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An idea forms. I slide my hand back out. The sigh she gives, all disappointment, makes me smirk. I hold my fingers under my nose and breathe in.

Fuck, she smells good.

She stares at me, mouth open, like she cannot believe I just did that. I can’t believe she thinks I wouldn’t smell her pussy.

I get to my feet and hold out a hand, and she hesitantly takes it. I walk her over to the bench and sit down on it, facing the mirror. I guide her to stand between my knees.

“Can I take the rest of your clothes off?”

A shy wee nod.

I hook my thumbs in the waistband and peel her leggings and knickers down together. She steps out of them one foot at a time, one hand on my shoulder for balance. Then she’s standing in front of me with nothing on.

I take my time looking. Her wee waist. The curve of her hips. Her thighs. The pale-gold curls hiding what I most want to see.

I look up at her face. She’s nervous. Cheeks rosy, hands hovering at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You good?” I say. “Remember, any time you want to stop, we stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” She’s quiet, but there’s no hesitation in her voice.

I nod. Then I turn her round by the hips so she’s facing the mirror and draw her down into my lap, her back against my chest, her arse settling against the front of my shorts. Against my cock. She stills when she feels it.

“Still okay?”

“I’ll tell you if I’m not.”

“Good girl.”

I put my hands on the insides of her knees and ease them apart slowly. Her head tips back against my shoulder. I look in the mirror, and the breath goes out of me.

Pink. Glistening. Open. Her whole body on show. My prim wee neighbour. The one who says “shall we” and rehearses her apologies. Splayed open in front of my mirror with nothing left to the imagination.

I reach round and touch her. Just my fingertips at first, drawn along her folds, feeling how slick she is. We both watch it happen in the glass. I part her, find her clit, and circle it. Her hips jump, and she looks away.

“Watch,” I tell her.

She does. My eyes go back and forth between her face and my hand. Her brows drawn together. My fingers moving on her.

Her hand comes up and grips my forearm, not to stop me, just to hold on.

It doesn’t take long. Her breathing goes short and high, her thighs start to shake against mine, and then she’s coming, her whole body arching off my chest, her nails in my arm, her mouth open on a sound she tries to swallow and can’t. It bursts out of her, and it’s not quiet.

My wee neighbour is loud when she orgasms. I like that.

When she catches my eye in the mirror, she goes scarlet all over again. “I’m sorry,” she says, mortified.

Sorry? She’s apologising? I’m fucking delighted.

“I’m no done wi’ you yet.”

She’s still shivering when I trail a single finger down through her folds then ease it inside her.

Christ, she’s tight. Tight enough that I have to go gently, work her up to it a bit at a time, but I’m in no rush. I’ve got all night and nowhere else I want to be. I stroke into her and watch her face and feel her start to soften around me. I can’t stop myself from imagining what she’d feel like around my cock.

That’s something I’m never going to find out. I told her, one time only. This is it.

I shove the thought away. There’s enough happening right here without me getting greedy.