Chrissy doesn't lay down on Eddie's bed, because it feels more like floating down. She knows the weed has officially hit because her body feels soft and liquid, like she's been wrapped in a cozy, fluffy blanket fresh out of the dryer.
She feels like her muscles just relaxed for the first time in years.
Yet, at the same exact time, everything troubling her weary mind has faded to the point that all her inhibitions are a distant memory. She knows he's sitting at the foot of his bed, looking at her, probably on the verge of laughing because she almost definitely looks ridiculous. But it's the last thing she could possibly care about, especially since she feels so damn good that it's turning her on.
Her legs fall open as she sighs, the green pleated skirt falling back to her hips, and she thinks she hears a kind of gasp from him. She smiles lazily, already feeling the ache building right below her gut, and her hand slides slowly over her inner thigh.
“Um…Chrissy? You know I'm still in here, right?”
She softly shushes him, her thumb hooking in her panties, somehow bringing one leg up and out of them despite feeling completely melted. Her leg drops back down without finesse as the effort of movement proves exhausting–but the broken moan her exposed pussy forces from his lungs makes it more than worth it.
“Oh, goddamn, sweetheart.” He's reduced to almost a whisper, and she hears him shifting on the blanket. If she weren't high, she'd be startled by the realization that she's okay with the possibility of Eddie touching her.
No. She's not just okay with it.
In that spirit of enticement, she spreads her hand over her mound, long fingers caressing each side of her opening, spreading her lower lips. He says nothing, even as two fingers disappear inside, a breathy sigh escaping her throat. Gently, she fingers herself, spreading her arousal up to her clit.
The feeling's building fast, and there are no negative emotions or thoughts or voices to tamp it down as she rubs herself quicker. She groans, focusing on the swollen nub, her other hand pushing under her bra to tweak her nipple.
She dips a finger in every few strokes, teasing herself, and her groans turn to whines, her hips moving rhythmically, pretending he's already inside her.
Her eyes close and she pictures it: his naked body pressed to hers, his hair a curtain, hiding her face from the world. She wonders how big he is, how well she could take him, pounding into her, pulling her hair, fingers around her neck, biting her tender skin, sucking her tits raw.
She wonders if he wants to try her out, too.
The thought has her spasming in no time, calling his name to the ceiling, and she imagines him fucking her through it, staying as deep inside her as possible. Once it's too much, she falls limp on the bed once more, her head lulled to the side.
Her eyes open to find him staring at her, frozen, mesmerized by how she's leaking onto his blanket. “Chrissy.”
He swallows to keep from drooling, looking her in the eyes with a manic hunger she's never seen in her life, his voice deep and hollow.
“Mind if I clean you up, baby?”