Page 18 of Grease Monkey
She clears her throat and I snap my eyes to hers, unaware I’d zoned out for a second as she clutches the towel tight to her chest, and nervously looks around, unsure what to do now. I push from the jamb and point toward a closed door.
“Bathroom’s in there. Use whatever you like,” I say. The citrus smell of her skin is stronger now that she’s slowly drying, and I step farther, closer than is polite, drawn in by the fascination to know if her skin tastes like it too. Ana’s breath catches as she stares up, short curly strands of hair falling into her eyes. I swallow hard and push my hands into my jeans pockets, stopping myself from reaching up and brushing them away. “If you throw out your clothes, I can put them in the dryer while you wait for your mom to come home.”
The gentle smile she wore before falls, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if she gives me the clothes, she’ll have nothing to put on. The image of Ana in nothing but a towel is almost too good to pass up. But I’m a gentleman… or at least I’m trying to be, so reluctantly,I drag myself over to my dresser, pull out a t-shirt and a pair of cotton sweatpants, and offer them out. She tucks them alongside the towel and my eyes drop down to where all three items are pressed against her chest. Her tits push up to sit under the open V of her shirt and directly into my eyeline. Fuck, she has great tits. Even obstructed beneath a bundle of clothes, they look like they were made to fit in my hands and my hands alone.
Get over yourself, Teddy. Rich girls like Morgana don’t go for grease monkeys like you.
“Thank you, Teddy,” Ana says, and my eyes jerk to hers. Her cheeks pinken, and she ducks into the bathroom, quickly locking the door behind her. I listen as she turns on the shower, and I’m stuck, unable to move, still thinking about her tits and liking how she said my name in a breathy whisper.
The door opens just a crack, and her slender bare arm snakes around the wood. Holding out her clothes, I stare as steam billows from the gap. I move closer, arm outstretched to take her soaking clothes, and then it’s my turn to watch. In the mirror above the toilet and sink is Ana’s reflection. Coils of steam, like some Greek goddess, are slowly enveloping her naked body. One of her long legs is bent, her toes and the ball of her foot resting on the tiles while the other supports her weight. Her ass is fucking delectable, and all I want to do is sink my teeth into each round globe of her cheeks. My hands twitch to trail down her hips and tapered waist, and I want to paint her delicate skin with the shape of my fingerprints. Her arms are covering her chest, obstructing my view from this angle except for a sliver of side boob.
My cock is achingly hard in my pants, and I want to shove the door open, push her against the wall, and sink to my knees and worship her pussy I know will be every bit as perfect as the rest of her. Either that or sink inside and fuck her until she’s panting and coming around my dick.
“Um, Teddy?” her question calls from behind the door, “are you sure you don’t mind?”
I snap out of my stupor and take the balled-up material.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, not at all. Take your time.”
The door locks again, and I hear the shower door sliding back and forth. I’m a masochist. That must be it. That’s why I’ve made her off-limits, and then invited her up to my room—something I’ve never done before—to taunt myself with the knowledge that she’s naked in my shower, and there’s fuck all I can do about it.
Groaning, I drag myself away from aimlessly staring at the bathroom door and leave to shove her wet clothes into the dryer. I pause, bringing my zip-up sweatshirt to my nose to see if it smells like her. She might not have worn it for long, but a faint scent of citrus is strong enough to fill my lungs, and I almost don’t want to wash it. Shoving it into the laundry basket, I open the dryer and drop Ana’s clothes inside. A ball of black misses the drum, fluttering to the ground, and I bend, scooping up the material in one hand as I choose the settings for the machine with the other. I’m just about to throw it inside when I glance at what I’m holding.
One hundred percent a masochist, for I am holding Ana’s bra and panties.
I stare, open-mouthed, and hard as fucking granite, at the flimsy cut of material Ana calls underwear. The thong is all kinds of sexy; black silk with intricate flowers detailed on the waistband, and the bra makes them a matching set. Something I’d have never thought hid beneath her private school uniform.Forcing my hand to release them from my death grip, I slam the lid shut, hiding the cock-teasing set of underwear from view, and turn on the machine. I brace my hands against the edge, urging the erection straining against my zipper to die down. The machine shakes beneath my hands, the whirring of the drum echoing around my ears as my imagination continues to torture me with scenarios of stripping her from her underwear and taking Ana. In my room, in the shower, fuck, even in the back seat of my car. Filthier and filthier, the images become, flooding my head and doing nothing to help my dick. I need to get laid or maybe rub one out. Either way, both should not involve Ana either physically or mentally.
