He continues to watch her

I could see the faint outline of her mound pressed against the gusset, and at the very center, a subtle change of color, just a hint of pink where dampness had begun to soak through. The fabric was already beginning to show what it tried to delicately hide.

She ran a single finger slowly down the center of the cotton, tracing her own shape through the damp fabric with casual precision. Her nail grazed along the faint crease, dragging from the waistband to where the material began to darken.

“Look what you did,” she said, her voice soft but scolding. “You’ve ruined my panties.”

My breath caught.

Without thinking, my hand drifted back to my erection, wrapping my fingers loosely around the base. I couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t pretend to be above it. Not with her legs splayed open in front of me, and her voice in my ears. There was no pretending I hadn’t thought about her before.

My mouth opened, but the only thing that came out was a long sigh of breath.

Glancing between her hand and mine, her middle and index fingers moved next, lightly scratching her nails over the skin just outside the leg bands on either side. She moved with a slow intent, like she was teasing herself as much as me. When they reached as far as they could, before the expanse of the pure white panties was too much for her fingers to spread, they curled under each side, hooking the fabric gently, and pulling at it ever so slightly. The cotton tensed across her, pulling taut over her lips, the pressure pressing in to show every detail, every contour beneath.

She repositioned until her index finger pressed into the wet center of the fabric, tracing the length of the soft crease beneath again until it reached the spot she’d been building toward. She rubbed lightly at the top of her tiny slit, right where her clit would be, one tight circle, then another. The pressure of her touch made the material dip slightly, pressing in and shifting as she rubbed again.

Her breath caught under her own manipulation, and at the same time, I heard that quiet, helpless moan from myself. Barely more than a breath, but thick with everything I hadn’t been voicing.

The entire time, her eyes kept moving between her fingers and my hand. I was like she was completely absorbed in watching the way her touch shaped the fabric, how it gave under her pressure, how she responded to it, in comparison to how my dick twitched in my hand when she touched herself in certain ways. How I must be feeling watching it.

I took a step forward.

“Mia, we have to stop this,” I sighed.

My hand was still working slowly as it moved up and down my length now, and my fingers tightened in **** rhythm with her movements. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t look away.

“You said the sooner you got to see me, the sooner this would be over…” I said the words, but they were shaky, stretched between want and regret.

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