Lend a Hand – Part Two

PART TWO

P.O.V: SVEN

I’ve not slept. What am I supposed to do after that? 

Curiosity really does kill the cat… I went looking for memes and found homemade porn. And the shower video… She shouldn’t be allowed to moan my name like that; it’s criminal. 

I sit up, immediately aware that I’m hard again. Not that it feels right to do anything with it after she ran away… If that’s not consent revoked, I don’t know what is… “Fuck,” I groan. I shouldn’t’ve done that. 

Out of bed and dressed, I head down a little earlier than usual. 7 AM – an hour before she starts work, two hours before I’m usually awake. Quietly walking down the staircase, I see her at the stove making scrambled eggs with her long, black hair in a high ponytail. I watch her for a minute as she listens to the radio, the music turned down to a quiet hum as if to be mindful of me, sleeping upstairs. I need to become a morning person. 

She turns, carrying a pan and spatula to the small dining table. Emptying the pan’s contents onto a plate of toast. As she goes to turn back, her eyes dart up, finally seeing me standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Hi,” Isabelle whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back, matching her as if trying not to spook her again. “Are you okay?”

Isabelle smiles, looking genuine and carefree – as if last night never happened. “I’m fine, do you want some breakfast?” She asks, gesturing to the plate with her spatula. “You can have that and I can make some more.”

I bob my head, walking over to the table and sitting in my usual seat – the chair that lets me watch her without having to go out of my way to crane my neck.

I take the plate, snag a fork from the cutlery stand, and start eating the eggs, watching as she does a little shimmy to the music while cooking the next batch. “Can we talk?” I ask after taking a bite of the toast that was buried under the mound of egg.

She ignores me and continues her task, pretending she didn’t hear me. 

Drop it. It was a mistake; she doesn’t want to talk, that’s it. 

Isabelle turns back around, continuing to make her breakfast, and then sits opposite me. “Can you put a carton of eggs on the shopping list?” She asks, grabbing a fork and stabbing at the mountain of scrambled clouds.

I chuckle, continuing to eat my breakfast. “Of course.”

Ten minutes pass, and a morning quiz is played on the radio. She reaches up to the old receiver on the shelf above the table, turning the volume up. 

I watch as she mumbles to herself about the answer, followed by her looking it up on her phone, being excited that she got it right, and then being annoyed by the person who called in and got it dramatically wrong.

I can’t help but smile as I watch her, completely ignoring me – as if I’m still in bed upstairs. 

The music begins to play again, and she turns the volume down, grabbing her last slice of toast and taking a bite out of it as if she’s tearing through flesh, a playful growl following the bite as she chews it.

I put my fork down, my breakfast now gone, sit back and cross my arms over my chest as I watch. Laughing as she eats like a rabid chinchilla – fluffy and cute.

“What?” She frowns after swallowing another bite of toast. “Why are you laughing?”

I shrug, biting my bottom lip as I watch her cheeks turn a bright red. “I guess I’m realising what I’ve been missing by being in bed until 9 AM every morning.”

Her eyes widen before quickly looking down at her plate; only half a slice of toast left on the plate. “You don’t miss much.”

I lean forward, resting my arms on the edge of the table. “I miss you cooking breakfast, talking to yourself about the quiz… and I miss seeing you eat breakfast like a rabid rabbit.”

“A rabid rabbit?” She scoffs, looking up abruptly with her mouth hanging open. “I don’t eat like a rabid rabbit.“

“You knaw on food as if you’re trying to rip flesh off of bone, it’s kind of adorable,” I chuckle.

Isabelle shakes her head. “That’s not adorable, that sounds horrific.”

“You know me, I like it rough,” I joke. Her smile quickly fades after the comment and her brows pull together as she frowns. She would’ve laughed at that if it weren’t for last night. In the time that I’ve known her – and lived with her – she’s heard an ungodly amount of things come from my bedroom. But now, it just feels wrong. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head again, eyes glued to her plate as she stares – not blinking. “It’s fine.”

