I shoved a hand down my boxers and worked myself with slow, quiet, strokes, just enough to take the edge off. My breath came fast, uneven, the mattress creaking in protest.
I tried to picture something safe. Lauren’s goodbye kiss. The girl from the video yesterday, the one with the perfect ass and zero emotional complications.
The image didn’t stick.
Across the room, Tru shifted. The bedsprings creaked. Then the rustle of sheets, the soft pad of bare feet on carpet. The bathroom door clicked shut. A second later came the rattle of the shower curtain rings.
Shit. I thought he was asleep.
I froze, hand going still.
The pipes groaned, and the shower hissed to life. The quiet was deafening. My heartbeat filled the space.
Then, under the rush of water—barely audible—a sound.
A muffled breath. Shaky. Uneven. The kind you only make when you think no one’s listening.
No. He wouldn’t.
Except… he would.
Tru was quiet about everything. Always had been. But I’d know that sound anywhere. It was the same sound I’d spent the last two years pretending I didn’t hear at night.
The same sound that haunted my dreams.
My chest went tight, every muscle wired. I shouldn’t listen. Ishouldn’t.
But my hand moved again before I could stop it. Slow. Testing.
His low, breathless groan was almost swallowed by the shower’s steady beat.
My body betrayed me. My grip tightened, my hips jerked, my breath stuttered.
And in the next heartbeat, I was gone.
Images I didn’t want—couldn’t want—hit me. Tru, standing in the rain, his hair slick and dark, lips parted like he was tasting the sky. His laugh, quiet and reckless. The way he used to look at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
The orgasm hit like a sucker punch. My jaw locked. I bit down hard enough to taste blood, keeping myself silent.
When it was over, I lay there panting, chest heaving, shame crawling up my throat.
I grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and wiped fast, as if I could scrub the guilt away. But it stuck, heavy and burning.
I hadn’t just gotten off.
I’d gotten off thinking abouthim.
Again.
“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath.
The shower cut off. A pause. Then soft footsteps on tile, the creak of the door. Steam curled into the room, bringing with it the smell of cedar and mint. His scent, clean and cruel and mocking.
The bedsprings across the room dipped as Tru slid under his covers.
I rolled onto my side, eyes shut, heart still racing, and pretended to sleep. Pretended the air didn’t feel thick enough to choke on. Pretended I wasn’t still hard from the sound of him breathing.
But the truth was there—hot, bitter, and unshakable.
