I thought things might settle down after that moment, like maybe Caitlin would stop teasing, or I’d somehow get my mind under control–one big orgasm to quell my urges. But it only got worse. The following week was filled with little glances, her casual nudity, and my own growing tension.

It was a Friday after a long day at work when things took a turn. I was tired, but all I could think about on the drive home was Caitlin. What she might be wearing—or not wearing—when I got back. It was becoming a bad habit, constantly imagining her braless, nipples poking out, her body soft and tempting.

When I opened the front door, everything seemed normal. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and glanced down the hallway. Caitlin’s bedroom door was cracked open just slightly, and from the faint sound, it seemed like she was inside. My heart rate spiked, though, because I heard something else too—soft, rhythmic sounds, and a small sweet moan.

My body froze, and I felt a hot flush of excitement and confusion.

I moved toward her room on autopilot, my legs carrying me there before I considered what I was doing. I told myself I wasn't creeping, though I knew I was treading lighter than normal…

I approached the crack in her doorway now, the sounds getting louder. My heart stopped. Was she really doing what I thought she was doing? If so, should I just breeze past and pretend I hadn't noticed? Or should I call out and make my presence known? The moral dilemma tore at me, but my desire was stronger.

I needed to find out. I moved to the door and peeked in.

My heart stopped.

Her legs were slightly spread, her hand between her thighs, her fingers moving in slow, soft, teasing circles. She was wearing the tiniest pair of panties, pulled to the side, her smooth shaven pussy glistening with wetness. Her breasts, for the first time since I’d known her, were completely bare, her nipples hard and begging for attention.

I felt my panties almost instantly soak through.

Her fingers continued to gently part her lips, slowly, teasingly, playing with her clit as if inviting me in. I tried to look away but I couldn’t. She cupped one of her huge breasts, lifting it to her chest, her fingers teasing her nipple. She moaned again and my knees went weak.

Fuck.

I continued to watch her, my heart beating so loud I was worried she would hear it. Her eyes were closed, completely unaware of me standing there watching.

Or was she?

My mind continued to race. Did she leave the door open on purpose? Was she doing this for me? Or had I stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to see? But then again, Caitlin wasn’t exactly shy about showing her body. Maybe this was another one of her teases, testing my resolve…

I pressed my thighs together, trying to control the growing ache between my legs. I shouldn’t be watching her, I knew that. But I couldn’t stop. The way her fingers moved, the soft sounds she made, the way her body arched—it was all too much.

My own hand slid under the waistband of my pants, fingers grazing my clit over my panties. I bit my lip, trying to stay quiet, wishing I could taste her. Watching Caitlin like this, knowing that she might catch me at any second, was driving me wild.

Caitlin’s moans grew louder, and her movements more desperate. She was getting close. My fingers moved faster, matching the rhythm of hers. I was so turned on that I could barely think straight. The guilt gnawed at me—what if she didn’t mean for me to see this? What if I was crossing a line? But I couldn’t stop. My body wouldn’t let me.

She came with a soft cry, her body shuddering as her fingers slowed. I was on the edge, watching her ride the waves of her orgasm, my own release just a few moments away. I bit down harder on my lip, stifling a moan as my fingers worked furiously beneath my pants. The tension in my body snapped, and I came silently, trembling with the force of it.

As I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, I realized just how close I’d come to being caught. Caitlin lay still on the bed, her chest rising and falling as she recovered. The guilt hit me in waves now, but it was mixed with something else—desire, and the ever-present question: Did she leave that door open on purpose?

I slipped away quietly, retreating to my own room before she could notice me. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but wonder: what would happen if I asked her? Would she admit it? Or would she laugh it off, pretending it was nothing?

Either way, I know one thing for sure—this is far from over.