Heart In A Cage

40

Isabella

The first thing I realise when I wake up: I'm horny.

Last night he wouldn't touch me, let alone come near me, so now all I can think of is how good it would feel to revive the sexual tension between us and have those big, tattooed hands wrap around my throat, slither over my breasts, then down to my stomach, and circle between my legs until I...until...

I hop up and rush towards the dresser.

Ever since I'd been invited to this house, I hadn't needed to use a vibrator. Andreas was always there, just as absorbed in a pool of sexual desires as I am, inclined to fuck me or touch me or play with me. But in recent times—well, last night—he'd been lulled to sleep by his annoyance with me.

So now the only choice I'm left with is to sift through the bottom drawer he had dedicated to my belongings and decide whether I want to use the purple vibrator he purchased me almost a year ago or the blue one that Aya had snuck me the other day despite being recommended I shouldn't fuck myself.

I chew on my lip, weighing out non-existent odds. I take the purple one.

I slip back beneath the blanket, furtively reclining my head against a pillow. The mattress creaks, but I receive no reaction from Andreas, courtesy of him being a deep sleeper. Just to guarantee safety, I tap his nose and press harder when silence remains. If he ends up waking, then those dark eyes will witness quite the show. I consider rolling him onto the other side.

I glimpse his features intensely. It's not every day that I'm able to observe them without his awareness. But now, I can take notice of the stubble on his face that grows longer, the thickness of his brows which manage not to tangle together, the dip of his cheek that creates a hollow, the unbelievable length of those eyelashes that cross over together and curl against his eyelids.

I want to touch him. Remind myself of how it feels to have his fingertips trace me.

My shorts slide off, and then I'm letting myself relax.

One hand steals beneath my tank top, spreading over my breast, and the other pulls my panties to the side. I drift the vibrator over my wet skin, and gasp when it curls into me, deep enough to stay in place on its own. I make sure he's asleep, that I can't see his gorgeous eyes through the room's cascade of darkness, then turn the device on.

At first, the vibrations are light. They rumble beneath the surface of my skin, hitting that spot that throbs and wants more. I squeeze my nipple between two fingers, pricking my breast with a small gratifying pain as my tank top creeps up to the gentle movements of my hand.

I click on medium speed and get more stimulation, my hips moving in circles and making sure I get the most I can out of Andreas' gift. My fingers rest on my thigh, gripping firmly, holding onto the flesh to stop myself from flinging my hand to his thick set of abs and digging each of my nails into his muscles.

I tighten the hold around my breast to refrain from moaning aloud. It's instinct to look at him, make sure he's asleep. He's still turned to me, face devoid of any of the irritation that had been bottled up while he was awake, put to rest as sleep opened up its arms and took him into a deep embrace.

I don't think he'll wake up soon. His shoulder is too heavily rested on the bed, all his weight sinking into the mattress, arms and legs and everything else far from taut.

His presence invites itself into my mind, replaces the hands on me with something made of my imagination—his fingers on my skin, grazing my inner thigh, pushing into my breasts. It's him touching me, caressing me, taking me to a climax.