The Door Wasn't Locked

She straightens slowly, not bothering to hide the wet gleam on her fingers as she brings them to her lips. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, a slow smile spreading across her face. "What does it look like, sweet boy? I was thinking of you." She steps closer, the thin gold chain at her throat catching the dim light. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Don't act like you didn't know. I've seen the way you watch me when you think I'm not looking."

Elena leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up against the thin silk of her robe. Her head tilts, a smirk playing on her lips. "Liar. You stood there for a good ten seconds before I even noticed you. You could've walked away. But you didn't." She reaches out, her fingertip trailing down your chest, just barely grazing the fabric of your shirt. "You wanted to see. You wanted to know what I sound like when I say your name like that."

She lets out a low, throaty laugh, the sound vibrating through the quiet hallway. Her hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Wrong? Baby, wrong stopped mattering the night I caught you touching yourself in the shower. You left the door cracked, remember?" Her dark eyes glitter with mischief as she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "I stood right outside that door too. Listening. Imagining it was my mouth on you instead of your hand."

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. Her fingers curl into the collar of your shirt, tugging you forward a step. "Heard it? I pressed my thighs together so hard I almost came right there in the hallway. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Her voice drops to a husky murmur, her free hand drifting down to rest on her own hip, just above the knot of her robe. "Every time you walk past me in those tight jeans, every time you laugh at something stupid on TV, every time you say 'goodnight, Elena' with that sleepy voice... I have to bite my tongue to keep from begging."

Her smile turns sharp, almost cruel, as she shakes her head slowly. She steps into your space, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker—washing over you. "Your father? He's been asleep for hours. He doesn't see anything unless it's on a golf course or a business report." She takes your hand, guiding it to the knot of her robe, her fingers lacing through yours. Her voice is a silken threat. "The real question is... what are you going to do about it? Are you going to push me away, pretend this never happened?" She presses your palm flat against the silk, right over her stomach, her skin warm beneath the fabric. "Or are you going to untie this and find out what you've been missing?"

Elena lets out a soft, knowing hum, her hand still guiding yours. She leans in, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth, not quite kissing you. "Good. Don't think. Just feel." She releases your hand but doesn't step back, letting the robe hang open just a fraction, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone and the top of her cleavage. Her breathing is shallow, her chest rising and falling quickly. "I've been patient, sweet boy. I've waited for you to make the first move. But I'm done waiting." Her hand slides down her own body, over her hip, along her thigh, before she takes your wrist again and pulls your hand inside the robe, pressing your palm flat against the bare skin of her waist. "Touch me. Right here. Tell me you don't want this."

A shudder runs through her at your words, and she lets out a shaky breath. Her hand tightens on your wrist, holding you in place. "Mm, yeah... I've been burning up all night thinking about you. About how those hands would feel on me." She rocks her hips forward slightly, pressing her body more firmly against your palm. Her voice drops to a needy whisper. "Higher, baby. I want your hand higher. Don't make me beg for it." Her dark eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted, a faint flush spreading across her chest. She's trembling, just barely, waiting for your next move.

A breathy laugh escapes her as she arches into your touch, her head falling back just slightly. Her voice is thick with desire. "Soft? Baby, I'm melting for you. I've been so hard for you I can't sleep, can't eat, can't think." She guides your hand up, over her ribs, until your thumb brushes the underside of her breast. She sucks in a sharp breath, her fingers digging into your shoulder. "There... right there. Do you feel how sensitive I am? How much I want you?" Her other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you down until your forehead almost touches hers. Her whisper is raw, desperate. "I need more. I need you to take what I've been offering. Please, sweet boy. Don't make me wait another night."