Cruel Intentions: Chapter 21

The shower is scalding, steam curling around me as I lean against the slick tiles, letting the water hammer against my back. I scrub at my skin like I can scrape away the weight of the day, but the tension refuses to budge. Aubrey’s words keep looping in my head, carving themselves deeper no matter how hard I try to wash them away.

Eventually, I give in—to frustration, to need, to the only thing I can control in this moment. My hand finds its way down to my cock, and I work out the knot of pent-up energy, quick and rough.

My body jerks as I finish, bracing myself against the wall, but the release is hollow. The ache is still there, buried under layers of anger, regret, and everything else I can’t fucking name.

I dry off, throw on some clothes, and head out.

The game’s waiting, but my head’s still stuck on Aubrey. Maybe I’m just an idiot for holding on to the idea of her, for thinking she’s someone I can save. Maybe she’s not mine to save anymore.

The carpark is buzzing as I pull in, the usual crowd filtering toward the entrance. Normally, a night like this would be my escape. Fuck the world away until the edges blur. But tonight? The thought doesn’t even spark.

Still, I’m here because I told Reece I’d show up. Jace is probably already prowling the lot, sniffing out his next conquest.

Sure enough, I spot him as I park, climbing out of Reece’s car with that smug-ass smirk that makes me want to deck him on a good day. But I let it slide, because that’s just Jace—an asshole with a knack for making everything worse and somehow getting away with it.

I slam my car door shut, shaking off whatever’s left of the hesitation, and slip into the version of myself everyone expects—the guy who doesn’t care, doesn’t feel, doesn’t let anyone get too close. It’s easier this way. Because if I don’t, if I let myself think about Aubrey for one more second, I might lose my fucking mind.

Jace and Reece are waiting near the entrance, Jace practically bouncing on his heels like he’s already ten shots in. He grins wide when he sees me, loud as always.

‘Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this night for fucking forever!’

I shove my hands in my pockets, biting back a laugh. Of course, that’s the first thing out of his mouth. Jace has this way of spinning whatever bullshit he thinks will work on a girl—charming lies, fake sincerity, the whole nine yards. And it works. Every fucking time. He’ll create some sob story about how those rumors about him aren’t true, how he’s actually a nice guy.

And the fucked-up part? It works. Every fucking time.

I don’t need to pull that kind of shit. Girls come to me, plain and simple. They want my attention, my focus, a shot at being the one who sticks around longer than a night. They want my dick, and I don’t make them jump through hoops to get it. No lies, no fake charm. Just me.

And if they think it means something more? Well, that’s their problem, not mine.

Jace elbows me as I reach them, his grin widening. ‘You look like you’re in a mood, man. Need to get your dick wet tonight to loosen up?’

I smirk, shaking my head. ‘Let’s just get inside. I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.’

The stadium bursts to life as we head in—a chaotic symphony of noise and color. The roar of the crowd, the pounding rhythm of the marching band, and the mingling scents of hot dogs and popcorn slam into me all at once.

For a moment, it’s almost enough to distract me.

Almost.

Out on the field, a group of cheerleaders sprints into formation, a burst of energy and movement that immediately catches my eye. My gaze drifts over the lineup, already cataloging possibilities. There are a few I haven’t fucked yet, girls who’ve been throwing me looks for weeks, waiting for their turn. They wouldn’t think twice about making it easy for me.

And tonight? Easy sounds good. Anything to quiet the noise in my head.

As my eyes scan the field, I spot Tia standing off to the side. The glaring white nasal splint strapped across her face is impossible to miss, framed by the dark bruises under her eyes that make her look like a pissed off raccoon. She’s trying to blend in, but her stiff posture screams discomfort, the awkwardness clinging to her like cheap perfume.

What the fuck is she even doing here?

The other cheerleaders flock to her like moths to a flame, their concerned faces making it clear she’s milked her situation for all it’s worth.

Classic Tia—always the center of attention, no matter how desperate or pathetic the attempt.

Her gaze lands on me, and my gut twists with a familiar sense of dread. Before I can move, she starts toward me, her pace quickening like she’s got something to prove.

I curse under my breath and turn on my heel, striding away in the hope that she’ll take the hint. The last thing I need tonight is her in my space.

