21

I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows propped on my knees, eyes locked on my laptop, though I’m not really seeing anything. My mind is somewhere else, drifting. Bunny steps into her room, her towel clinging to her wet skin, droplets of water trailing down her exposed back. She’s getting ready for her dad’s New Year’s Eve party, and I can't help but notice how effortlessly beautiful she looks in that moment.

Yeah, I got invited too. But will I go? Fuck no. Since that night, I’ve been fighting tooth and nail to keep my distance. It’s harder now than ever before. When she fell asleep in that van, all broken and vulnerable, I drove her home without a word, scooped her fragile little body up, and laid her gently on her bed in her apartment.

I lingered for a while, just watching her, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between us. Everything she said, everything we did, and all the things she admitted that, honestly, I wish she fucking didn’t. For years, that’s all I wanted. For her to finally say those words I’d been dying to hear. To hear her voice telling me that everything I felt—every twisted, obsessive part of it—wasn’t just some sick fantasy in my head. That I wasn’t imagining things, that it wasn’t just a reflection of my own insanity.

But now? Now it’s more complicated than I ever thought.

She loved me. She does love me. But she hid it—locked it away as deep as she could. She tried to protect us both in some fucked-up way, like it was some kind of shield against the unavoidable. But that’s never what I wanted. I never asked for any of that. And now, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

I can’t keep holding out for her to come to her senses, for her “maybe” to turn into something solid, something fucking real. I can’t keep waiting for her to finally choose me. It’s been eating me alive for too long. So, I did what I told myself I would. I let her go—well, at least, I told myself I did.

But the truth is I’m still right here, watching her every move, like some kind of desperate fucking ghost, unable to pull myself away. It’s like a bad habit—something I can’t fucking quit, no matter how much I know it’s killing me.

Ebony sits at the end of the bed, her eyes blank, staring into nothing. She’s as miserable as always, but there’s something about the way she sits, so fucking empty, that makes my chest tighten, makes me feel like I’m crumbling right along with her. I hate how much it affects me because I just want to give her everything to make her happy.

After a while, she picks up the hair dryer and I watch her—my eyes glued to her, unable to look away—until, just as I’m about to close the laptop and let myself slip back into my own darkness, she glances at the screen, clearly realizing the redlight for her camera is on.

She never would’ve seen it before. She wouldn’t have cared. But now, she does. She knows I’m fucking watching her. I see it in the way her eyes harden, the slight pause before she turns off the dryer.

She sets it down, and for a moment, she sits there, her back turned, like she’s deciding whether or not to confront me. Then, gently, she edges to the corner of the bed. Her eyes flick to me, dark and calculating, wondering if it’s really me watching.

Then she does something that makes my heart skip a beat. She bites her lip, and I feel it—something’s going to happen.

I don’t know what comes over her, but she starts unfolding the towel, her movements slow, as if she’s enjoying every second of this twisted little show she’s putting on for me.

I inhale sharply, my eyes sweeping over her naked body. It’s like a fucking pull, magnetic and unstoppable. She knows it too—how the sight of her makes my blood run hot, how every inch of her is pure fucking sin. She leans back, placing one hand on the bed for support. She lifts her legs, flattening her feet on the bed, then splays them wide, as if offering herself.

I grind my teeth, my cock straining against my jeans, painfully solid. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, and I reach for it, the pressure almost unbearable.

“Shit,” I mutter, my hand squeezing my dick as if telling it to calm the fuck down.

She stares into the lens, dragging her thumb over her tongue, down her bottom lip, and continuing until she’s teasing her nipple with it. Her head tilts back, black hair cascading over her shoulders as she cups her pussy, pressing her fingers through her lips. Her hips buck against them, and it's probably one of the sexiest fucking things I've ever seen.

I can hear her moans, even though the microphone’s off as she rubs her fingers up and down her slit, pleasuring her needy little pussy just for me. Her head lifts, eyes glazed, her bottom lip between her teeth. Then, she fans her fingers out, splitting her pussylips open and wide, exposing herself fully. My gaze immediately drops to her clit, the glistening hole of her cunt, and I growl, my body tensing, desperate to be fucking her hard again.

My leg taps impatiently as she slides her fingers into herself, lazy and sensual, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. She withdraws, bringing her soaked fingers to her lips, sucking them into her mouth, tasting herself before pulling them out and flipping me off with the middle one, a wicked smile spreading over her lips.

“Little fucking tease,” I seethe.

She keeps going, fingering her pussy, but the more she does it, the harder it gets for me. I know I need to pull away, to stop this before I lose it completely. I close my eyes, willing myself to just let her go. Until, finally, I grab my laptop and slam the screen shut, the sound echoing through my room with finality. I stand with a frustrated snarl, turning quickly, anger burning through me, and storm out of my bedroom.