I reach over the table, placing my right hand on her left. Gently, I rub the back of her hand with my thumb, waiting for her to look up at me. When she finally does, I take my shot. “Can we talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” She blurts, her voice soft but shaky. She looks concerned, which is not an expression I like on her face. I got rid of that face when I kicked Marcus out in June last year, knowing it’s now me causing her concern… Is the opposite of what I want.

“I want to apologise…” I mutter, holding eye contact. “I shouldn’t’ve gone through your phone, and I certainly shouldn’t’ve done what I did. I don’t usually…” I stop. I don’t usually masturbate on the couch thinking about you; I usually do it in bed, so I know you won’t find me. And I don’t typically go through the laundry to find your underwear… “I don’t usually do that in communal areas; it was out of order and wrong. I’m so sorry.”

Isabelle looks down at our hands. “You don’t have to apologise…” 

“Belle-” I stop as she interrupts.

“You don’t have to apologise… If anyone does, it’s me,” she says, looking back at me. “I shouldn’t have spied on you; that was so wrong. It’s one thing to walk in on it, but… I…”

I tighten my grip on her hand. “Don’t be silly,” I whisper. Remembering how it felt last night. Watching her fuck herself, moaning my name, only to find her peeking through the door rubbing herself – while I had her panties wrapped around my shaft.

I shift in my seat, returning to the moment and noticing that she’s still frowning. “If the roles were reversed…”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts slightly, the frown gone – her face relaxing as she realises what I’m saying. “If the roles were reversed…” She whispers. “I would’ve joined you in the hall.”

I retract my hand, biting my bottom lip again as I lean back in my chair. “Is that right?”

Isabelle nods, pressing her lips together – her cheeks achieving a new shade of red.

“And what would you have done?” I question, thinking about what’s hiding under her shirt. Before last night, I’d never gotten as much as a glimpse of her. She’s always been in baggy shirts, jumpers, and jeans. Last night was a double whammy – shorts and a crop top, and a video of her completely bare. She’d be a sight to have on top of me. 

“You want me to tell you?” She asks, her voice like velvet – the concern and worry falling away, leaving just the playful girl I’ve been pining over for nearly three years.

I grin and shake my head, reaching down and undoing the button on my jeans as I stand up. “I want you to show me.” I step out from behind the table, slowly unzip the fly, and watch as she stares at me – eyes on the prize. “Well?”

Isabelle glances up at me to ensure I’m not fucking with her. She looks back down as I let my cock out, almost at eye level as she remains seated. She swivels, sitting sideways in her chair as she smiles, reaches for me and positions me between her spread legs – her hands on my hips. She looks up at me, this time as if asking for permission.

I smile and cup her face with both hands, my right thumb tracing her bottom lip. As I trace her upper lip, she opens her mouth and takes the tip, twirling her tongue around my thumb. Holding eye contact as she slowly pulls off, the suction popping as my thumb comes out of her mouth. “God, you’re such a good girl,” I instinctively groan.

Isabelle leans forward, slowly kissing around the tip of my dick – continuing to hold eye contact. “You have no idea,” she whispers against me. Slowly, she takes the tip in her mouth, pushing my foreskin back with her lips as her tongue starts to trace the edges of the head. 

Holding her head in my hands, I watch as she sucks – bobbing slowly, lapping up the precum I’d been leaking just watching her exist this morning.

Don’t fuck this up. I bite my lip as her left-hand moves to cup my balls, scooping them up in her small hand and softly squeezing and tugging. I groan, my hands gripping tighter as she continues to move slowly. She’s doing this on purpose. 

A quick shot of precum shoots out, and her tongue laps at the tip. I moan as she swallows around me, moving a little faster – picking up the pace and taking a new inch with every bob until I’m at the back of her throat. “Fuck,” I growl, watching her eyes roll into the back of her head as she repeatedly pulls back to the tip and slams back down the shaft. 