Yeah, I was a dick to Aubrey when she first came back, but Tia? She’s a whole different breed of toxic. That Instagram page branding Aubrey a slut… That wasn’t just high school drama—that was calculated, insecure-bitch energy, all because Tia couldn’t handle someone else shining brighter than her.

In no mood to deal with her bullshit, I stride away, hoping she’ll take the hint and fuck off.

But, like the relentless pain in the ass she is, she follows, her voice rising with every step I take.

‘Hey! Noah!’

I pick up my pace, refusing to acknowledge her.

‘Oh my god, will you just stop walking and answer me?’ she whines, the pitch of her voice enough to set my teeth on edge.

Then she grabs my arm, her fingers digging in like she thinks she has the right.

Revulsion flares in my chest. I wrench my arm free and spin to face her, stepping closer until she has to tilt her head to look up at me. My glare is ice-cold, my voice low and lethal.

‘What the fuck do you want, Tia?’ I growl, each word slicing through the space between us.

The way her confidence wavers—just for a second—is almost satisfying. Almost. But not enough to make me forget how much I despise her.

“Stay the fuck away from me, you insecure, whiny little bitch,” I snap, my voice low but loud enough to draw a few curious glances from the crowd gathering around us. “I’m done with your pathetic, fucked-up antics. I don’t give a damn about you or your crazy shit. Got it?”

Tia’s mask slips, and what’s underneath is every bit as ugly as I’ve always known. Beneath the makeup, fake smiles, and the charm she’s perfected over years of manipulation, there’s nothing but bitterness and insecurity—a hollow shell that thrives on tearing others down to feel important.

I’ve seen it all before. The way she zeroed in on Lola last year, ripping her apart for nothing but a cheap laugh. And what she did to Aubrey? That wasn’t just mean. It was calculated and fucking vile, crossing lines no decent person would ever approach.

“And one more thing,” I say, taking a deliberate step closer, my voice dropping into something darker and more dangerous.

“Stay the fuck away from Aubrey. You pull any more of your psycho shit, and it won’t be her putting you on your ass. It’ll be me.”

Tia’s eyes narrow, her arms crossing over her chest defensively as she fires back with venom. “So not only is everyone else fucking her, but now you’re slumming it with everyone’s leftovers?”

The words hit like a blow, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I let a slow, deliberate smirk curl across my lips, leaning in just enough to make my words hit harder. “Still better than your sorry, sloppy cunt any day,” I say, my tone calm but dripping with venom. “So fuck off and get out of my face.”

Her mouth falls open, but I don’t stick around to hear whatever bullshit she’s about to spit next. Cheers erupt as the teams take the field, and I take that as my cue to get the hell out of there.

I stride toward the bleachers, spotting Jace and Reece where they’ve staked out their seats.

Their conversation stops the moment I approach, Jace’s grin growing wide and smug.

“Ah, lovers’ quarrel?” he drawls, arching a brow like he’s delivered the line of the fucking century.

I flash him a smirk, cold, calculated and empty as shit, more for show than anything real. “Hardly,” I snap, my tone like ice. It’s a clear warning, but knowing Jace, it’ll only encourage him to push harder.

As the team roars with victory, the night’s next chapter is already written: party time at Dylan’s house. Music, booze, and a celebration where getting our dicks serviced is practically a tradition.

It’s just what we do.

I slide into my car, Jace and Reece piling in after me, their buzz already kicking from the cheap shit they downed in the parking lot.

The music blasts as I crank the volume, the cool night air whipping through the open windows. Jace and Reece are hyped, trading crude plans for the night—who they want to fuck, who’s the easiest target.

Jace laughs about convincing some chick to try anal, while Reece ticks off names like he’s picking from a goddamn drive-thru menu. They’re loud, obnoxious, and completely in the moment.

But my mind isn’t here. It’s on Aubrey. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

“Nicole just text,” Reece says, yanking me back to reality. “She wants to know if you’re coming tonight. Sounds like she’s ready to go. Noah’s definitely getting his cock sucked tonight,” he adds with a smug grin, glancing at Jace for backup.

I force a smirk, pretending to match their energy, but it feels hollow. Normally, the idea of getting my dick sucked would be a no-brainer—a guaranteed distraction. But since Aubrey came back into my life, it’s like a switch flipped, and I’m left questioning who and what I am.

She’s the one I want. Not Nicole, not some random girl desperate for attention.

