Slowly, I set my own phone aside, and then strip my shirt and pajama pants, picking it back up to flash Spencer my newly nude self.
“Oh, come on,” he growls out, curling his lip up in a vulpine grin. “You're covering your chest with your arm, and … what the hell sort of panties are those? And why are you always wearing weird panties, Chuck-let?”
My cheeks go from pink to neon red.
“They're … you’ve seen these panties before,” I choke out, wondering why I still don't have that magic power to open up a hole beneath myself and fall into it. Death would be preferable to the level of embarrassment I'm experiencing right now. Yeah, okay, fine I’m wearing the crotchless panties that Micah found in my stuff when the boys helped me move. How coy must I be, to think everything is covered up when in reality, I’m flashing him the best bits? “The rest were … I had to wash them, and these …”
“Did you wear those just for me, Chuck?” he drawls, voice thick with lust. Oh, yeah, he’s definitely turned-on. And he most definitely doesn’t hate these crotchless panties as much as I do. “Tell me: did you fantasize about me pulling them off of you when you put them on this morning?”
“First off, you’re totally grasping at straws right now. Second, I'm only wearing them because I don't have any other clean ones,” I grumble, looking down at the big hole in my crotch—the hole in the fabric, I mean, not the … well, you know what I meant. I should've maybe thought about changing into something else before I stripped down to my skivvies.
“You still didn't answer my question,” Spencer urges, and I decide to distract him by slowly sliding my arm down my breasts to reveal, well, everything. His eyes sparkle, and he grins. “I still can't believe you were hiding them for all those months.”
“It sucked; it hurt,” I whisper, but I'm not really all that concerned with my breasts being bound. No, I'm all too focused on Spencer's reaction to them.
He strokes his hand down the length of himself, eyelids heavy and half-lidded. He’s watching me, his breathing coming in harsh, ragged bursts. I’d give anything to be there with him right now, lying with my head on his chest, my own hand taking the place of his.
As my thoughts run away with me, I slid my own hand under the panties, teasing some wetness up to rub myself. Spencer gets a nice view through the crotchless portion, but I don’t care. I want him to see. I’ve only got one free hand, but if I could, I’d touch my breasts, too. My nipples are aching, and all I can think about is Spencer’s hot mouth on them, his tonguing tracing circles around the stiff pink point.
Spencer groans and bucks his hips, thrusting into his hand, clearly imagining it’s me there instead.
“I want you so bad,” he whispers, his voice ragged and harsh.
“I can practically feel you, here.” My fingers dive in and Spencer makes this horrible, agonized sound, sweat beading on his forehead. He works himself faster and harder, and I match his pace. Our eyes both seem to drift up at the same moment, from our hands to our faces. Gazes locked, I work myself until he comes for me, spilling himself all over his own hand and stomach. The sight is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and within a few minutes, I’m climaxing, too, forgetting for a brief moment to be embarrassed that Spencer’s just lying there, panting and watching me touch myself. A small scream tears from me at the last moment, and relaxation floods my body.
I swear, I melt into those pillows.
For several minutes after, we just sit there in silence, staring at each other.
“You have no idea how much I miss you,” he says, and I shake my head.
“You have no idea how much we missed you when you went missing. Don’t ever do that to us again, okay?”
“I promise,” he says, but can someone really make that promise, to stay safe?
Sometimes that’s not entirely in our control, now is it?“I heard you up late last night,” Monica teases when I appear in the kitchen, groggy and bleary-eyed but smiling like an idiot. “Your new guy seems pretty awesome.”
“How much did you hear exactly?” I ask, pouring milk into a bowl and trying not to think about the Monica/Cody thing. She betrayed me, and things will never be the same. But also, I missed her. It's a weird conundrum, playing out inside my chest. Better to be here than with my aunt or mother though.
Seriously, like way better. I'm mostly left alone at the Peters’ place. Dad isn't happy about it, but I'm attending school, and my grades are so much better than they used to be. The curriculum at Adamson is so far beyond anything we do at SCHS that for once, I'm actually at the head of the class. Church's tutoring sessions certainly didn't hurt.
