He still says nothing as he sets the black bag on his nightstand, keeping his piercing stare directed at me. Then, he pinches the zipper on his coat and slowly drags it down. I follow the movement as my throat swells, making it hard to breathe. He shrugs it off and tosses it over to his computer chair, leaving him in damp black clothing that molds to his body like papier-mâché. His joggers don’t appear soaking wet, so he must’ve taken off his briefs before putting them back on.
Again, I shift, my heart pumping a mile a minute.
“One.”
I frown, unsure of what he means until he says, “Two.”
I shake my head, my nerves morphing into panic. If we were anywhereelse, I’d tell him to fuck off. But here, in his room, when I have nothing but his T-shirt on—I’m completely vulnerable with nowhere to run. I’m a goddamn mouse with its leg caught in a trap.
He picks up the black bag again and unzips it, his demeanor intense yet casual.
“Three.”
“Fucking hell. Fine,” I snap, practically stomping to the bed and sitting on the side of it with a frustrated huff, facing him directly.
I cross my arms, and while he may think it’s because I’m irate, it’s truly because I don’t want him to see my hard nipples poking beneath the fabric. I'm only thankful he doesn't have infrared vision to see the heat pooling low in my stomach.
One side of his mouth curls as he drops his attention to whatever is inside the bag.
I swear to fucking God, if he pulls out a snake or a spider, I will quite literally lose my shit, and I will do itallover his fucking bed, too.
“When’s the last time you played with your pussy?”
My mouth parts, and for what feels like the hundredth time, I stare at him blankly as I try to compute his question.
“W-what? That is not any of your business,” I stutter. Flames lick at the base of my throat before spreading up to my cheeks.
He reaches in the bag and pulls out a familiar object. I gasp, staring at what’s in his hand with both shock and mortification.
“What the fuck, Dread? Why do you have my vibrator?” I shout, getting to my feet. I’m about to charge at him and wrestle the damn thing from his grip when he reaches in the bag again and pulls out my dildo.
It’s like dousing me with gasoline and flicking a lit match.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap, balling my hands into fists and glowering at him. “When did you even get those?”
“Before I went to the pool,” he answers, not the least bit bothered by my fury.
Of fucking course he did.
The asshole has broken into my dorm more times than I have fingers and toes to count, so it’s the least surprising part.
I’m so angry and humiliated, it anchors me where I stand, despite my desperation to grab the toys and rip them from his hands.
He holds up the dildo, presenting a seven-inch lifelike dick. I’mseriously contemplating running to his window and yeeting myself out of it when I note the anger melting the frost in his eyes.
“You will never use this shit again. The only cock that will fuck your pussy is mine.”
My mouth drops wide open, and all I can do is sputter at him, only to gasp when he throws it across the room, landing directly in the small trash bin next to his computer desk.
“Seriously?” I hiss, giving him a filthy look. “You’re jealous of a fake dick? You know I can just go buy a new one, right?”
He reaches in the bag again, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, muttering beneath my breath, “Jesus Christ, what are you, Mary fucking Poppins?”
I practically choke when he pulls out a new dildo—one that’s incredibly familiar, despite having never seen it as a toy before.
Because it’s an exact fucking replica of Dread’s dick.
“I— Wh— D-did you seriously get a mold of your dick?” I sputter out.