It’s been clear for a while now that every hookup has been the same—a cheap, meaningless high that fades too fast. And Nicole?

She’s just another one of Tia’s bitchy lapdogs, probably angling for the crown now that Tia’s is slipping. The thought of being with her feels like settling for scraps when I already know what I want.

The car slows as we turn onto Dylan’s street, and the party energy hits immediately. People spill out of cars, cross the road in packs, and cluster near the house.

Dylan’s speakers are already blasting, the bass shaking the block.

I find a spot and park. The second we step out, the sharp smell of weed cuts through the air. Leo, one of the guys from the football team, waves us over, holding out a blunt.

I stop to take a few quick hits, the smoke burning my lungs before I hand it back and follow the others inside.

The house is packed, bodies pressed together in every corner, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and chaos. Colored LEDs flash through the haze, painting everything in deep reds and blues. The bass thunders so loud it feels like the walls are alive.

Reece shoves a drink into my hand as we navigate the crowd, and I down it without hesitation. The alcohol burns its way down, settling in my chest, but it doesn’t do shit to quiet the chaos in my head.

Aubrey’s still there, her name etched into every thought, impossible to ignore. And no amount of weed, booze, or meaningless fucking hookups is going to drown her out tonight.

I spot Nicole across the room, her eyes locking onto mine over the rim of her cup as she takes a slow, deliberate sip. It’s calculated, leaving no room for doubt. She’s a sure thing tonight. We’ve never hooked up before, but I’ve heard enough stories about her being wild in bed to be curious. Back when Tia ran things, Nicole and her cheer squad stayed in line—probably because Tia threatened to ruin anyone who dared so much as to look at me.

Reece and I grab another drink, settling near a couch as the room buzzes with heat and chaos. Bodies grind together like they’re fused, couples tangled in corners, and girls lap-dancing like it’s their full-time fucking job.

We lean against the armrest, my posture casual but intentional. I make a point of turning slightly away from Nicole—a subtle move, but one that sends a clear message: I’m not easy pickings. If she wants me, she’ll have to work for it. And when she does, she’ll give in completely. No strings, no games, and no bullshit.

I take a slow sip of my drink, the burn steadying me as my grip tightens on the cup. Reece elbows me in the ribs, sharp and sudden, nearly making me spill my drink.

“Oops, my bad, dude,” he says with a laugh, barely glancing my way as his eyes scan the room, already on the hunt.

‘Asshole,’ I say, smirking back, though my mind is elsewhere. It doesn’t take long to figure out why he nudged me. Nicole and some other chick are making their way over.

Nicole stops in front of me, her top so tight it’s barely holding her tits in place. It’s blatant and fucking desperate—exactly what I expected.

But her friend? She’s different. My eyes flick to her, taking her in.

Long black hair, a fitted black t-shirt hugging her curves, skinny jeans, and boots that look eerily similar to the ones Aubrey wears. She’s not from our school—I’d remember someone like her.

The fact that Nicole’s hanging out with someone like this throws me. She doesn’t have a face caked in make-up, like the rest of Tia’s crew. It’s fucking ironic though, considering how Nicole and her clique love to rip on Aubrey for dressing the same way.

‘Who’s your friend?’ I ask, deliberately ignoring the way Nicole is angling herself closer to me, practically begging for attention.

For a split second, her face tightens, irritation flashing before she forces a sweet tone. ‘This is my cousin, Nina,’ she says. ‘She’s staying with us for a few weeks.’

Just as I’m about to say hi, Reece beats me to it, sliding off the couch and stepping into the moment like it’s his goddamn stage. Of course he does. Reece has that effortless charm that girls eat up, and Nina’s no exception. Her lips curve into a smile as he offers to grab her another drink.

I watch as they disappear into the crowd, leaving me alone with Nicole.

Nicole wastes no time. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger, her eyes locking on me like a predator sizing up prey.

Fuck me, could she be any more obvious? I finish my drink, watching her over the rim of the cup, letting her squirm under the weight of my indifference. When I lower it, she steps closer, practically pressing her body against mine.

‘You want to find a room and have a bit of fun?’ she purrs, her voice dripping with fake seduction.

I let a slow smirk curl my lips, dragging it out, making her wait. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, daring her to lay it all out for me.

