16. Elhyor
16
Elhyor
I ’m finally alone, and normally, nothing would prevent me from getting a good night’s sleep.
That’s when I hear it.
The moan.
Her moan.
My first reaction is to think that maybe she hurt herself and is in need of help, so I run to the door.
My hand is on the handle, ready to open the door and barge in, when I hear her pants and moans mix.
All my blood goes south in a fraction of a second.
Isn’t she supposed to be a virgin?
I shake my head.
My teenage years were long ago—like, over two hundred years ago—and still, I can remember that I touched myself long before I buried my cock in a sweet cunt.
I can hear Brice in my head. Give her some credit.
The bastard’s advice shouldn’t be on my mind with my cock so hard and my thoughts swirling with the need to open that door and make her swear her fingers are the only thing that’s ever touched her.
No.
I shouldn’t even listen.
I’m sending her back.
My hand slides to my cock of its own volition.
Her moans grow louder, and still, I refuse to let go of the door handle as I adjust myself in my pants.
I should get away. I’m already on edge because I was cock-blocked earlier.
I also have the distinct feeling that I’m lying to myself when I think that it’s nothing and that it won’t change a thing.
That I’m going to be strong enough and not make myself come to the sound of her breathy moans.
Yeah. I’m lying.
I tried to come to the memories of her perfect little mouth just a few hours ago. There’s no way I can forget how she sounds when she’s touching herself.
I close my eyes, one hand still gripping the handle in a bruising way, and the other stroking myself through my pants.
I should stop. She could hear me.
Normally, she wouldn’t be able to hear me, but I have a suspicion that her side of the door is open, and I’m not willing to take a risk.
I can’t come as she does. It would create an intimacy I’m not ready for. Even if she doesn’t hear me, I’ll know.
I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t make any sense to anyone but me, but I know I can’t.
So, I keep stroking myself to the sound of her moans, not slipping my hand inside of my pants and boxers. Just enough pressure.
Until I can hear that she’s close. Her breathing picks up, and her moans become louder.
Fuck. I’m gonna need to make sure no one has the room next to hers or even the one after.
I might not want her as my wife, I might not want to claim her as mine, but I sure as hell don’t want anyone to hear her like this.
I don’t care if she’s my personal brand of hell, or if I have to go through hearing her come everyday multiple times a day, there is no way I’d let anyone hear my bride in the throes of an orgasm.
The moans continue to get louder, and I feel my heart beating faster.
If I don’t pay attention, I’m going to break that damn handle.
And then she comes… with my name on her lips.
Fuck.
It takes all of my self control not to barge in and take her in a punishing way for taunting me through our doors, but instead, I release the handle, as if it’s white hot iron, and as silently as I can, I go to my shower. I don’t even take the time to undress before I’m under cold water.
I’m so freaking fucked.