SIN & SEDUCTION

Rosa I pull up in Zarah’s house a little after three. The sun burns on my skin the second I step out of the car. My backpack hangs off one shoulder and the strap digs into me. We still have that group project hanging over us, and Zarah said the poolside is the best place to work because the house stays too quiet inside. I walk around the side gate and find her already set up under the big umbrella. Her laptop is open, notebooks spread out and two cold waters sweating on the table. She waves without looking up from her phone. “It's about time, Rosa,” she says. “I started without you.” “Traffic was s**t,” I reply and drop my bag on the empty lounge chair. I kick off my sandals and sit cross-legged on the towel she left for me. The concrete feels warm under my feet. We get into the notes pretty quick, Zarah talks through the first section while I type. The afternoon heat presses against my arms and the back of my neck. I drink half my water and try to stay focused. Somewhere past the middle of the page I feel it, a sharp sudden need to pee. I held it too long on the drive. I shift on the towel and press my thighs together but it only gets worse. “I need to use the bathroom,” I say, standing up immediately. Zarah glances at me over the laptop. “Judt go inside. Hallway, second door on the left, don’t use the one by the kitchen. My dad gets weird about that one.” “Got it.” I walk across the warm concrete and slide the glass door open. The air inside feels cooler and the house smells faintly like laundry and whatever soap they use. My bare feet make soft sounds on the tile as I head down the hall. I find the bathroom, lock the door, and take care of it fast. When I wash my hands I look at myself in the mirror for a second, taking in my appearance. My hair is messy, my thin tank top stuck to my skin from the heat, and I’m wearing the same old shorts I always wear to study. I step back into the hallway and close the bathroom door behind me, everything is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Then I hear it. A low rough sound, almost like a grunt. It comes from deeper in the house, past the living room. Another one follows, shorter this time, and then a steady rhythm. I should walk straight back outside, I know that. Instead my feet move toward the sound. The master bedroom door stands half open. A thin strip of afternoon light cuts across the carpet from the blinds. The grunting is clearer now, I push the door a little wider with two fingers and freeze. Zarah’s dad sits on the edge of the bed, his jeans are shoved down his hips. One hand wraps tight around his thick c**k, the head already shiny and dark. He strokes hard and fast, his head tipped back against the headboard, eyes closed, jaw tight. Every few strokes, a low sound rolls out of his throat. The sound of his fist on his c**k fills the quiet room. He has not noticed me yet. I stand in the doorway and cannot look away, his hand moves with a rough urgent rhythm. The muscles in his forearm shift with every pull. A thick drop of precum beads at the tip and gets dragged down by his thumb, shiny and wet. His breathing grows heavier and the bed creaks softly under him each time his hips lift a little. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I feel it in my throat. Heat floods my face and sinks lower, straight between my legs, sudden and so sharp. My shorts feel too tight all of a sudden, I should step back. I should close the door and pretend I never saw this but my feet stay planted on the carpet. He keeps going, faster now, the sound of skin louder. Another low grunt escapes him, deeper this time. His free hand grips the edge of the mattress hard enough that his knuckles turn white. The head of his c**k swells darker under his fist, shiny with every stroke. I watch the thick vein along the side pulse, I watch how the head disappears into his tight fist and comes back glistening every single time. The air in the room feels thicker, warmer and ny mouth goes dry. My n*****s tighten under the thin tank top without me meaning them to. He still does not open his eyes. I could leave right now, slip back down the hall, walk outside, sit next to Zarah like nothing happened, instead I stay. The door is still only half open, one more inch and the hinge might creak. I do not move it, I just stand there, barefoot on the carpet, watching Zarah’s father stroke his thick c**k like the rest of the world does not exist. Every wet sound of his fist makes something low in my belly tighten, my thighs press together on their own. I feel how wet I am getting already and it scares me how fast it happens. His breathing turns ragged, the strokes grow shorter, tighter. He is close, I can see it in the way his hips start to lift off the bed, chasing his own hand. The muscles in his stomach flex hard. Another deep grunt rolls out of him, louder this time, almost like it hurts. A fresh bead of precum spills over his fingers and he uses it to make the next strokes even wetter and even louder. Then his eyes open, they lock straight on me. For a second neither of us moves, his hand freezes mid-stroke, still wrapped tight around that thick shiny c**k. My whole body goes cold and hot at the same time. Panic hits so hard my stomach drops, I cannot breathe or speak. My legs feel like they might give out right there in the doorway, my heart is pounding so loud I am sure he can hear it. He stares at me, holding himself, still hard and wet, the silence between us stretches until it feels like it might snap.