She leans in, lowering her voice to a sugary sweet whisper. ‘I was thinking we could go somewhere more private.’ Her tone might be syrupy, but the hunger in her eyes betrays her.

“Why?” I ask, my voice sharp, leaning into the asshole card. If she wants this, she’s going to have to work for it. I’m not making it fucking easy— not for her, not for anyone.

Her expression falters for a second—hesitation flickers, then irritation. Nicole’s not used to this.

I’ve heard enough locker room talk to know that guys practically throw themselves at her, and why wouldn’t they? She’s hot, and she knows exactly how to use it. But the way her face shifts, like she’s grappling with the effort it takes to spell out the obvious—it’s almost enough to make me laugh.

‘Surely you don’t want me to say it out loud?’ she whispers, glancing around as if anyone here gives a shit. The couples grinding against each other in plain view don’t give a fuck. She brushes her fingers up my chest, nails skimming over my shirt, her voice dropping lower, oozing with faux seduction. “I thought we could hook up. I could suck your cock, you know.”

My gaze drifts past her, spotting Reece and Nina still talking across the room. The contrast between them and this shit playing out in front of me is almost laughable. I shift my attention back to Nicole, smirking, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. ‘Yeah, okay,’ I say, pushing off the couch and letting my empty cup drop to the floor. ‘Let’s go find a room.’

Nicole practically lights up, her eagerness so fucking obvious it’s embarrassing. She sways her hips as she leads the way, her skirt barely covering anything, the clack of her thigh-high boots echoing on the floor. It’s so exaggerated it feels like she’s acting out a scene from some cheap porno.

I trail behind, dragging my feet as she starts testing doors in the hallway, one after another, as if her life depends on it. Open, shut, huff. Locked or occupied. The desperation rolling off her is suffocating.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with barely concealed amusement.

She’s so caught up in her frantic search for a room that she doesn’t even notice. It’s pathetic, really.

For a moment, my mind drifts to Aubrey. She never had to try this hard. Everything about her is raw and genuine, unpolished in a way that makes her unforgettable. And yet here I am, stuck in this hallway with someone who couldn’t mean less to me, while the one person I actually give a shit about is at my place right now, probably not thinking about me at all.

She finally finds a room, her face lighting up like she’s hit the fucking jackpot. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one’s watching, she turns to me, breathless and way too eager. ‘Come on,’ she says, grabbing my hand like this is some grand romantic moment instead of the desperate fuck it actually is.

Her fingers curl around mine, firm and insistent, as she tugs me toward the open door. I follow, deliberately dragging my feet, slow enough to make her glance back with a flicker of irritation.

She’s too eager, too sure of herself, like getting me alone is her big win. It’s fucking pitiful.

The room is small, dimly lit by a single lamp on a cluttered desk. The air reeks of weed and stale beer, and the bed’s already a mess, blankets half-hanging onto the floor.

She shuts the door behind us, leaning against it with a smug smile that screams victory, like she’s already sealed the deal.

‘Finally,’ she says, stepping closer, her hands finding their way to my chest. ‘You have no idea how long I have waited for this.’

I stare down at her, letting her think she’s in control, but there’s a weight in my chest I can’t ignore.

This isn’t going to fix it. It never fucking does.

Her hands linger, sliding over me like she’s trying to claim something, but all I can think about is Aubrey. How her touch burned like fire. It mattered. It was real, even if it fucks me up in the end.

I force a smirk, playing the role she wants me to. ‘So, what now?’ My voice is low, my eyes locked on hers, waiting to see just how far she’ll go to keep this charade alive.

She steps closer, her body pressing into mine, her hands sliding down to my belt with practiced ease. Her confidence returns, her moves calculated and deliberate, every touch dripping with entitlement. She gazes up at me through thick lashes, her lips curving into a triumphant smirk as she sinks to her knees.

‘Let me take care of you,’ she says.

Her hands work quickly, tugging at the button of my jeans, like she’s desperately trying to free my cock. Her movements are fast and assured.

This should feel good. It should be exactly what I want—her, on her knees, ready to give me everything she thinks I need. But it doesn’t. The moment her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip, something inside me twists. Not with pleasure, but with a sick, sinking realization.

I don’t want this.

I don’t want her.

The way she looks at me, like I’m just another trophy for her collection, makes my stomach churn. I’m standing here, but my mind is somewhere else, my body completely detached. All I can see is Aubrey—her touch, her voice, the way her body fit against mine like she belonged there.

