I grip the pliers tighter.
It’s been almost a week since she told me she was never raped. And while the admission calmed me down, I know there’s more to her story. I’m fucking certain, but she hasn’t said anything else, and as hard as it is, I don’t push.
She’ll come when she’s ready.
She knows I’ll listen.
Shetrustsme.
And that trust nearly fucking broke me last week.
Her moans bled through the walls into my bedroom, the most erotic symphony I’ve ever heard. I lay there staring at the ceiling, one hand wrapped around my cock, the other fisting the sheets.
The sounds she made dictated my rhythm. I stroked, biting my tongue to keep quiet while crushing my every instinct to cross the hall, kick her door open, and take what she was already giving.
She wanted me. She moanedmyname.
And I stayed put because I’m terrified of pushing her too fast. Terrified of becoming another Anton in her head.
If I had burst into her room, would that have been her choice or mine? Would she have let me touch her because she wants me, or because she thought it’s what I expected?
Was she intentionally loud or was it an accident?
Was she summoning me consciously or—
Overthinking, much?
That’s an understatement.
I know how much I want her. She knows it too. I’ve hardly been subtle about it. Which is why I couldn’t risk it. One wrong move and I’d have undone all the ground we’ve gained.
I almost didn’t finish, caught between restraint and obsession, second-guessing every option. It’s a fucked-up rollercoaster with this girl: my want, my fear, her trauma, her past.
Baby steps, I guess.
For now, I’ll take the small wins. I love how she’s settled into my apartment, doing whatever the hell she pleases while bossing around the owner.
Namelyme. I’m the owner.
She knows I’ll obey her every request. I’ll jump if she tells me to. I want her to own every square inch of my life. I want her coffee cup on my sink, her clothes in my dryer, her scent in my bed, and her moans bouncing off my walls.
Her gasps have been stuck in my head for days. The way her groan built until she cried out while I lay on the other side of the wall, fists full of sheets and cock.
And then you teased her about her orgasms.
Yeah... that was me.
I meant well, I swear. I tried loosening the tension, but it backfired. All I did was drive her out of the room.
God, I shouldn’t have said anything.
I fucked up. Plain and simple. I just hope I didn’t shove myself straight into the friend-zone.
The thought makes me want to scream louder than Phill.
“This little piggy...” I grip his pinky, then pause, frowning. “What was the fourth one?”
“Had none,” Ryder supplies, his legs swinging from the metal table he’s sitting on.
