My Crush Watches Me Masturbate

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and the faint citrus of Katarina’s shampoo, and Emmett noticed both the second he stepped inside. Twenty-four, still in the gray henley he’d worn to the library earlier, he looked taller in her doorway than he did across a lecture hall. Katarina, twenty-two and done pretending she didn’t stare at his hands when he talked, took his jacket and hung it beside hers. They had been circling each other since the start of the semester—study sessions that ran late, shared coffees, the kind of almost-touch that left her skin buzzing for hours. Tonight she had texted him about a movie. She had not mentioned the rest.

They settled on the couch with the lights low and something forgettable playing. Emmett’s thigh sat close to hers. Katarina kept losing the plot. She watched the way his mouth moved when he laughed, the way his knee bounced once, then stilled, like he was holding himself still on purpose. Her pulse climbed. She had rehearsed this in the shower, in bed, with her own fingers and his name caught between her teeth. Saying it out loud still felt like stepping off a ledge.

“Emmett,” she said, and paused the movie.

He turned, attentive, dark eyes steady. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t really invite you over for the movie.” Her voice stayed even, though her stomach flipped. “I’ve had a crush on you for months. And I’ve been fantasizing about something specific. I want you to watch me masturbate. Here. While I look at you.” She swallowed, heat flooding her face and her chest. “And I want you to stroke yourself while you do it. Only if you want that too. If you don’t, we can just finish the movie and I’ll pretend I never said it.”

For a second the room was only the hum of the paused screen and her own heartbeat. Then Emmett exhaled, a rough sound that went straight between her legs. “Katarina.” He shifted, and she saw the shape of him already thickening against his pants. “I’ve wanted to see you like that. God, yes. I want to watch. I’ll touch myself if you want me to. Just tell me what you need.”

Relief and want hit her together. She nodded, cheeks warm, and kicked off her socks. “Stay right there. Don’t look away.”

She stood between him and the coffee table and hooked her fingers under the hem of her soft black sweater. The fabric dragged up over her stomach, her ribs, the plain cotton bra she had chosen because she liked the way it framed her. Emmett’s gaze followed every inch. She dropped the sweater, reached back, and unclasped the bra. Her breasts spilled free, nipples already tight in the cool air. She heard him curse under his breath, quiet and reverent.

“You’re staring,” she said, smiling.

“You told me to.”

Her jeans came next, button, zipper, the slow push down her hips. She stepped out of them and stood in pale blue panties that clung where she was already wet. Emmett’s hands rested on his thighs, knuckles pale. Katarina hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid the panties down, letting him see the dark trimmed hair, the slick shine gathering at her folds. She kicked them aside and sat back on the couch, opposite him, knees apart, then wider, until her thighs trembled with the openness of it.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Exactly like that.”

She licked two fingers and brought them down, parting herself so he could see. The first circle over her clit was light, almost teasing, and a soft sound slipped out of her anyway. Emmett’s eyes locked on her hand. She circled again, slower, spreading the wetness, feeling the little bud swell under her touch. Her other hand cupped her breast, thumb rolling the nipple. She didn’t look away from him.

“Emmett,” she moaned, testing the name, and the way his mouth parted made her clit jump. She said it again, lower. “Emmett. I’ve touched myself thinking about your eyes on me. About you sitting right there, hard, watching me get messy.”

He unbuttoned his pants with unsteady fingers and shoved them down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, a bead of precum already shining at the tip. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and stroked once, slow, matching the lazy circle of her fingers. The sight of him—veins, the wet head, his grip tightening—made her hips rock up into her own hand.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so wet. I can see it.”

“Because you’re watching.” She rubbed faster, two fingers sliding along either side of her clit, then back to the top, pressure building in tight little loops. Her thighs shook. She spread them farther, heels braced on the cushion, completely open to him. “I love that you’re watching me. I love that you’re jerking off to me. Don’t stop. Stroke it just like that.”

Emmett obeyed, fist gliding from base to tip in the same rhythm she set. His breathing went rough. Precum slicked his fingers, and the wet sound of his hand joined the softer sound of hers. Katarina’s moan cracked when she said his name again. She pinched her nipple harder, eyes half-lidded but never leaving his face, his cock, the way his stomach tightened every time she whimpered.

