That morning, Lily Hollister had woken up early.
Four o'clock, well south of the usually noonish wake-up call of the idle rich. Her fingers brushed over her body, lightly touching the acres of bare skin inside her thin tanktop, her boxer shorts... her legs went forever before getting to the socks she wore like a mocking talisman of modesty. 'For warmth.'
Her breasts, lush and barely deterred by the scant covering of the tank, rose and fell rapidly with excitement. Her sweat seemed particularly heavy on them, as warm and as slick as bourbon going down her throat. She pricked up her ears. Complete silence beyond the ceiling. She stared at the plaster nooks and crannies, imaging she could stare right through them. Up to the next penthouse in the hotel. Where Harry Osborn slept.
Lily tried to ignore the lascivious feeling of the sweat rolling down her body, too warm, too slick, tingling where cold air met her flesh now that her comforter no longer covered her. She stripped off her tank. Stepped out of her boxers. Her skin ached in throbbing torment, but it was something, it was
wonderful.
When was the last time,
she thought frantically.
When was the last time I had a man?
Her father, so conservative, caring about both appearances and technicalities. She hadn't dared stay over at Harry's for longer than an hour, not while her father was running for office. And Harry, all too willing to go along with it. Be proper, be righteous, be
straight edge.
God, she wished she'd met him while he was on drugs. He'd had to have been a little fun back then, right?
Now he'd moved out of his father's manor, into a penthouse inside her very building. No one would ever know, could possibly know. It was one little elevator ride. They could even take the stairs!
He was practically living with them, goddammit! Ate breakfast with them, lunch with them, dinner with them. Watched movies with them. Part of the family. (Brother and sister,
ha ha.)
Until it was time to go to bed. Then he was banished. Up into their penthouse's
attic,
like some obscene secret.
She was still sweating. She wasn't cooling down... still burning up, she wondered if it was something she'd taken, the medicine... no, she'd felt so good... and it felt good too, the sweat, the cool air, suddenly it was a steady stream from the air vent,
heaven,
tingling electrically on her moist flesh, her bleeding pores...
Every minute she spent with Harry she was hypnotized by the bulge in his tight pants. It wouldn't be so bad, she knew, if she could just touch it. Find out what it tasted like.
Ram it deep into her madly sucking cunt, every burning inch!
She was waiting for embarrassment to strike, at her thoughts, at her nakedness, but none came. Maybe the drugs, maybe not. She'd felt euphoria when she'd first... experimented... but that had faded. Maybe this was just her.
She got out of bed. She was panting. She was naked. Some of the euphoria came back, a sliver of it, being naked in the middle of her room, even at night, even alone. Someone could walk in on her, her father could check on her, he'd used to do that when she was a little girl and she didn't think he'd ever stopped...
Her burning skin shivered with fear and excitement. She padded to the bedroom door. Opened it a few inches. Peered out into the darkness of the living room. No one. Nothing. The silent visages of the chairs and couches that had held her, her family, her father's people, Harry. Now empty. Ghosts.
But she could still see Harry sprawled out on that couch, his powerful young body displayed to her. The line of his cock visible down his pant leg. Sweet. Young. Lily thought feverishly about it, as she hadn't dared that evening, in the presence of her father. Now she wished she had stared. God, it could've gone into her so deep, still could...
Moving in a daze, she walked down the entry hallway to the elevator. Pressed the call button. There could've been someone in the car when it arrived, but there wasn't. She stepped inside. With trembling fingers, she pressed the button for Harry's floor. The elevator lurched into motion. She squeezed her fingers into her sweaty palms. How long had her urges been bottled up?
Harry.
Of only she could feel him in her eager fingers just once...
The doors slid open. She walked out into Harry's penthouse. She'd never been in it at night. Never alone. Never naked. She walked through the clean, modern space, the shuttered windows throwing pale light on her naked body. The air here seemed cooler, more thrilling than that of her own apartment. The floor was electric. Every step was swollen, voluptuous, thrilling. She found herself at the door to his bedroom. The one door she'd never been through, daddy wouldn't approve, Mr. Osborn wouldn't approve...
She opened it. Didn't see anything but the bed, but Harry. Carpet now under her feet. She was walking; took her a half-second to realize it.
You can still stop, you can still stop
she told herself frantically. But she didn't listen. With firm fingers, she reached down and flung back the sheet.
"
Harry..."
she muttered lustfully. His cock dangled thickly over his balls, a battering ram poised to break down a door. Lily dropped to her knees. She paused for a moment, wondering what she was telling herself now, but there was nothing to think, just things to do. She hefted his cock in her hands—it was warm. Her fist jerked; he stiffened quickly. Harry murmured sleepily and a moment later his eyes opened, widened as he stared down at his fiancé.
"Christ, Lily! What are you doing?" he blurted out before looking around frantically, automatically worrying someone would see—
"We're alone," Lily said, her voice a gasp.
His cock was getting rock-hard, pulsating with raw sex. She'd never fucked him, but she knew he had gallons of thick boiling cum just waiting for her, that he could spurt out load after load. Her mind whirled around the thought.
"Do you have any idea what it's like?" she whispered urgently. "Being a healthy woman, a sexual woman? Wanting it, night after night, dreaming about a beautiful man like you—and I have you.
I have you,