After a few minutes, she pulls off, panting as she strokes me with her right hand – still tugging and squeezing my balls with her left. “I’m going to have to get lower,” she whispers through pants.

“What?” I question as I let go of her; she stands up, pushes her chair back with her feet, and kneels before me.

“I need to be able to stretch my neck a little to get it all in,” she explains, biting her lip as she stares at my cock. On her knees, in front of me, she’s a little shorter than waist height. She aims my dick down slightly and starts on the tip again – lapping up the residue before pushing on. Inch after inch after inch. Finally, back where she was before, only two inches left to go, she kept sucking for a minute before taking a deep breath through her nose and plunging, my cock forcing its way down her throat. 

I feel her gag slightly, her throat tightening around me as she holds herself there. I remain still, not wanting to interrupt her.

Isabelle pulls off and lets go entirely as she gasps for air. Precum drips from the tip; she lips and kisses as she unbuttons her shirt. Showing her white lace bra underneath – her pink nipples visible through the thin fabric. She shrugs off the shirt, letting it fall on the floor behind her. “Can’t get cum on my black shirt…” She moans, grabbing my hips again – inhaling me this time, nothing slow about it. As she forces me down her throat, I lose my balance. Leaning forward, I put a hand on the wall to stabilise myself – she continues, completely unphased.

Her throat repeatedly tightens as she gags, her eyes watering and mascara pooling under her eyes as she keeps going. I begin to roll my hips in sync with her bobs. Cupping the back of her head with my free hand as I get closer, she lets go and lets me go to town. Driving it home with every thrust, she gags harder as I reach further and hold it there while I cum. Shot after shot, I feel her swallow around me, the suction only extracting more.

I pull out of her, and my cock jerks, shooting another long string that hits her face and falls onto her chest. I step back, breathing heavily as I lean against the kitchen counter. Watching as she used one hand to wipe up my cum and scoop it into her mouth, her other hand in her trousers.

Seeing her quivering, I move into action – grabbing her waist and getting her up. I quickly move the plates to the side before pushing her down onto the table and yanking her trousers off. Pulling her chair back, I sit down – her calves on my shoulders as I watch her finger herself under her matching lace underwear. I pull the small piece of fabric to the side, watching her middle and index fingers thrust in and out, dripping all over the table. 

I look at her face, finding her staring at me, mouth open as she whimpers. I nod, and she pulls her fingers out, letting mine take their place. 

She gasps as my fingers slide in, keeping her previous pace. I grin as I watch her unravel in front of me, her fingers in her mouth – sucking them clean – she begins to shake. I increase the pace and bury myself between her lips, tasting her as I suck and lap at her clit. 

“Please,” she screams, both hands on her breasts – holding on as if she’s hanging onto a tree in a hurricane.

I feel myself throb as she gets closer, stroking myself with my free hand as I pummel her. As she approaches the end of her tether, I feel the pressure building up around my fingers. I groan against her cunt, earning me a moaning of my name followed by an eruption.

Isabelle cries out as she squirts over me, soaking my face and shirt. She tightens around me as I pull out slowly, releasing the final wave of the flood. 

Panting as I sit back, watching as she drips onto the table and my lap, her feet now on my knees as I continue stroking. 

Isabelle smiles as she peers down at me. “Got another shot for me?” 

I laugh, biting my lip as she moves her feet – letting me stand. I approach the table, and she moves so her head hangs off the edge. I kick my chair out of the way and drive it home. Unloading in her throat, my balls hitting her face as I thrust, I grab her neck – feeling my dick as I squeeze.

Finally finished, I pull out and watch as she licks her lips and gobbles up the last few strings hanging off me. 

“Where the hell have you been all my life?” I groan, looking down at her nearly naked body.

“Right under your nose…” Isabelle giggles against my cock, cleaning up after herself.

I smile, cupping her face as I watch her – not wanting the moment to end. “Thank you for breakfast.”