I take a deep breath, resigned to the fact I’m not going down any time soon, and do some tactical rearranging before leaving the laundry room. I come to an abrupt stop as Ana stands in the kitchen, squeezing her long hair with a towel, fully dressed in my clothes. I take one step, then another, running my gaze from her bare toes, painted a light shade of yellow, and up to her head. She watches as I peruse her, following the blush that travels up her neck.
“Thanks for letting me use your shower. The water pressure is amazing.” She scrunches her nose a little, looking around the kitchen as if trying to find something. “Uh, where should I put this?”
“I’ll take it,” I say, grabbing the towel from her and tossing it behind me without taking my eyes off the petite girl in front of me. She might have mere months until she’s eighteen, but Ana is all woman. Even wearing my tee and sweats, which drown her entirely, I can still see her curvaceous waist, her round tits and her sweet tight little ass underneath it all.
Her breathing labors as I reach out and lightly graze my thumb under one of her eyes, wiping a faint dark smudge from her mascara. Whatever she sees in my face has her cheeks darkening further, and her eyes drop to my mouth as she licks her lips. I’m crowding her again, unable to stop myself from being in her personal space. It calls me forward, pulling me in like it wants me,needsme there. I can smell my coconut body wash, a fragrance I had not been happy that Mom bought for me while at the store, but on her skin, it smells incredible, a scent I’ll be regularly buying from now on. I like that she smells of me, that she’s dressed in my clothes, and standing in my house. I feel almost possessive—a subconscious claiming that neither of us is even aware exists.
I place a hand on her hip and run my thumb along the waistline of the gray sweats. A sharp breath escapes her, and her head drops to look at where I am holding her. It’s not nearly as tight as I want to grip her. I want to see red and purple bruises created by my hand so badly that the strain in my muscles practically aches. Her head snaps back up as I swipe my thumb on her heated flesh again, her eyes flashing with nerves and a slight hint of panic as she stares unblinkingly into mine. I reach up with my free hand and tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
Without thought, I lean my head down and whisper, “You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you, Ana. Would you let me if I tried?”
She’s quiet for a moment, thrown by either my question or my mouth still lingering by her ear, ghosting the outer edge. I’m just as surprised as she is at those words spilling out before I had the chance to process them. But now they’re out there, I don’t regret it because I really want to kiss her.
Her body trembles under my grasp. I watch her pulse quicken in the corner of my eye, the rapid drumming at the side of her neck beating a crazy tune as adrenaline floods her. Unspoken excitement escapes with a small gasp from her pink lips. To know that she’s affected by me, responds to me like this with a simple touch, ignites something deep inside me.
She places her hand and pushes me back, breathily asking, “What about Brittany?”
“Don’t worry about her,” I say, wrapping my free hand around the base of her head, threading my fingers into her hair, and smile. “She’s not important. Never was.”
Her eyes close before I even bring my lips to hers, and I watch her face as my mouth descends. She whimpers at the first brush of our lips, a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, going straight to my already aching cock. Her lips part and I take the chance to slip my tongue inside, circling it with hers. She wraps a hand around my forearm and sucks gently on my tongue. I almost stop, my languid strokes taken off guard by the bold move, but when her other hand comes to my waist, I tighten my grip on her hair and pull her into my chest. Soft moans have me deepening the kiss, moving her body backward to lean against the counter. She squeaks in fright as her back hits the side, and I chuckle into her mouth.
Panting, she breaks our kiss, and I can’t lie and say my lips don’t chase after hers.
“Teddy,” she whispers, looking up at me. The little fragments of blue in her eyes are completely missing as dark green overpowers them. It might not be her ‘O’ face, but knowing this happens when she’s aroused makes me want to see what else her body does. I should slow down, take my time and savor everything about her, but I can’t. My body and mind are fighting against each other, one telling me she isn’t some bimbo who’d drop her panties if I winked at her. That this girl deserves to be treated like a queen, not to mention that she’s my neighbor and her family, for some reason, hates mine, and things can get complicated. But the other wants me to push the boundaries with every tremble that rolls through her body.
Her chest presses hard into me with every breath, and her pink tongue licks her bottom lip.
Yup. It’s a fucking losing battle.
Our lips meet again, and my hand drops from her hair to dip under her shirt. Smooth, warm skin greets my fingertips, and she shudders. I drag my knuckles up the side of her hips, waist, and ribcage, her body squirming as I map lines on her with my hand. I skim the side of her boob, the same one teasing me from the bathroom mirror, feeling every goosebump as it forms under my touch like tiny pinpricks. She sighs, melting into my hold, and I hesitate, wanting so badly to flick my thumb across her nipple and feel the hard little peak I know is waiting for me. Instead, I move and wrap my arm around her back, completely banding up her spine to grip the base of her neck, my fingers edging out of the t-shirt collar and tangling with her damp hair.
