Episode 2 — Fingers Crossed, Legs Spread
Mason hadn’t slept.
Not even a minute.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Felt her. The warmth of her lips wrapped around him. Her breath on his thighs. The glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she slid out of his bed like she hadn’t just undone him completely with her mouth. Her whispered goodbye replayed in his mind on loop: Goodnight, big brother.
His body still throbbed. His cock, drained but twitching with need again, pulsed beneath the sheets that still held her scent. His skin burned in places she’d touched. His thoughts spiraled between shame and hunger. What they did the night before was wrong by every standard he’d ever known—but that didn’t stop his hands from drifting under the covers at 3 a.m., stroking himself slow and silent, remembering the way she sucked him dry, the soft gulping sounds she made as she swallowed everything he gave her.
He came again, quietly, messily, biting his own wrist to muffle the groan. But it wasn’t enough.
The sun rose, and time crawled forward.
He eventually showered, standing under water that was far too hot, jerking off again like it might calm him down. It didn’t. When he came again, the orgasm was quick, frustrated, barely a tremble. Nothing like the hot, drawn-out ecstasy of her mouth. Nothing like watching her eyes roll back while she gagged on him.
Downstairs, breakfast was a silent landmine. He pushed cereal around in the bowl, chewing only because chewing was expected.
Then she walked in.
Wearing his hoodie.
Just his hoodie.
The oversized fabric draped off one bare shoulder. Her legs stretched long and bare beneath the hem. No panties. No bra. Her hair was still damp from the shower, falling in tousled waves. She looked like a sinner incarnate. Her smirk could’ve toppled empires.
She sat across from him like she wasn’t destroying his ability to function. Like she didn’t notice the way his hands clenched around the spoon. Like she wasn’t slowly sliding her knees apart under the table, showing him everything.
He choked on his orange juice.
“You okay?” his dad asked, not looking up from his tablet.
“Yeah. Fine,” Mason coughed, eyes fixed on his bowl.
Kelsey bit into a piece of toast, licking her fingers afterward. Her movements were slow and deliberate, and she never broke eye contact.
Later that day, their parents left for the afternoon to go antique shopping. Kelsey stood by the window, watching the car disappear down the street.
Two minutes.
That’s all she waited.
Two minutes of silence before she moved. Feet light on the floor. Hoodie swaying behind her. No hesitation.
She found him in his room. The door closed but was not locked.
She didn’t knock.
She entered without a word, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it. Arms folded. That hoodie still barely covered her ass.
Mason looked up from his phone, guilt already etched on his face. He looked wrecked. Beautiful.
“You keep looking at me like you want to fuck me,” she said.
He blinked. Swallowed. Blushed. “You’re not wrong.”
Kelsey took her time walking toward him, each step calculated. Her fingertips trailed across his dresser, his desk, and his knee.
“You don’t have to love me,” she whispered. “You don’t even have to say a word. Just… make me forget my name.”
Mason stood like he was pulled up by strings. His hands were on her in an instant. Under the hoodie. On her thighs. Her waist. Her ass. He lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him so hard their teeth clicked.
He carried her to the bed like he couldn’t wait another second, laying her down as if she were something to be worshipped.
But they didn’t fuck.
Not yet.
He was already sliding down her body, hoodie pushed up to expose her bare, soaked pussy. Her thighs trembled before he even touched her. And when his tongue finally met hers, Kelsey cried out.
He licked her slowly at first. Long, deep strokes that made her squirm. Then faster. Dirtier. His tongue circled her clit, flicked it, sucked it. He ate her like a starving man, like she was the only thing to save him.
Her hands were buried in his hair, tugging hard. She was already grinding on his face, fucking his mouth, breath broken.
“Shit, they’re really gone…” she laughed breathlessly, back arching. “I forgot what it feels like to be loud.”
He groaned into her, the vibration making her buck harder. “Be loud for me,” he growled between strokes. “I want to hear every fucking sound you make.”
She came against his mouth with a scream.
He didn’t stop.
He licked through it, pushed her to the edge again and again until she collapsed back, a shaking mess, gasping and flushed.
When she finally sat up, still trembling, she reached for him. She pulled his cock out and stroked it slowly, eyes on his face the whole time. He was flushed. Desperate.
“You’re still so fucking hard for me,” she whispered, kissing the tip, licking off the pre-cum. “Like you never stopped.”
Mason could barely speak.
“Do you want me to ride you now, or do you want me to wrap my lips around you until you beg again?”
“Both,” he said, voice hoarse. “Eventually.”
She laughed. A sound full of wicked delight.
“Then shut up and lie back.”
She climbed onto him, dragging her slick folds along the length of his cock, teasing them both.
And then she paused.
“Fingers crossed,” she whispered, leaning close.
Her voice was a promise.
“Legs spread.”
And she sank down onto him, inch by inch, their moans overlapping, eyes locked, hearts hammering.
She didn’t stop.
And neither did he.
Not that day.
Not after that.