Not Nicole. Not this.

Aubrey.

The thought of her is too strong, burning through me, making it impossible to feel anything but the hollow, undeniable truth:

I don’t want this.

I want Aubrey.

“Get the fuck off me,” I growl, yanking her back, hard and fast, before she can start anything.

The force sends her stumbling, her balance gone in an instant. She lands flat on her ass with a dull thud.

The shock on her face is immediate—wide eyes, lips parted as her breath catches in her throat. It only lasts a moment before her expression hardens, anger replacing surprise. “What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps, her voice sharp as she pushes herself up from the floor.

“My problem?” I bite back, my voice rising as I glare down at her. “I don’t fucking want you. So why don’t you take the goddamn hint and get the fuck out of here? Go find another dick to suck.”

Her nostrils flare, her cheeks burning red with a mix of rage and humiliation. She sneers, trying to hide the sting of rejection under a mask of anger.

“Fuck you, you fucking asshole” she spits, venom dripping from her words. She storms past me, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, slamming the door behind her so hard the frame rattles.

The silence that follows feels deafening, the echoes of the door slam cutting through the distant thrum of the party.

What the fuck am I doing here?

The question reverberates in my head, louder than the music, louder than the pointless noise of the crowd outside this room. It’s not Nicole. It’s not this house full of strangers and distractions that don’t mean a damn thing. It’s Aubrey. She’s the one I should be with. The one who’s probably sitting at home, alone.

I should’ve told her today. Should’ve stopped being a goddamn coward and laid it all out—how I feel, how she’s everything to me. But the thought of her looking at me with anything less than what I feel for her had me choking on the words before they could form.

Fuck that. She needs to know.

Even if it means she doesn’t love me back the way I love her.

I shove my way out of the room, through the throng of partygoers—couples tangled on couches, groups shouting over music I can’t even hear.

My chest is tight, adrenaline spurring me forward. By the time I reach the front door, I’m practically running.

Sliding into my car, I grip the steering wheel tightly, my thoughts racing as fast as my pulse.

Pizza. I’ll grab a pizza. Something we can share while I finally grow a pair and say what I’ve been too scared to admit. Pineapple. She used to love pineapple on her pizza. Does she still? Fuck it. I’ll get it anyway. If she hates it, at least it’ll be something to laugh about.

Twenty minutes later, I’m back home.

I toe off my shoes by the front door and walk down the hall, the pizza box warm in my hands. With every step toward the spare room—her room—my heart beats harder, faster.

Her door is slightly ajar, the soft glow of a desk lamp spilling out into the hallway. I stop in front of it, frozen for a moment, trying to get my shit together. My grip tightens on the box as I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Then, steeling myself, I step forward and push the door open gently.

She’s there. Sitting at her desk, head bowed over her sketchbook, completely lost in whatever world she’s creating. Her hair falls around her face like a curtain, catching the soft glow of the desk lamp.

For a moment, I just stand there, leaning against the doorframe. She looks calm, peaceful—so fucking beautiful it makes my stomach twist. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s thought about me tonight, even once. If I’ve crossed her mind the way she’s been tearing through mine.

I swallow hard, my throat dry, the words I’ve been avoiding all night threatening to choke me now.

It’s now or never.

I let my eyes drift to her hands, watching the way her pencil moves, bringing her sketch to life. The scene she’s drawing is so familiar, and it hits me—it’s the place I took her earlier today.

Every line and shadow, every tiny detail, perfectly captures the moment. It’s mesmerizing, the way she sees the world, the way she can make something so ordinary feel extraordinary.

Then she looks up, like she can feel me standing there.

Her eyes meet mine, and a faint smile tugs at her lips. My heart stumbles, my breath catches, and for a second, I can’t move.

“I thought I smelled pizza,” she says, her voice soft, teasing. Her gaze drops to the box in my hands as she sets her pencil down. When she stands, it’s effortless, natural, and somehow more graceful than it has any right to be.

She crosses the room, stopping just short of me, her head tilting as she lifts the lid of the box. “Did you get pineapple?” she asks, her tone light, playful.

When she spots the golden chunks scattered across the cheese, her face lights up, her smile stealing the air right out of my lungs. “You did. You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered,” I say, brushing past her with a smirk, heading for the bed.

