#33
“John,” I begged, grinding against my boyfriend, my voice a low growl of want. “Please…”
We were under the covers in his bedroom. His tight, gorgeous body was just beneath mine, his pants already halfway unbuttoned. I could feel the heat rolling between his legs—so close, so maddeningly close. My blood was on fire, my heart pounding like a war drum. This time, I thought. This time, he won’t push me away.
But he did.
With a soft whimper and a surprising burst of strength, John placed his hands firmly on my shoulders and pushed me back.
“No,” he said, brushing a sweaty lock of blond hair from his face. His tone was gentle, but the word cut like a blade. “We’ve gone too far already, Chris. We need to stop.”
A groan of raw frustration escaped me as I sat up, throwing the blanket aside. My body throbbed with an ache so fierce it made me tremble. My underwear clung damp to my skin, a reminder of how desperately I needed release.
“Seriously?” I snapped, glaring at him. “You’re going to pull this again?”
John met my eyes, guilt etched across his handsome face. He looked turned on—I knew he was—but the hesitation was stronger. That stupid hesitation that had been torturing me for months.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Seriously.”
I dragged my hands down my face, exasperated. “I’ve got condoms, John. You don’t have to worry about anything happening. We’ve been together for over a year. We’ve spent a whole week in this house, so you’d feel comfortable with me, used to me. You’re the one who said that, remember? And what—after all of that, you’re still pulling away?”
“I am comfortable with you,” John replied softly. “But… sex is different.”
“No, it’s not! God, what’s different about it? What’s so terrifying about me?”
His silence only made my blood boil hotter. He wrapped the covers tighter around himself, curling inward like he was shielding himself from me. He’d been like this ever since his stepmother let me start staying over—kissing me, letting me touch him, then shutting me out the moment things got real.
It was driving me insane.
I clenched my fists in the sheets. “I’m a woman, John. A grown one. And sometimes it feels like my hormones are raging so hard I’m back in puberty again. Do you even get what that’s like? To have this ache tearing through me every damn night? And I’m sitting here with a boyfriend who won’t even let me touch him properly. What kind of torture is that?”
John’s jaw tightened. His blue eyes darted toward me, then away, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of my anger—or my need.
I laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it. “You know what it feels like? It feels like I’m begging for scraps, while the one person I chose keeps shutting me out.”
“Chris…” His voice was pained, almost breaking. “It’s not you. I swear, it’s not that I don’t want you.”
“Then what the hell is it?!” I snapped, leaning forward, gripping the sheets so hard the fabric strained. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like rejection.”
My chest heaved, every breath laced with heat and frustration. I wanted to claw at him, shake him, scream at him to just give in. But beneath the anger was something else—a sick twist of fear.
Fear that maybe, deep down, he didn’t want me the way I wanted him.
And that thought was worse than any amount of teasing or denial.
“It’s not that,” John muttered, checking himself in the bedroom mirror, fussing with his hair like that would hide the nervous twitch in his jaw. “I just… I want to wait until marriage, okay?”
I flopped back against his pillows, staring at the ceiling fan like it had the answers.
“You’ve said that,” I sighed. My voice sounded small and dejected, and I hated it. This had to be the fifth—no, sixth—time John stopped me right when things were finally heating up. “And I respect it, John. Really, I do. But…”
“But what?” His reflection turned, eyes locking onto me with that pleading, watery look he always got right before he cracked.
We’d been here before. Too many times.
My stomach twisted with frustration. He knew what I was going through. He knew how my body felt like it was tearing itself apart with need whenever we kissed too long, touched too much. And he knew exactly how unfair it was to wind me up and then slam the brakes.
I rolled over and slid closer to him on the bed, shoving his math textbook to the floor. It hit with a dull thud, ignored. We were supposed to be studying for midterms this afternoon. Instead, I was studying the sharp line of his jaw, the tremor of his lips.
“I have my needs, John,” I whispered, my hand grazing his thigh. He flinched, but didn’t push me away. “You know what it’s like for women my age—how often I suffer from this. And then you’re here. With me. My hormones don’t just sit quietly when I’ve got the guy I love lying next to me.”
“Chris…”
“John.” My tone sharpened. “I love you. And I know you love me. But having you so close and not being able to touch you—really touch you—it’s torture. I’m not asking to go all the way. But fooling around a little? That’s not some crazy demand from a college girl to her boyfriend.”
His lips trembled, eyes glossing over. Like clockwork, the tears came. My stomach sank.
“I just can’t,” he said, his voice trembling as much as his chin. “Why can’t you respect that!?”
I bit back my first response. God, it was always like this. I had to sit there calm and composed, or else I was the monster. Meanwhile, John could cry and yell, and I had to swallow it down.
But tonight? I couldn’t.
“There’s other stuff we can do,” I pressed, desperate laughter bubbling in my throat. “You don’t expect me to live off kissing until the wedding, do you? Even a—hell, a lick job would drive me wild. I can see it, John. You on your knees, your tongue on me, looking up at me like I’m your queen…”
My voice dropped into a groan, heat running between my thighs just imagining it. “God, that would be heaven. And it’s not like I wouldn’t repay the favor. I’d love to suck you off. You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted to taste you.”
