*A friends to lovers, teen romance
James King has decided to spend a year abroad, studying in London, and living with his grandparents. For old times sake, James and his best friend Harper make a bucket list of things to do before he leaves.
Two m...
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October 29th 📍James' House
- Harper -
"What am I doing, James?" I asked, stupidly. I knew. He knew. But I didn't stop. Maybe I purposefully swirled myself across his lap. Maybe I was just having fun.
Idiotically, I'm enjoying this game. The way our little sexual jokes have turned into little sexual touches are getting me excited. Giddy. Turned on.
In my right mind, I know I need to stop. I guess I know it will stop soon, when he leaves, so I'm indulging in whatever I can get while I'm here.
We'd never take it further. Never. But I have to admit, the idea is fun. I like riling him up. And I like the feel of his body under mine.
His hands reached for my waist, effortlessly gliding myself onto his lap again. The bulge in his joggers was already apparent, but it sent shockwaves through my core as he rubbed it back and forth against me. The thin fabric of my leggings made him feel so close, and I had to hold back a moan. It's moments like these that I forget who he is - because like any other teenagers, we're horny and desperate to be touched.
"You shouldn't do that." I told him, although I didn't want to stop.
"I can't control it." I could feel his breath dance across my neck and jaw.
If I don't stop now, I worry what this will lead to. I can't let this get too far. Exhaling, and blinking away my thoughts, I brought my eyes to the tv screen and raised the controller in my hand.
"What do I do now?"
"Press Y." And just like that, his voice was neutral again. Not deep and breathless, not sensual, just James.
I couldn't move our bodies without making it obvious, so I leant back, to the side, and continued to place for as long as I could.
"Tired?" He asked, though I didn't even notice I was yawning.
"Yeah, I might head home soon."
"You can stay the night, if you want...?"
"Um..." Little H would say yes. Harps wouldn't grind on his dick, she'd just play PlayStation and laugh at his awful, sexual jokes. I'm losing sight of that girl. James' Little H. Because now? I keep picturing it. Me on him. Him on me. It's wrong.
I can avoid this. I can go home. But I can't end our night on this note, which is the only reason why I said, "Okay, I'll text Mom."
