She opened the door and stepped inside. "Jesus," she said aloud as her eyes took in the expansive dwelling. And she had the place all to herself until tomorrow morning when her mom and Dan were scheduled to arrive.
Why not really enjoy the place? After all, no one was going to show up until tomorrow. She cranked up the thermostat to a sinful 80 degrees. And who needed clothes when it was this hot? She took them off and left them crumpled in a small pile in the middle of a hallway.
She then wandered into the kitchen. Rich people drank wine, didn't they? She found a dusty bottle on the counter with an elaborate French labeclass="underline" Chateau Vouvray Chenin Blanc, Vintage 1977. Sounded good to her. She popped the cork and poured herself a glass. She also grabbed a small chunk of cheese from the fridge; nothing like a bit of cheese to go with a good glass of wine. She walked naked into the living room, sipping her wine and nibbling on her cheese.
How about a fire? Just for ambience's sake? She got one going in the fireplace and sprawled out in front of it.
"All alone and nothing to do," she said quietly to herself. Her hands started wandering to her breasts. Might as well fuck herself silly.
But first, more wine. She took another sip, then dipped her fingers in the glass. Her wine-soaked fingers found her mouth, traced her lips, played with her nipples until they morphed to rock-hard pebbles, and then slowly traversed their way across her torso and down to her already wet and aching sex. They danced along the hood of her clit, transporting her to another place, a place where Trey, her roommate's boyfriend, was about to fuck her brains out.
No, we can't, she imagined herself insisting as his big, muscular body held her against the bed. No, we really shouldn't… He ignored her and yanked her little shorts down roughly. She was ready for him to take her, but she closed her legs tight, giving him just enough room to slide one hand in. His hand made a slow, tingling move between her sensitive thighs, one that took her breath away for a moment. But she couldn't keep him away from her, not when he was overwhelming her like that. She let him touch her down there with his fingers, where no one else had ever felt her before. She realized he was going to fuck her hard right then and there.
"Trey," she gasped loudly as she furiously fingered herself. She was getting close already.
"Oh yeah, baby. Do me," she moaned and yelped as the pleasure made her surge closer and closer to the edge. She was so close now, it was unbearable. "Fuck me! Harder!"
She climaxed, feeling the first big spasm take her. She kept going, fantasizing that he was still fucking her, giving it to her ferociously. She deliriously rubbed her pearl, her hips off the floor and in the air. She collapsed into animal-like wails as the orgasm overtook her.
"Oh Trey!"
She felt the energy drain out of her body as she rested on the floor. She wanted to do it again. But first, she needed more wine. She walked back to the kitchen, and as she rounded the corner to enter it her eye caught the backside of a man in ski clothes rummaging through the refrigerator.
Sasha shrieked, and spun around and ran back into the hallway from which she came.
"Hello?" a voice called out after her.
She rushed back to her clothes, threw them on, and returned to the kitchen, her heart pounding.
"Hey," the guy said, "did you drink all my dad's Vouvray? And eat the rest of the sharp cheddar?"
"I, I think I did. Sorry," Sasha stammered. The guy grinned at her. She had gotten over her shock just enough to start taking him in. His baggy ski outfit was covered in snow, and his goggles were shoved up onto his helmet at a totally lopsided angle. He started chugging milk from the gallon jug he was holding.
"Conditions were epic today," he gushed, wiping milk off his face with his sleeve. "Powder up to my waist!" He took another gulp from the bottle. "So you must be Sasha?"
"Yeah," she said, wanting to hide. He held his hand out for her to shake, then without warning, pulled her in for a hug. She fought the urge to push him away, her face buried in his wet ski jacket. It smelled bad, like weed and BO.
"Tom," he said. "I'm Dan's son. Nice to meet you." He walked out of the kitchen, his ski boots clomping on the tile. "Conditions were gnarly!" he yelled as he headed for his room.
She said a silent prayer, hoping he hadn't heard her in the living room. There was a good chance he had, she realized. God, and now she was trapped in the house with him. And he seemed a little weird. Too friendly and gregarious for her tastes.
As a family. Ugh! She threw on her coat, walked out into the cold to her van, and left for town. She wished her mom was here already, then at least she would have someone to talk to.
She got back to the house around 10 o'clock. Tom was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a book. He looked up when he heard her walk in.
She started when she saw his face. He was good looking. He had long, shaggy dark-brown hair. His face was chiseled and angular, sporting a dark five o'clock shadow. He looked older than a college boy. He was wearing a dark red flannel shirt, and it sat nicely on his wide shoulders.
"Tom?"
"Yeah," he said, looking a little confused. "We met earlier."
"You look…different," she said.
"Oh. Well I was hoping we could go out or something, maybe grab a drink. But then you left."
"Uh, sorry." She felt like she had blown it. "We can still go out," her voice trailed hopefully.
"Nah," he said. He closed his book with a clap. "It's too late. Let's just watch a movie or something."
Sasha hurried up to her room and quickly changed into something more comfortable: pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. She had felt freaked out by Tom before, but now she was intimidated by him. She turned in front of the mirror to check herself out. Maybe it was ridiculous that she was checking herself out in pajamas. In any case, she looked hot and she knew it. She wasn't the skinny, gangly girl she had been when she had left for college a year and a half ago, that was for sure. She gave herself one final look-over and walked back downstairs.
Tom already had a movie queued up when she returned to the living room.
"Hey," she said, plopping herself down on the couch Indian-style, her back against the armrest so she could face him.
"Hey yourself."
"What are we watching?"
"The November Man. It looks pretty bad, but my dad doesn't have a lot of movies here."
"That's fine. I'm not picky," Sasha said, settling into the couch.
"I was going to suggest wine and Scrabble. But that's what I do when I want to hook up with a girl," Tom said. Sasha felt her face flush.
"What, you do that every time?"
"Not really..." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Actually, kind of. After we go out for Thai food," he chuckled. "And I always pick the same booth in the corner. The staff thinks I'm an asshole now."
"That's really bad," she tittered, despite herself. How could he be so brazen?
"But I'll be good around you," he said. "I promise."
"You better." She kicked him playfully. Or maybe it was more like feeling his thigh with her foot.
"Hey," he said, "Do you just go around feeling guys up?"
"Yes," she said, laying down on the couch and using his thigh as a pillow. Talking to Tom felt so...comfortable; like she had known him forever. The opening scene of the movie droned on. Two guys on the screen were talking in a café, spies or something.