other beneath his pilow to pul out a bottle. My lube came
with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he
with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he
sprayed his hands and cock liberaly before tucking it back
under his pilow.
I didn't laugh because this was funny, but because this
secret glimpse into his private sex life was so adorable,
and told me a lot. He jerked off a lot and didn't bring
women home to sleep over very often—people who
shared their beds frequently didn't keep their sex supplies
under the pilow. My earlier assessment had been right.
People and cars passed on the street below, but I didn't let
that distract me from the show across the way. I heard the
squeal of tires and rumble of an occasional engine as wel
as the hum of the parking-garage elevator, but nobody
arrived or left on this level. Tucked against the concrete
pilar with the wal in front of me and the night wind
occasionaly blowing the scent of the river over me, I
immersed myself in what he was doing and wished I were
with him.
I pressed my thighs together against the ache of arousal as
I watched Eric stroking himself. Slow, then faster. I
watched his prick disappear inside his curled fingers,
watched how he added an extra stroke around the head
and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give
and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give
his bals some attention, too. I watched, and I thought of
how I could get the chance to show him what I'd learned.
I couldn't hear him, but I could see his mouth open and
watch his face contort with pleasure. His fist pumped
faster, slick with lube, and his hips rose and fel to meet
every stroke. If I were on top of him now, he'd be pushing
deep inside me and my clit would be hitting his bely with
every thrust. My cunt clenched as I watched, my clit hard
and begging for more than the press of my panties against
it. But I didn't touch myself. My fingers gripped the
concrete, the pebbly surface biting into my fingertips and
keeping me centered. Reminding me I was not in any place
where I could risk shoving a hand down my pants and
jiling off. I was risking enough standing here and watching.
My body might crave the same sort of release Eric was
giving himself, but my brain wouldn't alow me to act on it.
Later, I promised myself grimly as sweat lined my hairline
and trickled down my spine, tickling like a tongue. Just a
few more minutes and he'd be done, and I'd go home and
finish this.
I licked salt from my upper lip and imagined it as the taste
of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my
of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my
thigh muscles. God, it felt so good I did it again. And
