Hacker • English Version

Chapter 9

"You can join me, you know."

Faye slides off her belt slowly, the muscles in her arms moving under her skin. "Do you have another towel?"

I nod and leave to find one. By the time I return, I'm breathing normally again.

Things aren't going perfectly. I'm clearly acting weird. But Faye doesn't seem mad. She seems calm, even kind. When I return to the bathroom and quietly close the door behind me, she gives me a smile—shirtless, and warm.

"I didn't think you'd come back," I told her.

She takes the pink towel I give her—it's still a little damp from my earlier shower—and sets it beside hers.

"Where else would I go?" she replies.

Faye hums softly.

"Nowhere, I hope."

Then she touches me—her hands large and warm. She rests them on my shoulders, gently pressing, easing the tension away. She keeps her eyes on me the whole time. And when I start to relax in her hands, she begins to explore more.

Her hands move down my arms. I shiver as tiny hairs rise on my skin. She draws slow circles on my palms with her thumbs, then moves up—cupping my neck, brushing along my jaw, and playing with my bangs.

"You like doing that," I mumble.

She grins.

"Yes, I do."

I don't mind it. My mom used to say one good thing about me was that I'm not vain. Faye can touch my hair however she wants.

And since she's touching me so much, maybe I can touch her too.

I rest my hands on her chest. I can feel little hairs on her skin, and the firm lines of her stomach. Her heartbeat thuds beneath my palm.

"Will you kiss me again?" I ask.

She leans in, brushing her nose against mine before her lips press softly on mine. This kiss is different. Slower. Like we're floating together. Our tongues meet in a lazy, warm rhythm.

The room heats up around us. The air feels heavy. When we finally pull away, I feel like I'm glowing inside.

"You still smell awful," I say, teasing.

Faye laughs over the sound of the running shower.

She steps in first, tossing off the rest of her clothes and sliding behind the glass. I watch her hungrily. I like knowing she's using my soap, my shampoo. When she walks out of there, she won't smell like pigs anymore—she'll smell like me.

Her wet hair looks darker. Water runs down her skin in shiny trails.

I take off my loose shirt and let it fall beside her clothes. I make sure our clothes are touching.

"You're not wearing a bra," she says, her voice deep and teasing as she peeks at me through the steam.

"I don't like seams and straps. I don't like things on my skin," I explain.

"Good," she says. "Now pinch your nipples."

Wow. She's still bossy—even up close. But I listen. I touch myself the way she asked. Pinching my nipples, I watch her watching me through the fogged-up glass.

Everything feels stronger like this—like her gaze makes it more intense. There's a hot ache building inside me. Every little pinch sends shivers straight down.

I remember what her cock looked like. I saw it last night through the camera. Now I can see it for real. It's red and stiff, moving with her, and when she lathers it up with soap, she gives it a tight squeeze. She hisses.