I sit, dropping the box onto my lap and making sure to leave enough room for her to sit close. The pizza was just an excuse. It’s not the food I’m craving—it’s her.

I pop the lid open and pull out a slice, taking a bite. The tang of pineapple and cheese hits, but my focus stays on her. Her bag is on the floor, unpacked, her things tucked neatly away. She’s settled here, and something in my chest unwinds, like a knot I didn’t realize was there.

Aubrey grabs a pillow, propping it against the bedframe before sitting down beside me. She leans forward, grabs a slice, and reclines back, her body sinking into the mattress like it’s the only place she’s meant to be.

I watch as she bites into the pizza, her soft, satisfied hum breaking the silence. The sound is so simple, so innocent. My dick reacts instantly, heat rushing through me, and I have to fight the urge to groan.

It’s ridiculous how much she affects me.

Just her eating pizza, nothing overtly sexual, and yet it’s enough to light me up in a way no one else ever has. My mind flashes back to Nicole earlier tonight—her touch, her desperation, how none of it even came close to moving me.

But here? Now?

One sound from Aubrey, and I’m fucking gone.

“So, how did the game go?” she asks, her voice casual as she takes another bite of her slice.

“Good. We won,” I reply, my tone just as casual.

Her brows knit together, forming that little furrow that always gets me.

It’s such a her thing—so naturally Aubrey—that I can’t help but smile. That expression takes me back to the first time I saw her through the fence, her face scrunched up in the same way.

“So why aren’t you out celebrating?” she presses, her voice light but curious.

I dodge the question, shoving the rest of my pizza into my mouth like it’s some kind of shield. The words are there, clawing at the walls of my chest, desperate to escape. I love you. Three fucking words that feel heavier than anything I’ve ever carried.

“That looks pretty damn good over there,” I say instead, nodding toward her sketch on the desk. My voice is deliberately casual, steering the conversation into safer territory.

It works. Her gaze shifts to the drawing, giving me a moment to breathe—and to admire her in the soft glow of her lamp.

Her neck, her collarbone, the way her tank top clings to her—it’s a view I could get lost in, but before I can spiral too far, her voice pulls me back.

“Yeah,” she says softly, almost like she’s speaking to herself. “Ever since we got back today, I’ve been wanting to draw it.”

“What else have you got in the sketchbook?” I ask, tossing my half-eaten slice back into the box and standing.

As I approach her desk, I wipe my greasy hands on my jeans, and I see Aubrey move.

Her body shifts in front of me, her hand pressing lightly against my chest. The warmth of her touch freezes me in place, the moment charged with something unspoken.

“No, Noah,” she says firmly, her voice quiet but resolute. Her eyes meet mine, and I catch a glimpse of something guarded, something vulnerable she’s not ready to share.

“It’s just a sketchbook,” I murmur, keeping my tone soft, careful not to push too hard. But her hand lingers, and her gaze flickers.

She’s hesitating, her lips parting as if she wants to say something but doesn’t know how. She swallows and steps back, turning away.

I think she’s about to shut me down completely, to snap the book shut and lock me out. But then she surprises me.

She picks up the sketchbook, clutching it tightly as she walks back to the bed. Sitting down, she flips it open slowly, her movements deliberate.

“I’ll show you,” she says softly, her tone laced with caution. “But please… don’t read too much into it.”

Her words are careful, her gaze heavy with uncertainty. Whatever’s in that sketchbook isn’t just art—it’s personal. A piece of her that she’s debating whether to let me see.

I circle around to the other side of the single bed, placing the pizza box on the side table to clear some space.

The second I sit down beside her, it feels like a live wire ignites between us, crackling and hot. Her scent—sweet and floral—clouding my mind and making it impossible to focus. My body betrays me instantly, blood surging south. I shift slightly, trying to get a grip, but it’s a losing battle.

She leans in closer, settling the sketchbook between us. Her shoulder brushes mine, her warmth seeping into my skin. I try—fuck, I really try—to focus on the book, but every nerve in my body is on fire.

My thoughts spiral, slipping into places I shouldn’t let them go. I picture pulling her into my lap, her body pressed against mine, her breath hot against my ear. My fantasies play out in vivid detail, and the ache in my jeans only gets worse.

