribable, like electricity shocking my every nerve. I get to my feet quickly, walking to the window and standing as near to it as I can as I watch her cross to her bed and lay down on top of it.
Fuck. This is it.
She’s naked, so I should be too. I grab the back of my t-shirt with one hand, pulling it over my head and discarding it on the floor before shoving down my sweatpants and boxer briefs and stepping out of them.
My cock juts out in front of me, rock hard, the tip bumping against the glass and smearing pre-cum there as I stand watching, waiting for her to make the next move.
I want so badly to touch myself. But not until she does.
She lays back against the pillows, her hand brushing over her breasts.
I glide my fingers down my abdomen as her hand cups her breast, fingers working her nipple slowly, and I imagine how hard it must be, a tight peak against the soft flesh beneath.
I can imagine how sweet she would taste in my mouth, how warm.
I glide my fingers along the ridges of my abs as her hand works its way lower, my cock throbbing, the tip nearly touching my navel now with anticipation. It takes every shred of self-control I have not to reach for it, not to give myself the pleasure I’m so desperate for.
When her hand reaches between her thighs I finally, finally wrap my hand around myself for the first time in days, and the sensation of skin-on-skin is so intense that I let out a sharp hiss through my teeth.
Fuck. I watch as her head arches back, the long line of her neck graceful against the curve of her pillow, her back bowing as her hand moves between her perfect thighs.
I want to be the one there instead, for it to be my hand, my mouth, my cock giving her pleasure.
I want all her pleasure to come only from me, to be the one who owns it, controls it, who grants her orgasms and wrings them from her until she’s pleading for no more.
My hand moves up and down my length in long, slow strokes, trying to match my pace to what I can see of her movements.
I hiss again when my palm slides over the tip, my shaft slick with pre-cum that’s now flowing steadily.
My balls are tight and aching, my entire body desperate for release, but I hold back—
—and nearly lose it when I see her reach into a drawer next to her bed and pull something out.
It must be a toy. I groan aloud, a curse in Russian slipping out from between my teeth as I watch her slip the toy between her thighs, spreading them wider.
It’s something for penetration, and I grip my shaft tight at the base, squeezing to keep myself from coming before I’m ready.
Her back arches again, her body taut with pleasure, and I want her so badly that I feel like I’m going mad with need.
When I feel my orgasm ease back, I start to stroke again, moving my hand in time with the strokes of her toy in and out of her pussy.
I can imagine how she would feel—wet, tight, hot…
perfect, and my jaw tightens as I watch.
The sight of her fucking herself is intoxicating, but I don’t want any other cock in her but mine, not even a faux one. Nothing should fill her but me.
I want to be everything.
She’s getting close. Her hand is moving faster now, and I speed up too, moaning as my hand slicks down my length.
My hips are thrusting into my fist now, fucking my hand as if I’m fucking her, as if I’m the cock she’s sliding in and out of her pussy, and I clench the glass in my other hand tightly, tossing back the last of the vodka as I feel my orgasm approaching along with hers.
The moment she throws her head back, her hips and back arching off of the bed as she starts to come, I’m right there with her.
The sight of her coming sets me off past the point of no return, and I grind out her name in a ragged groan as cum spurts from my tip against the window, painting the glass the way I want to paint her face, her skin, the inside of her tight pussy.
“Mara… fuck—” I suck in a breath, panting as spurt after spurt erupts from my cock, my knees nearly buckling with the force of it.
I let go of my length to brace myself against the glass, staring at her as she shudders and goes limp, my cock still twitching and jerking as my cum smears across the window.
I can’t remember the last time I came so hard. It felt so fucking good. The release was intoxicating, so pleasurable that I want to do it again, and I can only imagine how it would feel to be there with her, to have her under my hands and mouth and body.
I need more. I need her.
I watch as she turns off the light, my body still craving more of the pleasure, but I force myself to ignore my still half-hard cock. That’s enough for tonight, I tell myself, reaching for my clothes as I go to find something to clean up with.
There will be more—more pleasure, more of her.
This is only the beginning for Mara and I.