by Amy Brent
By the time I sat back on the couch with my towering plate balanced on a pillow on my lap. Steven was nearly done eating. Within another five minutes, his plate was empty, and he was leaning back on the couch and rubbing his stomach. He put his heels up on my coffee table and crossed his ankles. Then he placed his elbow on the armrest of the couch and leaned into it.
I was watching him rather than watching the movie. Despite having watched him just gorge himself on a massive amount of food, I still found him ridiculously hot. Melissa’s words from lunch fluttered in and out of my head. She was right. A man like Steven would become infinitely more dangerous if his wallet got fatter.
He leaned farther into the corner of the couch and turned his head slightly to the side.
“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.
He sat suddenly upright, looked over at me with wide eyes, and shook his head. “Nothing. Why?”
“Never mind,” I said, returning my attention to my plate of food.
Steven remained straight in his seat now, and the two of us watched the movie together. It was one neither of us had seen before, and when a love scene consumed the screen, I felt my cheeks heat up and knew I was turning bright red.
I hoped he wouldn’t look over at me. I hoped he wouldn’t think I was thinking anything when I was really thinking about him. The naked bodies on the screen moved in perfect sync with one another. His hands held her waist and she gripped his muscle-bound forearms, pressing pale imprints into his flesh.
I wanted to leave marks like that on Steven. More than that, I wanted him to make those kinds of marks on me.
I stole another glance at him. He was watching the film. The reflection of the screen danced in his eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing bare forearms decorated in veins and muscle. What would it feel like to be held by those arms? To be caressed by those hands.
I wanted to know what it would taste like to kiss him.
I bit my lip and looked away.
I was teasing myself. I knew I couldn’t have what I wanted. I knew it was foolish to think such thoughts when they were nothing but senseless dreams. Steven didn’t fall for women. Steven fucked women and left them. Ever since his girlfriend in college, Kyla, he had been a no strings attached kind of guy. Since her, he had never even dated. She had done a number on him, and I had been the one to pick up all the shattered pieces of his soul and help him put them back where they belonged. That’s why we were so close, now. It was also probably why he could never see me as anything else besides his friend.
I hated Kyla then for what she had done to him, and I still hated her.
They had been together for two years. He had loved her with such a fierceness that at first, it frightened him. She had loved him back for only the first half of their relationship. Then she had loved another fifteen guys or so on campus, and Steven had been none the wiser. Some were guys he hung around with. Others were strangers. In the end, it hadn’t mattered who they were. He was devastated all the same.
And since then he hadn’t trusted another woman.
I didn’t blame him. The hurt he had felt was enough to break my heart. I never wanted to see him like that again. I wanted to see him happy, like he was now, sitting on my sofa with me full of contentment. If I couldn’t have him the way I wanted to have him, that was alright. At least he was happy.
I tried to convince myself that was what mattered.
Chapter 5
Steven
Allie had always been clever, and I knew I was doing a poor job of trying to act normal. She had questioned me several times throughout the evening, and she had caught me leaning to one side on the couch. I had been stealing glances through her open bedroom door to look for her diary. It was still sitting where I had left it on the bottom shelf of her nightstand. The yellow spine flashed at me like a neon sign: Read Me.
I tried to focus on the movie. Allie had curled up in her corner on the sofa and seemed immersed in the film for now. Her legs were tucked underneath her and her bare feet were nestled half way under the sofa cushion. She was makeup free, as per usual during our movie nights, and her hair was hanging in somewhat chaotic dark curls down her back and over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, as always, and the temptation of reading the words she had written in her diary was too great for me.
I had often wondered if she kept a diary. Back in college, there had been a moment—a very brief, flickering moment—where I considered kissing her. I knew the timing was wrong. It was terribly wrong. My girlfriend, Kyla, had dumped me only a couple weeks before, and Allie had been the one showing up at my dorm every night in an effort to keep me from doing nothing but lay on my bed staring at the ceiling agonizing over the breakup.
One time, around two in the morning, Allie knocked on my door. I had opened it to find her dressed in a matching gray sweatsuit holding a plastic container filled with brownies. She had slipped into my room, and the two of us sat on my bed together talking about anything and everything that didn’t involve Kyla.
I had wanted to kiss her then. She had looked so good, and her company chased away the lingering hollowness I had felt after Kyla left me. But I had resisted. It wasn’t right to make a move on Allie. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would want to be with someone like me. She especially wouldn’t have thought too highly of me for going after her so soon after a breakup. I knew she would misunderstand. She would have thought I was going for a rebound.
Feelings for Allie had been there ever since, but they didn’t matter because I knew they were one-sided. Not only that, but I also knew she deserved better than the likes of me.
But the draw of her diary was too much to bear. All of Allie’s most personal thoughts were within reach. I had to read it.
Allie surprised me by unfolding her legs and standing. She stretched, arching her back like a cat. Her hair tumbled down her back, and her shirt lifted up, exposing bare belly. I tried not to look. It was impossible.
“I’m going to tidy up the kitchen quickly,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“I’m going to use the bathroom, then I’ll be in to give you a hand,” I said, standing up.
“Alright,” she said, bending over to collect our dishes from the coffee table. I admired her ass and the little open space between her thighs. I had, more than once, wondered what it would be like to put my hand there, to feel her warmth and the inside of her thighs.
