Roni Loren - Nothing Between Us

But that girl wasn’t her. Not anymore.

He pulled back before she could even attempt to get the nerve. He gave her that heartbreaker smile of his, though she could see the tiredness and strain lingering in his eyes, and stepped back onto her porch. The whole exchange had her wanting to reach out, run her hands along his jaw, and offer comfort—possibly of the naked variety. But all she could do was tell him good night and close the door.

When Georgia went upstairs a little while later, she tried to walk past the guest room without stopping in. But it was a siren call she couldn’t shut off. After slipping into her oversized nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the dark guest room. A few lights went on and off in Colby’s house, but eventually he appeared in his bedroom doorway. He shut his door and leaned against it. He ran a hand over his face in a fuck-my-life motion. It was the first time she could remember seeing him look so beat down. He headed into his bathroom. She knew she needed to close the curtains and go to bed, but she remained in her chair, somehow feeling less alone sitting here instead of in her room.

A few minutes later, she was rewarded with the sight of Colby stepping out of his bathroom with only a towel around his hips. His hair was still wet and his skin still damp. She picked up the binoculars. Colby turned off the overhead light, leaving his bedside lamp on, and then he glanced toward her window. Her heart stuttered for a second, but his gaze moved away as quickly as it had come. He undid the towel, exposing a backside that could inspire her to take up sculpting as a hobby, and tossed the towel into a hamper.

When he turned to the side, her magnified gaze tracked down his profile, tracing along the lines of his nose and jaw, going over his honed biceps and the cut of his hip, and then hovering on the hand he’d just wrapped around his quickly stiffening erection.

A shiver went straight through Georgia. She’d never seen him masturbate. She’d long ago assumed he did it in the shower or something. But tonight it seemed he had other intentions. She couldn’t pull her focus away from that big hand of his stroking upward. She could see the flesh start to broaden in his hand, the head going a darker shade.

But right when she was getting lost in the show, he moved out of the binoculars’ view. She quickly adjusted the focus, unzooming, and gasped when she realized he was looking right at her. She jerked back for a second, that caught! feeling racing through her. But of course he couldn’t see her. He was just looking that way. Maybe he was thinking about her? The idea sent warmth stirring low.

She held her hands steady on the binoculars, watching as something flared in his eyes—desire, need, maybe a little loneliness, all of it was in that look. But the moment passed and he turned away, grabbing something from a bedside drawer—a bottle of clear liquid. Without pulling back the covers, he stretched out on his bed and took himself in his lubricated hand, stroking in long, luxuriating motions.

God. Georgia was going to fucking lose it.

The tip of her tongue touched the center of her lip as she let the desire wake up her body. This hadn’t been her plan when she’d sat down in front of the window. She’d only wanted to see what kind of “friend” Colby had brought home. But now there was no way she’d be able to sit here and watch Colby pleasure himself without relieving the tension building between her thighs.

She kept her focus glued to Colby as she pulled open the drawer in the table that flanked the window and pulled out the small vibrator she’d stowed in there. She slipped her fingers inside her panties. She groaned under her breath at the feel of her touch and how wet she was already. Watching Colby flipped her switch like nothing else, it seemed. She turned the vibrator on to a low setting, which sent a shudder of pleasure up her spine, but she forced her eyes to stay open. Colby had cupped his balls with one hand and was sliding his fist along his shaft with the other. He didn’t look to be in any kind of rush, and Georgia imagined it was her there giving him that slow, sensual pleasure instead—teasing him until he begged for more. She knew he’d feel heavy in her hands and hot. She could only imagine how he’d feel sliding inside her. It’d been so damn long …

The slowly weaved fantasy made her sex clench around the vibrator and her thighs tighten. She wouldn’t last long at this rate. Her heartbeat was already pounding right behind her clit, the demand for release building. Colby looked to be getting closer as well, his movements speeding up and his thighs flexing.

She couldn’t wait for him. Her body seized around the stimulation and orgasm rocketed through her. She panted her way through the hills and valleys of it, tasting sweat on her upper lip. But right as she was drifting down from her quick high, she caught movement at the edge of her view. She swung her binoculars to the left.

Colby’s door had cracked open. A guy stepped a foot inside and his eyes went wide with an oh, shit expression as he realized what he’d walked in on. She couldn’t gather much about him beyond that he was relatively young and really surprised before he backed up. Everything was happening too quickly. But Colby hadn’t noticed the intrusion, apparently too lost in his final climb to release. Colby’s guest went to shut the door but then hesitated, leaving a crack where Georgia could only make out half his face in the low light. He seemed frozen there as he stared at the man on the bed. Colby came in a rush, his release landing against his stomach and chest, and the guy hurriedly shut the door before Colby opened his eyes.

Colby was never the wiser. But Georgia knew.

For once, she wasn’t the only Peeping Tom in the neighborhood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Keats cruised back to Colby’s guest room at warp speed, almost tripping over his feet in his effort to get the hell out of the hallway. That walk to the bathroom had not gone as planned. Apparently, it was the second door on the left , not the right. He shut his door silently and then collapsed against it, his blood pounding at his temples … and much lower.

He slid to the floor, clasping his hands behind his neck. Jesus Christ. He had stood there way too long. He’d been a half second away from Colby seeing him. That would’ve been fun. Hi, thanks for giving me a place to crash tonight. No, don’t mind me while I turn into a total creeper and watch you jack off.

God, what the hell was wrong with him?

He hadn’t been able to look away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how jerking off worked. He was rather fond of it himself. But realizing he was seeing Colby Wilkes without the teacher façade, just the man—naked—had frozen him in place. All the mixed-up feelings he’d had back in high school had rushed back in a flash. Back then, when he’d heard through the rumor mill that Mr. Wilkes sometimes dated guys, his mind hadn’t been able to let that go. Images had popped into his head unbidden and relentless—followed by fantasies he would’ve never admitted to out loud.

He’d used those fantasies on a constant loop to get off back then, only to follow up with all the guilt and shame that rushed in afterward. And here he was, twenty-fucking-three years old and those stupid teenage urges wanted to well up—that old inner voice calling him a fag and a cocksucker and disgusting. Words his father had supplied but Keats’s brain had latched onto.

He tapped the back of his head on the door. No. That wasn’t him anymore. He no longer believed that backwoods shit his father had pounded into him. People could screw who they wanted to screw. But he was straight. The weird fantasies about Colby had been a fluke, some wires crossing because Colby had been the only person he’d trusted, and he’d wanted to be closer to him—had wanted those student/teacher boundaries keeping everything formal to disappear. That was all. As soon as he left home, those mixed-up feelings had faded away.