“Tell me,” he said, voice strained. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Hot. Aching. Like I need more already.” She dipped lower, gathering more slick, and brought it back up, shining on her clit. “Your eyes make it worse. Better. I can feel you looking at my pussy. I want you to see everything.”

He groaned and stroked faster for three beats, then forced himself slower again, matching her. Sweat gathered at his hairline. Katarina’s free hand slid down her stomach and held herself open with two fingers so he had a clear view of the pink, swollen flesh and the way her clit peeked out under her circling touch. She was panting now, little broken sounds, his name threaded through them like she couldn’t help it.

“Emmett—oh—Emmett, I’m getting close already and I don’t want to come yet. I want you to keep watching me. I want you stroking that cock while I fuck myself for you.”

“Then do it,” he said, raw. “Show me. I’m right here. I’m not looking anywhere else.”

She held his gaze and let the tension coil tighter, circling, circling, her hips lifting to meet her own fingers, the room filling with the sound of their breathing and the slick work of their hands.

Katarina’s control frayed. The circling wasn’t enough anymore; she needed to be filled, needed him to see her take it. She slid her hand lower, pressed two fingers to her entrance, and pushed them inside in one slow, deliberate stroke. The stretch made her gasp. Heat clenched around her knuckles. She drew them out, shining, and drove them back in, deeper, curling until she found the spot that made her toes curl against the cushion.

“Emmett, fuck, Emmett,” she cried, louder than she meant to, and the sound seemed to snap something in him.

His fist tightened around his cock. He stroked harder, the head flushing darker, precum spilling over his fingers and down the shaft. “Katarina—Jesus—keep going. I can see your pussy taking your fingers. You’re so tight around them.”

She thrust faster, the heel of her palm grinding her clit with every push. Wet sounds filled the space between them, obscene and perfect. Her breasts bounced with the motion of her hips. She locked eyes with him and didn’t blink, didn’t hide, letting him watch her fall apart on her own hand while his name tore out of her throat.

“Emmett, fuck, Emmett—watch me—watch me come—”

“I’m watching,” he groaned, pumping his fist in rough, desperate strokes now, grip so tight the muscles in his forearm stood out. “Come for me. Say it again. Let me hear you.”

“Emmett—fuck—Emmett—”

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking. Her pussy clenched hard around her fingers, fluttering, visible, pulling them deeper as she rubbed her clit frantically with her other hand. She cried his name again, voice breaking, thighs shaking, slick flooding her palm and dripping onto the couch. Across from her, Emmett’s rhythm shattered. He groaned her name—Katarina, low and wrecked—and his cock jerked in his fist. Thick ropes of cum shot across his stomach, stripe after stripe, hot and heavy, some catching on his fingers as he kept stroking through it, milking himself while he stared at her clenching around her own hand.

They came together in the low light, her body bowing, his hips lifting off the cushion, both of them loud and unashamed, the movie forgotten, the room smelling like sex and sweat and the vanilla she had lit hours ago for courage.

When the last pulse eased, Katarina drew her fingers out slowly, still trembling, and brought them to her mouth. She licked them clean one by one, tasting herself, smiling at him with her lips wet and her eyes bright. Emmett watched, chest heaving, cum cooling on his skin, his cock still half-hard in his loose grip.

She crawled across the couch to him, unhurried, and wrapped her hand around his shaft where his fingers had been. He was sensitive; she felt him twitch. She stroked gently, coaxing the last thick drops from the tip, smearing them down his length, her thumb circling the head until he hissed and caught her wrist—not to stop her, just to hold on.

“Katarina,” he breathed.

She leaned in and kissed him, deep and slow, letting him taste her on her tongue. His free hand cupped the back of her neck. When they parted, foreheads touching, both of them still breathing hard, she smiled against his mouth.

“This is only the beginning,” she said. “Next time you can tell me exactly how you want me to touch myself. And I’ll say your name the whole time.”

Emmett’s laugh was shaky, satisfied, his hand still covering hers on his spent cock. “Then we’re not done. Not even close.”

She kissed him again, lingering in the heat of it, the afterglow still bright between them, neither of them moving to clean up or turn the movie back on.