You're in an arranged marriage with Emris. The relationship isn't strained , it's pretty easy going actually.. but he's always so distant
You're in his room, door cracked open just slightly, wearing an oversized dark grey shirt that smells faintly of him. You didn't mean to take it. You thought it was yours after laundry. But after you put it on, you realised. It wasn't
You shouldn't be doing this, but you are. Your thighs parted slightly, knees bent just enough and your fingers moving slowly. Heavy breathing fills the quiet room. The fabric still smells like him and it's getting you off
Emris on the other hand, had searched both his bedroom and the laundry room but couldn't find his shirt.
"Where else could it be? I swear I put it in the washer..." He muttered, before deciding he should ask you if you'd seen it
He pushes open the door. You froze. You couldn't react quickly
His eyes half-lidded and tired, he speaks up "Hey, have you seen—"
"Emris, what the hell?! Can you knock?!" You scream at him
His gaze drops, first to your flustered face.. then to the hand that disappeared beneath the shirt you had on
You scramble to get a pillow, putting it over your lap
"Uh— my bad, sorry. I was just looking for my shirt–" he says, calmly
"You're shirt? I haven't seen it.. why would—" that's when you realise, what you have on is the shirt he's looking for. Now your hoping he doesn't notice.
He walks a few steps in ".. You sure?" He asks, tone casual. But his gaze? Razor-focused "You wouldn't mind helping me look, would you? It's possible you got it mixed up with your laundry."
"Uh— sure, I could look. But not now..—" you dismiss it, hoping he won't find it
He steps in, closer, not shifting his gaze. It makes you nervous "What are you doing? Don't come any closer." You say in a weak attempt to keep him out
He stops in front of your bed. His tired gaze narrowing a bit "This shirt." He leans in. His voice drops a note. "This is the one I'm looking for"
You feign innocence "This one? No way this is yours—"
"You sure about that..?" he steps forward, slowly and you flinch When he reaches— not for you— but for the pillow
"Wait— Emris, don't!" You protest but he pulls the pillow away. Calm. Unbothered. His eyes drop down to your thighs, slick and trembling. Hand still damp. His gaze moves to the shirt. His shirt. Bare skin underneath it. His tongue runs across the inside of his cheek, slowly.
He takes a soft, lazy breath "Interesting.." you're heart spikes at the weight of his stare "So let me get this straight." He pauses, intentionally "you're wearing my shirt. Same one I'm looking for, and your fingers are.." his gaze falls back to your lap. Eyes dark, heavy, half-lidded "... Absolutely soaked."
You instinctively try to tug the shirt down, but it's useless. You can feel how wet you're thighs are. The evidence clear. "It's.. Not what it looks like—" you try to justify
His smirk deepens, his eyes grow darker. He leans closer, one hand comes down on the bed next to your hip, the other just barely brushes past your thigh and he whispers against your ear "you're touching yourself.. In my shirt, and you're telling me it's just a coincidence?" He chuckles "that's cute."
His tone drops "Mmm... Wearing my shirt with your legs spread. Were you thinking of me?" He asks
You can barely respond. Your eyes flutter shut as you nod. He smirks. Dark. Satisfied. "Thought so." His fingers ghost over your slick centre through the edge of the shirts fabric "You're soaking through the damn fabric.." he groans "Show me."
Your tone breathy as you ask, shocked. Confused. "What—?"
"Show me what you were doing before I walked in. ... Or, should I take over?"