Watching Her Chapter 14 - Woody

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Chapter 14 - Woody - Toy Story

"I'm too young for this shit." I moan when my alarm goes off way too fucking early. I grab the extra pillow from beside me and pull it over the back of my head, holding it down with my arms draped over it. When it gets too hard to breathe, and my rank morning breath is about all I can take, I toss it to the side with a huff and roll over.

My eyelids feel like sandpaper and my mouth tastes fuzzy, like I have a few dozen cotton balls inside of it. I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, hard, until I don't see it at all ... no, of course all I see is her. Outside there's a crack of thunder, but really all I can hear is the rhythm of drums as she pounded out the beats.

She played.

For me.

With the drumsticks I gave her, that I'd held in my hand.

It might be a little bit of a stretch to think in those terms, but play she did and while it might not have been solely for me, I know, from the way her eyes would ever so often slant over toward the arm of the loveseat where my notebook rested, she was at least thinking about me. Not to mention the few times she actually lifted her head and looked out into the night. Every time she did that, it was like there was some invisible thread connecting the two of us, because when her eyes stopped in my direction, my heart would swell until it didn't feel like it would stay inside my chest any longer. My stomach twisted itself into a knot and there was this deep, powerful sense of … more.

More what, I have no idea, but it was there. It's always there.

Thunder rumbles outside and I reach out and grab my phone off the edge of the nightstand beside my bed. Two texts, one from Emmett and one from Jasper, though both say the same thing. No practice this morning. I'm not sorry, though I smirk when I read Jasper's message - Save me! Apparently Mrs. Whitlock is going to take advantage of a free morning by whisking Jasper off to Port Angeles for some bonding time. Jasper has an older brother, Peter, but he's away at school in Texas, so when their mom is feeling sentimental, like she is today, Jasper's the one that pays the price. He can bitch all he wants, but he doesn't fool anyone. He's such a mama's boy, it's not even funny. Since Emmett's stuck at home, his dad has put him to work cleaning out their attic, the poor bastard. That leaves me with a few hours of much welcomed solitude.

I throw my arm out and flatten my hand against the notebook that's beside me on the bed. My eyes close and my mind's flooded with thoughts of her, images flickering in and out of focus. Her smile; her hair as it swishes when she plays. The way she looked in the store; her ass filling out her tiny shorts in the best possible way.
Concrete images transform into wishes, dreams, and I let myself float away …

We're in her building. She's sitting on her stool. I'm on the loveseat, shoes off, legs straight out, feet resting on the arm, hands folded across my stomach watching her. She's so damn sexy and she has absolutely no idea. She knows what she does to me. I tell her often enough, not to mention she can feel it every time I touch her. I'm like a dog in heat around her, rubbing against her ass, or really any part of her body I can reach. Leg, ass, elbow … I don't care; it doesn't matter. Wherever she is, that's where I want to be and right now, I want her closer. 

"Come here," I whisper, crooking my finger. 

She smirks, like she's not going to do what I ask. We both know better. She makes me wait though, just long enough for the grin on my face to fall just a little bit. She slides off the stool and I shift, leaning against the back of the loveseat, and my toes curl into her fluffy carpet. She takes the change in position for the invitation it is and climbs right onto my lap and straddles my thighs. Her arms go around my neck and she's just where I want her. 

"Mmmm, much better," I tell her running the tips of my fingers up her legs, letting them slide beneath her shorts. Her skin is warm, but she shivers and goosebumps break out everywhere. Not that I mind because her nipples are hard and right there. One hand goes beneath her shirt, the other pushes farther inside her shorts and beneath her panties. God, her pussy always feels so fucking good. We kiss. She grinds against my hand and spreads her legs to give me better access. I slide two fingers inside of her.
"That's it, baby. Ride my fingers, fuck them. God you look so fucking hot right now," I tell her, squeezing her tit with my other hand. 

"Edward, oh God. Harder, more. I need to come." When she says my name, in that raspy, breathy, slight twang that only she has, my dick stands at attention. 

I kiss her harder, my tongue mimicking my fingers. In and out of her mouth, moving in time with the slick slide between her legs. My thumb finds her clit and her legs tense. Her pussy clenches around my fingers. She throws her head back and the ends of her hair brush against my denim-covered legs. She bucks and writhes, chanting my name over and over again. The sound echoes off the metal walls. 

"Yes, yes, I'm there. Oh, God, right, there." She pants and her fingernails dig into my shoulders as she snaps her head forward, hair flying around her, around us in a silky soft, sable-colored sheet. Sugar cookies, peppermint and … her … the smells mingle and meld, driving me utterly crazy. Her voice, her body, her smell all of it is too much and my fingers fly over her pussy, driving her closer and closer. 

"That's my girl. Fuck yes … mmmm. Like this?" I ask, pressing my thumb down at the same time I curl my fingers inside of her. 

She nods, her mouth open but no sound escapes. Her body locks when I press the perfect spot and then she's coming, saying my name over and over again. 

"Oh fuck. Ahh, shit," I mumble as my head thrashes back and forth on the pillow. "Yes." I groan, fisting my dick tightly. With a final grunt, I explode, coming so hard, spurts of jizz cover my stomach.

I pant, so loudly I'm almost embarrassed. Holy hell that felt so damn good. Not the drying spunk on my stomach, I groan as I look down, but I've never felt like that before while coming. "Jesus, what is this girl doing to me?" I mutter as I scrub my jizz-free hand over my face. I lay there long enough for my body and my breathing to calm down before I very carefully get out of bed so I can clean up.

The walk to the bathroom is gross and uncomfortable. I step into the shower and stand under the scalding hot water so long my skin begins to prune. My thoughts keep going back to the notebook as I try to figure out what to say to her. I feel like this is some sort of test, and one that I can't fail. One mistake and whatever this is could all come to a screeching halt. I don't know what any of it means, but I do know if I mess up, I'll kick my own ass.

I get dressed and go downstairs, carrying the notebook like it's some sort of security blanket, afraid to let it out of my sight for even a moment. Now that there's been communication, however careful it is, I want more. I eat and think. I wash some clothes and think. I try not to think and sit at my piano and know the moment my fingers are poised over the keys that not thinking about her isn't going to happen. I touch the keys, and in the back of my mind I can hear the deep bass and the pounding beat of the song she played last night. I play along with her, imagining what it would be like to have my piano next to her drums and be so in sync with her, to know her inside and out, to be able to just anticipate the next measures. I lose myself in the music and in the way it feels to play with her.

I play for a long time, hours, until my fingers protest. When I stand up, I'm tired and my back hurts like a bitch because I can't remember the last time I played for so long, but I also feel energized, electric almost.

I grab the notebook off the top of the piano and take the steps two at a time.

I have a letter to write and I finally know exactly what I want to say.
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