But John snapped his legs shut, just like always, his arms hugging his stomach.
“I’m not comfortable with that!” His words cracked, spilling out with sharp finality. “That’s never going to change, Chris. You either deal with it…or not.”
My laugh came out raw and ugly. “Deal with it? Do you know what it’s like to walk out of here with an itch between my legs that I can’t scratch away because you turn off like a faucet whenever I want more?”
His face twisted, and suddenly he was clamping his hands over his ears like a child. “Oh my God, shut up!” he screeched. “If that’s all you care about, why don’t you find some mongrel at a Glory Hole?! Why don’t you let one of those idiots bend you over and fuck you raw since that’s what you really want!”
His pillow flew at me, smacking my chest.
“Maybe I fucking will!” I roared back, hurling it at the headboard so hard the wood rattled. “Because I can’t take this anymore!”
John folded in on himself, sobbing, shoulders shaking violently.
“I’m sorry,” he choked, voice breaking. “I know it’s crazy, Chris. But I can’t do anything with you. Not even that. I’m…I’m just not built that way.”
The fight drained out of me. My chest ached with both lust and heartbreak, each breath sharp and jagged.
“I gotta go,” I muttered, fumbling for my clothes. I shoved my phone and bag into my arms, the walls of his room closing in around me.
“We’ll talk later,” I lied, voice shaking. “I just… I need to think.”
The door shut behind me with a muffled thud.
Out in the night air, my heart slammed against my ribs, my thighs pressed tight, and I couldn’t tell if I was burning because of desire—or because I was losing him.
Fuck.
… …
William was still asleep in his bed, enjoying his peaceful night’s sleep, when the door of his room was opened, and a woman walked in. It was none other than Christina.
Christina stood in the doorway, frozen. The weight of the silence pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She’d been away for a week, a whole week. It hadn’t seemed that long when she had left, but now, standing there in the doorway, everything felt like it had shifted.
More than a week. Nine days spent in vain. She left the house in excitement, heart beating in longing and dreams. Now, she went home, broken, hurt. And fucking horny! She thought she would finally do it- not like she went there just to have sex or anything, no, not like that. She loved John – really, she did. He was her everything. The center of her world.
As long as she can stay with him, cuddle him, and flirt with him, she believes everything will be okay.
At least, that’s what she believes at first.
But staying in this relationship is torture.
Being with him, flirting with him, kissing him, it’s like igniting the flames inside her. However, he would suddenly stop. Pouring cold water into the flames. Every fucking moment when she’s about to get burned, he’ll stop, leaving her there unsatisfied. And it’s fucking killing her!
Just what is she gonna do?
With a mess in her mind, her heart and mind unable to focus, she drove her car as if possessed, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of her brother’s room. William’s room.
She grabbed the doorknob, expecting it to be tightly locked, and if it was, she would just turn around and leave, or sulk in her room.
However, surprisingly, the doorknob turned, and the door opened.
That was weird.
This door was always like a fortress, locked and secure, especially at night when he’s sleeping.
“Will…” she whispered.
The room was dark. She ought to leave, just close the door back and leave. But her legs moved like a doll on strings, and she stepped inside.
The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of William’s breathing, a sound that had always been a source of comfort to Celestina. The moonlight spilling in from the window bathed the space in a soft, silver glow, the edges of the furniture dark and undefined in the night’s embrace.
Christina stood inside the dark room, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, her pulse quickening as the familiar weight of silence pressed against her chest. She’d been gone for a week. Just a week, but it felt as though she’d been absent for years, disconnected from everything she had known, from everything she had been holding on to. Him.
Nine days at her boyfriend’s house, a brief escape, or so she’d thought.
I thought of pouring all my love into John. To get away from this impossible longing, I know, would never be fulfilled. John appeared, knocking on my door, and like an idiot who wanted to cling to a rope as she fell, I’ve grabbed hold of his. All to forget you.
I thought things would be different now.
That I had moved on.
That you are just a brother to me.
I had John.
So why?
Christina gritted her teeth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed him, missed his handsome face. Her mind had wandered back to William countless times, even when she’d tried to push the thoughts away. John hurt her. But it was not as painful as when she knew William would never love her back. And here she thought she had reconciled that fact.
But now, standing here, she realized she had been fooling herself. She hadn’t missed him just in the way one misses a familiar face, a comforting presence. No, it was more than that.
Her thoughts stilled, and her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze settled on the bed. On him.
William.
But it wasn’t just him who stopped her cold.
What?
Her mother was also there, beside him, lying so close. Too close. Their bodies tangled in the sheets, a casual intimacy that made Christina’s stomach tighten in ways she didn’t quite understand.
There was no mistaking it—they didn’t just sleep. An innocent sleep. Their closeness was undeniable. It was something deeper. Something raw. The way their bodies fit together, how her mother’s hand rested on her brother’s waist in a possessive, almost tender gesture—it was too intimate.