She turns her head, her eyes locking with mine, and for a moment, it feels as if the world has stopped spinning. Her lips move, but I barely catch her words. I’m too distracted by the way her mouth curves, soft and perfect, begging to be kissed. My mind is a mess, tangled in the need to feel her against me, to lose myself in her completely.

I grit my teeth, trying to wrestle some control, but it’s no use. The fire in me is raging, and sitting here beside her, pretending to care about the sketchbook, feels like torture. Every second is a battle, and I’m losing.

I wonder what she’d do if I kissed her right now? Would she melt into me, give in the way I’ve been dreaming about? Or would she pull away, haunted by the same doubts and regrets that have kept us dancing around each other for so long?

I lean in slightly, the urge to close the gap between us too strong to ignore.

But just as I start to move, she shifts her focus back to the sketchbook in her hands, breaking the moment.

The disappointment is sharp, cutting through me like a blade. My body aches, my cock throbs, and the frustration burns hot in my chest.

Forcing myself to focus, I glance down at the sketchbook. And then I see it.

It’s me.

She’s drawn me with a precision and intensity that leaves me speechless. Every detail is there—the curve of my smirk, the mess of hair falling over my forehead, the faint shadow along my jawline. It’s raw, intricate, and so fucking personal. She must’ve spent hours on this, maybe even days.

I can’t look away. My eyes drink in every detail until I feel her gaze on me, pulling my attention back to her.

She’s studying me, her eyes tracing over my features like she’s trying to solve some unspoken puzzle. Then her gaze drops to my lips, lingering there just a heartbeat too long.

I don’t speak. I can’t.

The air between us shifts, heavy and electric, thick with anticipation. When our eyes lock, it feels like time seems to freeze. Everything else fades—the room, the sketchbook, the noise in my head. It’s just her. Just us.

Then, all at once, we collide. Our lips meet in a crash of heat and desperation, a spark igniting into an inferno. For a fleeting second, I brace myself for rejection, for her to pull away and rebuild the walls between us. But she doesn’t. She kisses me back, her intensity matching mine, her lips soft but insistent, setting my whole body ablaze.

Her hands clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer, and when a quiet, breathy moan escapes her, it shatters something inside me.

The kiss is messy, raw, and consuming, like we’re pouring every unspoken word, every buried feeling into this one moment. She wants this. She fucking wants me.

The sketchbook tumbles to the floor with a forgotten thud as she melts into me, her body pressing against mine like she’s trying to fuse us together. My hands find her waist, sliding over the curves that have haunted me.

When I cup her breast, her soft whimper sends a shockwave of heat, straight to my cock. My thumb brushes over her nipple, teasing before giving it the lightest pinch, and the sound she makes—a mix of surprise and pleasure—fuels the fire raging in my chest—pulling me further under her spell.

I shift, moving to climb on top of her, the need to feel every inch of her body against mine unbearable. My cock throbs painfully, the ache growing sharper as her hips move, grinding against me with deliberate, hungry movements.

A low growl escapes me as my hand slides up, my fingers curling lightly around her throat. It’s not enough to hurt—just enough to hold her there, to remind her she’s mine.

Her lips part in a breathless moan, her hips rolling with a rhythm that makes it impossible to think straight. She’s everything—wild, beautiful, and utterly untouchable, yet here she is, unraveling beneath me. A masterpiece of lust and desire.

“I want you to take my cock,” I whisper, my voice rough, barely more than a growl.

The words hit her like a match to gasoline. Her movements grow more desperate, her body arching into mine with a hunger that matches my own.

I trail kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, tasting her skin, savoring every moment. My hands move with purpose, finding the waistband of her jeans, my fingers hovering on the button.

But as I pause, a small, stupid detail catches my attention and pulls me out of the haze.

Her boots.

She’s still wearing those fucking boots.

Desperate to get her naked, I work swiftly to untie the laces of her boots, throwing them aside, then shifting to her jeans and lace thong. The sight of her wet, exposed pussy leaves me breathless. A surge of desire overwhelms me like a tsunami, my desire to possess her entirely growing stronger. But I grit my teeth, forcing control, knowing the wait will make this moment even more explosive.

“This too,” I murmur, as I tug at the hem of her shirt, hungry to expose every inch of her.

As she lifts her arms, I strip the shirt from her body. My fingers deftly find the clasp of her bra, effortlessly undoing it to reveal her beautiful tits.

