boxer ⋆ luke hemmings ✔️

24. Look At Me.

Do something about it? What the hell did she even mean?

Obviously, Sophie panicked, eyes widening as soon as the words left her mouth. And Luke would have panicked, too; if he hadn't felt a tent beginning to form in the crotch area of his sweats at the sultry tone of his little girl's voice.

Her expression was stunned, words tripping over one another as she tried to conjure up some random excuse. She had to remind herself that this wasn't her dream; she didn't quite have the confidence, or the ability, to express what she wanted as easily as her subconscious could.

Then again, her subconscious wasn't real; dream-Sophie would act on being horny without a single care in the world, whereas real-life Sophie couldn't.

Real-life Sophie had morals, whereas the dream version of herself didn't seem to have any whatsoever.

Luke didn't speak for a while, dragging her real-life paranoia through the dirt as his lips stayed pursed.

It was painfully obvious what she'd been hinting at, any idiot could see that. Yet his mind was still racing, heart still beating as fast as ever as all of Luke's thoughts clashed and collided into one another.

Do something about it. Where the hell did Luke even want to start?

He didn't have to wonder for long, thankfully, a saving grace for the shocked look on his face.

Sophie moved around slightly on the mattress, attracting his attention as she sheepishly pulled the hoodie further down her thighs.

It did nothing. He could still see as much skin as before, and if his dick was a person, then it would probably be naked and moaning by now just at the sight of her.

"I mean," he was waiting, waiting for her to tell him which of his fingers she wanted where; against her clit, inside of her, maybe even a thumb in her mouth if she was feeling it. But the request never came, and instead, Luke was greeted by a pair of blinking brown eyes.

"C-Can you get me a pair of long socks, please?" Do something about it. In other words; cover my legs so that you can stop staring at them. "I'm... cold,"

It was dark in her room, zero light bouncing off of the walls thanks to the black curtains that Sophie had attached to the rail. But still, Luke could make out the embarrassed look on her face easily; the feeling of regret, no doubt.

"Oh," Luke mumbled, climbing back off of the mattress, "Oh, right. Sure,"

"They're in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, somewhere..."

Disappointment flooded his chest, deflating his little buddy down there as he nodded slowly. Getting the girl a pair of knee-highs was definitely not what he had in mind when she told him to 'do something'.

He expected raw, rough, unadultered fucking; with her against the wall and him with his fingers wrapped possessively around her neck. The latter was nothing compared to his fantasy.

Nevertheless, Luke did it anyway, because there was no possible way that he could resist her. He'd probably jump off of a fucking bridge if Sophie asked him to.

She had a lot of the socks, all folded up neatly in a corner of one large drawer. The colours ranged from every single stripe of the rainbow to black; some even with bows, others with lace frills. He had no idea which one to get.

"What colour do you want?" despite his sexual frustration soaring through the roof, Luke wasn't about to give her a pair that she didn't like.

Sophie shrugged, slipping her current socks off before throwing them into the laundry basket. She had somehow gotten over the initial humiliation, praying for him to forget and for things to return back to normal.