He wouldn’t. Iknowhim.
With every passing day, and every flirty message Leo sends, I have a harder time believing he intentionally shared my message with his friends. I can’t even reconcile the possibility. He strikes me as too private to do that. Something must have happened. Maybe he got hacked, or he shared it with a single person and it all got out of hand. I mean... Leo doesn’t seem like the type to care two shits about that kind of message.
But also, it wasn’t like it was a screenshot. Someone took a picture of his phone.
I shuffle out of the lounge and into my bedroom, unceremoniously dropping onto the bed to bury my head in the pillow.
This is all a fucking disaster. I’m in love with a man who doesn’t know who I really am. He will. One day. But how many different situations do I need to be in to get myself there?
I lie in the same position until my neck starts hurting. Which part of my upbringing turned me into the type of person who does... literally every illegal thing I’ve been doing?
Breaking and entering. Cyberstalking. In-person stalking. Theft. Catfishing—while not technically a crime, it’s definitely ethically unsound.
It’s the mommy issues. Gotta be.
Patting the bed and locating my phone, I open up my message thread with Leo.
Not only am I a stalker, apparently I also have the easiest trigger points because all it takes is seeing his name at the top of the screen, and it’s like I’ve been transported back to his house, hiding beneath his bed, watching as he gets himself off to a video I’m telling myself is somehow of me.
My eyes drift shut, recalling the moment with perfect clarity. The hitches in his breath, the rustle of clothing, the tensing of his abs, how the black ink glowed beneath the low light. Then, the sensations.That, I don’t need to imagine.
That... Yes, doing that will make me feel better.
It’ll make me feel closer to him.
My sweats are on the floor before I can think better of it, and my fingers are pressed against the thin material of my panties. My lips part on a silent groan when pressure hits my clit. I raise my hips slightly as if my body is making demands by itself.
In the back of my mind, Leo is whispering the words I saw commented in the live. His voice would be raspy and... commanding.Yes, that’s the type of person he’d be in the bedroom. He’d take control. Call all the shots.
My core tightens as I rub my fingers in circles, shoving the darkness of his bedroom away in my mind’s eye so I can see him—all of him. How his cock would look in his hand, the dark hair leading down from his stomach, the moisture beading at his tip.
What I wouldn’t do to have his cum on me. It’d be like the ultimate display that I’mhis. To feel him warm my skin, to go about my week knowing there’d be traces of him on me.
It’s the most intimate form of claiming. Yet something I won’t experience for a long, long time, unless...
I snap upright, zeroing in on the towel folded up on my dresser.
Leo’s towel.
The one he came into.
There are traces of him on there.
I could... no. It’s wrong. Gross, even. Weird, potentially. I can’t?—
Fuck it.
I’m already going to Hell. I might as well have a good time before then. I’ll get my fill of Leo one way or another. If not in this life, then I’ll track him down in the after.
I snatch the towel up and roll it into a log shape, and as if my guardian angels are looking out for me, it’s folded perfectly so I can still see the residue atop the fibers of the gray fabric, and holy fucking hell if that doesn’t make me slightly feral.
Something so unsavory shouldn’t do this to me.
Something so... depraved shouldn’t make a bead of sweat trickle down my spine.
I shouldn’t want to do this. I shouldn’t be imagining a life with someone who doesn’t know I exist. And yet, I set the towel on the bed, then straddle it.
The moment it hits the apex of my thighs, I’m done for. I know I am. There’s nothing in this universe that will drag my brain into a reality where it’s just me in my bedroom, with a dirty towel I stole.