I don’t hesitate. I eagerly suck on one puckered nipple, savoring the taste as my tongue dances over the sensitive peak. Her throaty moan is like a drug, consuming and captivating, stirring a deep desire for more.

Fuck, that sound—her sound—is everything. Each moan is sending a searing heat through every inch of me.

I trail kisses down her trembling abdomen, each press of my lips driving me closer to madness. The warmth of her skin against mine, her breath hitching with each kiss. The scent of her arousal fills the air, intoxicating and undeniable, and I know I can’t stop myself from tasting her. The urge to consume her, to lose myself in the intoxicating sweetness, the sinful flavor of her, is almost unbearable.

“Spread your fucking legs for me,” I growl, the words rough and dripping with hunger.

Without hesitation, she complies, parting her thighs, exposing herself fully. Her bare and glistening pussy is the epitome of perfection.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the word barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

Ever since I laid eyes on her again, this image—her like this, spread open and ready, needy—has been consuming me. And now that she’s here, so vulnerable and so fucking perfect, I know I’m done for. Nothing will ever compare to this. Nothing will ever compare to her.

With a shuddering breath, I lean in, my tongue teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. The way her body reacts—arching off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets—is enough to make me lose my fucking mind.

Her moans are like fuel to a fire that’s already raging, each sound sending a jolt straight to my cock. I keep going, licking, sucking, tasting every inch of her. She’s so fucking perfect and I can’t get enough.

Sliding two fingers inside her only makes it better, her slick walls clenching, pulling me deeper into her. The sensation drives me wild, my hunger for her growing with every gasp and cry of pleasure that spills from her lips.

The room is filled with the sultry sounds of her pleasure as I explore her clit, my fingers moving with precision, bringing her to new heights. Her hips buck against my face, desperate and demanding, her movements telling me exactly what she craves. I give her everything, swirling my tongue in slow, teasing circles before sucking her clit harder.

She’s close—I can feel it in the way her pussy pulses around my fingers, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

And then it happens.

She shatters beautifully, her body quivering as her pussy tightens around my fingers, her moans reverberating around the room. But I don’t stop. I continue to tease her clit, savoring the moment and prolonging her ecstasy. Her taste is addictive, and the way she grinds against my face, taking everything she needs, is so fucking hot I feel like I might explode just from watching her.

Her movements slow, her body trembling as the waves of her orgasm begin to ebb. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling urgently, her touch burning as she yanks my head away, her body overwhelmed with sensation.

I press a soft, lingering kiss to her pulsating pussy, unable to resist one last taste of her before I pull back.

When I look up, I see her chest heaving, her skin flushed a deep crimson, her eyes heavy with a drowsy satisfaction.

A smirk slowly spreads across my face as I wipe my chin; her juices linger on my lips, a messy but beautiful reminder of what I’ve just done to her.

‘That was so fucking hot,’ I groan, my voice thick with desire and pride. Her parted lips tremble, unable to form words, but all she can do is stare at me, her body still trembling from the aftershocks. And fuck, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Rising to my feet, I yank my shirt over my head and toss it carelessly across the room.

Her eyes immediately lock onto my chest, and I see the hunger in her gaze as it sweeps over me.

With quick, deliberate movements, I kick off my shoes and peel away my jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. My cock stands erect and eager for her touch, and the way her eyes linger on it sends a shiver down my spine.

As she moves onto her knees on the bed, her gaze fixed on my cock, a primal and irresistible urge stirs within me. And then she moves, sliding off the bed and standing right in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from her skin.

The mere thought of Aubrey on her knees for me, surrendering completely, fills my mind with images so filthy they make my cock throb. I can’t help it—I want her like that. No, I fucking need her like that. My thumb grazes her bottom lip; its softness contrasts sharply with the overwhelming need that thrums through me.

“Now open that fucking mouth and take my cock,” I growl, my voice low and raw, thick with urgency. The command leaves no room for hesitation, no room for second-guessing. My need for her, for the feel of her lips wrapped around me, is all-consuming.

Dropping to her knees, her dark hair falls around her, she tilts her head up to look at me, and the sight takes my breath away. The raw, primal need inside me stirs as my cock twitches.

Fuck, she’s perfect—so willing, so ready—and I feel like I might lose it just from the way her eyes flick between my face and my cock.