The panties are pink against my skin, grazing over the thick veins that pulsate for her.
I can do this.
For Kat.
I focus on the tip, my thumb dragging circles over the most sensitive spot. What if it were her fingers?
‘Fuckkkk,’ I groan. The thought of her touch sends butterflies flitting through my stomach.
I thrust into my fist, pleasure roping my balls tight.
‘Kat.’ Her name is a plea uttered through clenched teeth while the tears flow. I want to stop. But I need to finish.I wish she were here.
I choke on a moan, my muscles tightening until they ache.
‘Please,’ I beg, the tip of my cock as wet with precum as my cheeks are with tears.
I imagine Kat pressing her lips to my ear and demanding I give her everything I have.
It scatters my thoughts long enough for my body to return to a baser level. My cum explodes, coating me, the panties and my duvet in ropes of hot salt.
After, I lie still in the dark until the cum dries to a flaky mess on my stomach.
It feels like I’ve ripped a scab off an ancient wound that festered rather than healed.
Raw and painful.
Yet, healing.
I’ve cracked myself open and can only hope whatever I’m leaking won’t scare her off. She deserves better than me and my peeling walls. Someone whose hands know gentleness and healing, rather than death and destruction.
I press my sticky hands over my eyes until white specks appear in the darkness.
I’ve never been good.
But for her, I’ll try.
Right after I track down the dickhead who’s been threatening Kat, and drag his spine out through his fucking mouth.
TWELVE
KAT
The library lightsare low as the evening wears on, most people having left hours ago. Clearly having much better things to do than I.
My back aches as I straighten out, searching for relief from the discomfort of hours of barely moving.
There’s a little over half an hour until closing, and I’ve been the victim of more than a few pointed looks from the university librarian. My assignment isn’t anywhere near done, so I’ll have to come back tomorrow.
I pack up and head out into the cold, pulling out my phone and ordering Chinese food to arrive at the flat just after me.
The campus is pretty quiet; it’s not late enough for the student bar to have kicked out, but too late for anyone to be returning from classes. The occasionalstudent crosses the square, face lit by the glow of their phone as they stare at it while walking. A skill I’ve never quite nailed. I only just managed to place my order while walking at a snail’s pace. Anything beyond that would have me stepping headfirst into a lamppost. The coffee shop is dark and shuttered, the art shop similarly deserted.
I’ve taken to walking the long way home after the notes, and with the boy from my past reappearing. Not that it helps when he knows where I live. Still, staying in the light gives me at least a tiny bit of reassurance. Avoid the back alleys, keep to the busier streets with the lights.
There’s been no more notes in the past few days, and no sign of the heart-eyed man, but I can’t shake that feeling of being watched. It crawls over my skin no matter where I am.
I’m nearly home when the feeling intensifies.
