Chapter 1: The Hallway Flash
Steam followed Nikki out of the bathroom, clinging to her tan skin like a second scent. The hallway was always ten degrees hotter than the rest of the house, the afternoon sun baking the roof. She padded barefoot on the creaky wooden floor, the boards groaning in familiar spots. Her hair was twisted up in a towel, a few dark, wet strands sticking to the back of her neck. The only thing covering her was a small white bath towel, which she’d tucked just above her breasts. It was a fight she knew she was losing. The terrycloth strained across the full, heavy curve of her 32Gs, the damp material clinging to the soft skin where her cleavage began.
She could hear the tinny blast of her brother’s Nintendo from behind his door, some war game. The hall smelled of old incense from her room, lemon Pledge, and the perpetual humidity.
Adjusting the towel, she pinched the edges together higher up. The movement was futile. The fabric slipped over the slick slope of her left breast, the cool air of the hall hitting her nipple for a second before she yanked it back. She giggled to herself. It was a constant game.
The sound of two pairs of feet thundering up the stairs froze her for a second. Shit. Ricky and someone. Her mom was at work, her dad wouldn’t be home for hours. She had the run of the house. Usually.
She tried to hurry, aiming for the sanctuary of her bedroom door just a few feet away. The towel, already precarious, chose that moment to loosen its grip. As she took a quick step, the tucked corner gave way.
Ricky and Jeff reached the top of the stairs just as the towel slid down her body. It didn’t fall all the way; it caught for a heart-stopping moment on the protruding tips of her nipples, then, with a soft whisper of cotton, pooled at her feet.
For one full, suspended second, she stood there, completely naked in the sun-dappled hallway. The air, thick and hot, touched every inch of her. Her large, teardrop-shaped breasts hung free, their weight familiar and comforting, the areolas a deep brown against her gold skin. A tiny silver dolphin charm on a necklace nestled in her cleavage. The thatch of dark hair between her thighs was trimmed neat. Her small, cute ass was just a graceful curve above strong, dancer’s legs.
Time snapped back into place.
“Oops!” she gasped, the sound more playful than shocked.
She saw their faces. Ricky’s, contorted in familiar brotherly rage and embarrassment. And Jeff’s. Jeff, who played quarterback, who had shoulders that filled doorways, whose eyes—usually so cocky and sure—were now wide, his jaw literally hanging open. His gaze wasn’t polite. It was a hungry, physical scan. It started at her face, dropped to her breasts, lingered there, taking in the way they hung, the soft undersides, the prominent nipples, then raked down her flat stomach and stopped squarely between her legs. She saw the exact moment his brain short-circuited.
A grin touched her lips. She didn’t scramble. With a deliberate, slow motion, she bent from the waist to pick up the towel, knowing it gave Jeff a perfect, unhindered view of her ass and the pink shadow of her pussy from behind. She heard a sharp, strangled inhale from him.
She straightened, taking her time to wrap the towel around herself again, tucking the end firmly between her breasts. She made sure her movements were slow, letting him watch the fabric swallow her up, an inverse striptease.
“Nikki! Goddammit! Put some fucking clothes on!” Ricky yelled, his face red. He shoved Jeff, who stumbled a little, his eyes still glued to the towel now covering her. “Don’t look at her, you pervert!”
“Chill out, Ricky,” Nikki said, her voice a smooth, teasing melody. She leaned a shoulder against her doorframe, the towel dipping dangerously again. “It’s just a body. Everybody’s got one.” She looked right at Jeff, her brown eyes sparkling. “Right, Jeff?”
Jeff couldn’t form words. He just nodded, a dumb, jerky motion. The front of his baggy Quicksilver shorts was visibly tented, the fabric straining over a thick, obvious erection.
Ricky grabbed Jeff’s arm, pulling him toward his room. “Forget it, man. She’s a psycho. Come on.”
Jeff let himself be pulled, but he kept looking back over his shoulder at Nikki until Ricky shoved him inside the bedroom and slammed the door.
Nikki smiled, a slow, cat-like curl of her lips. She slipped into her own room, closing the door softly behind her. The Dance Dance Revolution mix was still pounding from her stereo. She didn’t turn it off. She let the bass thump through the floor as she walked to her full-length mirror, the one with the fuzzy leopard-print border.
She dropped the towel again.
She studied herself, turning sideways, cupping the heavy weight of her breasts in her own hands. They felt warm, the skin ultrasensitive. Her nipples were hard little points. She knew what Jeff had seen. She knew what that tent in his shorts meant. A thrill, hot and liquid, pulsed low in her belly.
She didn’t put clothes on. Instead, she sprawled on her bed, the floral quilt cool against her back. One hand drifted down her stomach, over the trimmed hair, and slipped between her folds. She was already wet. The image of Jeff’s stunned, wanting face was burned into her mind. She imagined him not being pulled away by Ricky. She imagined him staying in the hallway. Walking toward her. His big, quarterback hands, rough and eager, replacing hers.
Her fingers worked in slow, practiced circles. Her other hand squeezed and kneaded her breast, pulling at the nipple, imagining it was his mouth. She bit her lip to keep quiet. The music pounded on. In her mind, it wasn’t Jeff who was shy. It was Jeff who, after that first stunned second, would’ve pushed past Ricky. He would’ve crowded her against the faded floral wallpaper, his hard-on pressing into her bare stomach through his shorts. He wouldn’t say anything cute. His voice would be a rough growl in her ear.
“You did that on purpose, you little tease.”
And she’d smirk up at him, “Maybe.”
He’d kiss her then, not soft, but hungry and deep, his tongue shoving into her mouth. One of his hands would fist in her damp hair, the other would grab her ass, pulling her up against the rigid line of his cock. She could almost feel the denim seam of his shorts grinding against her clit.
On the bed, Nikki’s breathing hitched. Her fingers plunged deeper inside herself, fucking herself with the fantasy. In her head, Jeff was tearing that towel off her again. He’d back her into her room, kick the door shut. He’d stare at her tits with that same ravenous look, then he’d bend her over the edge of the bed.
“You wanna show off these big fuckin’ tits?” he’d grunt. “Let’s see ‘em swing.”
In her fantasy, she was panting, begging him, “Yeah, Jeff, come on…”
And he wouldn’t wait. He’d shove his shorts and boxers down just enough to free his cock—she imagined it thick and veined, the head flushed dark red and leaking. He’d spit on his hand, slick himself up, and then without another word, he’d drive it into her from behind.
Nikki cried out into her quiet room, her back arching off the bed as the fantasy and her fingers pushed her over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around nothing as a sharp, sweet orgasm ripped through her. She imagined it was him, slamming into her, making her breasts sway heavily with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with the bass from the stereo.
She lay there for a long moment, breathing heavily, sweat beading on her upper lip. The house was quiet except for the video game sounds from Ricky’s room.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face. She sat up, not bothering to cover herself. She could still feel the ghost of his gaze on her skin. Summer stretched out before her, long and hot and full of possibility. Jeff would be over again. He’d look at her differently now. And she knew exactly how to play it.
She got up, still naked, and walked to her closet. She picked out the tiniest pair of cutoff denim shorts she owned and a thin, nearly transparent white tank top. She wouldn’t wear a bra. Let the fabric cling. Let her nipples show. Let him look all he wanted.
Next time, she thought, toweling off the sweat between her thighs, she might not let a towel get in the way at all.