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I stare at the text, hoping her intentions will re-solidify in my mind, but it doesn't take long before my brow tightens, all my focus shifting on the winky face. Then I'm gaping at the fridge all over again, at Juliana's little smiley face, the one she added just to taunt me. She had to of... Because maybe that's her exact motive—to be a huge, irresistible tease.
Wearing tight yoga pants, bumping into me at night, purposely feeding into my touch, choosing to sleep a few doors down, when she knows all I can think about is fucking her senseless.
Now she slaps our contract in my face, yet again, when she knows, deep down, that I'd much rather see my signature on a different contract altogether. One where she's obligated to share my bed each night, then she couldn't help but give in to my advances, her perfect body offered up for me to do with as I see fit.
My first demand would be simple. No pants. Ever. Not in the bedroom, kitchen, living room—nowhere in my penthouse. She'd strut around in nothing but a cropped T-shirt and a pair of panties... preferably the scanty kind... black and lacy... with a bowtie on the front, right below the diamond hanging off her belly button...
I grunt, low and guttural, as pleasure blooms down to my toes, a dark hunger ravaging in its wake, until I'm bucking my hips up into thin air, the friction against my sweatpants tantalizing, surely the furthest cry from thrusting into Ju—
My eyes, which apparently closed on their own, pry open, jolting my entire body into a state of alert. Oh, don't tell me. Please, please, please...
I look down.
Ahh, fuck!
Hard and raging with painful need, my erection bulges against my sweatpants, poking its domed head past the waistband. Arousal pumps through me, threading desire along my every waking thought, drowning out any ounce of shame I should feel. And it's all nearly too much to handle.
I grit my teeth, forcing my hips still, as I pull out my camera. This is all just a delayed reaction—yes, yes—after fantasizing about Olivia. Oh-liv-ee-a. The girl with the tits. Huuuugeeee tits. On my phone. No other girl, no, no, no. Especially not my best friend's little—
JUST TAKE THE FUCKING PICTURE.
Squirming, I readjust and slip my tip back into hiding, then snap a photo. Like clockwork, I test out a few more angles, but in a rush, I pick one before I go full photo-shoot mode. Hitting the send button, I soar down my contacts toward the letter O. But on the way, I pause... on letter J... on Juliana Brooks.
Don't do it.
My heart beats to a mischievous rhythm.
Do. Not. Do. It, I warn those intrusive thoughts.
Or what? they sneer back.
Or... Or...
My answer should be as easy as my next breath. There are a dozen reasons I shouldn't hit send. Maybe hundreds. But they're all trapped inside clouds of a brewing storm, now downpouring atop my head droplets filled with lust and possession, fueling a need to hear the girl who made me pledge my celibacy swear off hers. A desire so deep, I can't hear my own thoughts anymore—not even the intrusive ones. So, I do what's easiest...
I let them win.
After fifteen torturously-long minutes of complete radio silence, my erection is finally—mostly—gone, and so am I.
Out of my bedroom door.
I breeze down the hallway like a puff of smoke, hot and angry, yet quiet and undetectable.
Juliana thinks she can just ignore me? Leave me high and dry? What nerve she has. What gall. Every woman in Manhattan would beg for my attention—begs, for it—every time I step out my front door.
Exhaling sharply, I swing a left.
Has she gone downright mad? The picture is immaculate, with the perfect angle and perfect lighting and an even more perfect cock, the definition of a panty-dropper. If posted online, it would've had a going rate of at least five-hundred dollars, and I didn't even show feet.
Yet, her response is no response. I anticipated a lecture, a pounding on my door, an ewwwww text laced with denial, something.
I hang another left, aware I'm going in circles, until I actually turn down her hallway, spotting a light under her door. So she IS awake. Irritated, I make for her bedroom, meaning to pound on her door, only to hear the explanation she so obviously owes me.
Creeping farther into the dark hallway, I nearly trip over my own feet, catching the wall, a foot from her bathroom door. No light shines beneath it, but something else sure does...
Sounds.
Breathless sighs.
