Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.
The rustle of clothing being taken out of cupboards woke me up from sleep. I had to blink a couple of times to clear my vision, but after rubbing my eyes for a few seconds, boy, did I like what I saw. A very naked, very delicious Paul getting dressed just a few meters in front of our bed, his tan back and butt muscles contracting as he bent over to put on his jeans.
When I shifted my weight onto my elbows to get a better look, my nipples scraped against the fabric of my nightgown and immediately perked up into taut peaks, beckoning to be tweaked. I think Paul either heard me move, or noticed the change of mood because he stopped buttoning his shirt and turned around to look me in the eyes, slowly taking in a deep breath through his nose. Could he smell my arousal?
The answer, I realized, was yes, because a sly smile slowly formed on his lips as he taunted, "Good morning," in a cocky tone that indicated that he knew I was turned on.
My eyes narrowed into slits, then moved from his face, down to his stomach and then finally to the bulge in his pants.
"Good morning to you, too," I said to his erection with a raised eyebrow.
I heard him chuckle, then say, "I'm running late from work, see you tonight?".
I nodded, then watched him leave the room- leave me, all aroused.
Groaning with frustration, I fell back onto the bed, thinking about this stupid bet he and I made night when we drank a little too much. We dared each other to see who could go the longest without initiating sex, but the worst part was that we couldn't touch ourselves. Since it was a battle of the libidos, you'd think Paul wouldn't have made it one day and I'd have won, right? Wrong. Not only was Paul not giving in, but he was also using shameless tactics like teasing me, taunting me, and now, dressing in front of me to get me all riled up. I was competitive, and he was stubborn, and neither of us were declaring defeat first.
I got up to a sitting position on the bed, swung my legs over the edge and stood up to get dressed.
After putting on some jeans and a clean shirt, I ate a quick breakfast consisting of a bagel and some OJ and then headed off to work.
All day, my mind was occupied with images of Paul in bed, nude and ready for pleasure. I got so wet fantasizing about him that I was scared it would leak through and stain my jeans. How embarrassing that would be.
It felt as though my arousal was growing by the minute and the impulsive need to touch myself, or be touched, was nearly driving me insane. I was getting so sensitive down there that it was almost painful, my tender, swollen lips rubbing against each other every time I took another step while walking, the seam of my seams scraping against my hot core, making me whimper.
By now, I didn't just want to get to orgasm, didn't just crave it, I needed it. So much that if I didn't get home and find Paul, I'd scream.
I said a rushed goodbye to my boss at the store, ran out to my car and hopped in, speeding all the way home, praying I wouldn't get pulled over by a cop. I quickly the parked the car in the drive way and slammed the door closed, running to the house. I fumbled with my keys and when I finally got the door open and stepped in the house, I was face to face with a very surprised (and a little alarmed) looking Paul.
"Whoa, Rachel, what's going on?" He asked frantically, worried about me.
I locked the door then turned around to look him in the eye. At this point, I was panting, my chest and shoulders raising and dropping with each breath. I didn't know if it was from running so fast, or from feeling so aroused. All I knew was that I needed to get my hands on Paul, this instant.
"Take off your clothes," I demanded, breathless, "Right. Now."
A/N: Did you like it? Should I continue? Review and tell me!