She made for the kitchen, and I went to her bedroom. I feigned going into the bathroom, just in case she walked back into the living room. She didn’t, so I darted to the edge of the bed, snatched up the diary, and hurried into the bathroom with it. I closed and locked the door.
I was already opening it as I shuffled over to the toilet. I closed the lid quietly and sat down, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, peering down at Allie’s neat, slanted printing on the pages of the book.
I opened to a random page and spotted my name on the first line. I stopped and started to read, ignoring the tickle of guilt in my gut.
Sunday, April 4th
Steven and I went to Toby and Suzanne’s wedding tonight. Neither of us had dates, so instead of going stag, we partnered up. A few people asked me if we were finally seeing each other. I hated telling them no.
He danced with me. I can’t stop thinking about how his hands felt on my lower back, on my hips, on my waist. The way he looked at me. For a moment, it felt like I was one of the girls he brings home all the time. One of the girls he sleeps with.
I want to know what that’s like. I want to know what it would feel like to be kissed by Steven Marx. I wonder what he tastes like, what his lips feel like. I want to feel his tongue in my mouth, against my clit. I want to feel him everywhere. I want him.
I heard Allie drop something in the kitchen. Whatever it was, it was heavy, and it shattered. She yelped and then started swearing up a storm. I closed the diary, more than aware of the way my cock was now pressing up against the inside of my pants
, and slipped it inside my shirt, praying to God Allie wouldn’t notice.
I had to read more.
I flushed the toilet to avoid suspicion and ran the sink. I stood in front of it like an idiot for a solid thirty seconds while staring at my reflection.
“You’re a jackass, Steven Marx, a complete and total jackass,” I said to myself.
My reflection didn’t object. I was about to steal my best friend’s diary. There was no doubt. I was a real piece of shit.
But the words in that book were doing all kinds of things to me. My mouth was dry, my fingers were tingling, and I was trying to think of anything possible to squash the desire that had come over me.
When I had myself under control, I left the bathroom and joined Allie in the kitchen. One of her plates was in a hundred pieces on the floor, and she was crouched down collecting it all. She looked up at me with those perfect eyes of hers and pouted her full lips.
“I made a mess,” she groaned.
“You have bare feet,” I said, shooing her away with one hand. “You go grab the broom, I’ll clean this up.” It was the least I could do after reading her diary—and consciously choosing to continue reading it later once I brought it home with me.
I swept the kitchen and dumped the broken glass in her trash can. Allie sat perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that brain of hers? What was she thinking? Was she going to look for her diary after I went home with the intention of writing an entry in it about our evening?
Would she write about her fantasies?
Was she thinking those thoughts now?
When the kitchen was clean, I propped her broom against the cupboards. “Well,” I said, “I have another early start tomorrow. I should get going.”
“Okay,” she said, hopping down from the counter and landing with a quiet thump on the linoleum. She walked me to the front door, and I held one arm against my side to hide the lines I worried her diary was leaving on the inside of my shirt.
“Drive safe,” she told me as I stepped out into the hallway.
“I will. Have a good sleep.”
Back at home, I lay down on my bed with Allie’s diary clutched in my grip. I told myself at least three times that this was not the kind of things friends did to each other. This was not how I should repay her for always being there for me.
Regardless of how wrong I knew it was to betray her trust like this, I couldn’t help myself. I opened the book, my cock already stiffening, and began reading.
Thursday, June 12th
I had a dream about Steven last night. I don’t know where we were in the dream, but it was a beautiful bedroom. The bed was in the middle of the room and was surrounded by draping, sheer white sheets. I was standing at the foot of the bed. Steven was kneeling upon it. He was naked.
I joined him. I wasn’t wearing clothes, either. I crawled to him on my hands and knees. His cock hovered inches from my face. I told him how badly I wanted him. I told him that I wanted him to use me however he saw fit.
He put his dick in my mouth. The dream felt so real. I can almost remember the way his fingers felt in my hair as he held me against him; as if it was a memory, not a dream.
After a while, I rolled onto my back. He stayed on his knees above me. I pulled his hips down to me and held my mouth open for him to use my throat. He did. While he thrust in and out, he leaned over my body, dragging his fingers over my stomach until he reached my pussy. He touched me, tracing semicircles over my clit. I was so wet. Wetter than I am now.
When I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he slid a finger inside me. It was ecstasy. It was everything I have ever wanted.
Then I woke up.
I undid my jeans and kicked them off. I pulled my shirt off and tossed it over the side of the bed. This was more than I had expected. This was so much more. I flipped through more pages of entries that were similar to the one I had just read. There were dozens of entries filled with the same sort of fantasies.
She wanted me to fuck her.
Allie Wright wanted me to bury myself inside her.
I wrapped my fingers around my shaft. I couldn’t think of the last time I had been this hard. I stroked myself gently, flipping to another page. I spotted my name and resumed reading as I worked myself, edging my way closer to blowing my load.
Tuesday, June 17th
Steven and I went to Happy Hour at Vixen’s after work today. We met Chance there. He’s doing well. He’s seeing a new girl and seems quite fond of her. Her name is Claire. I think he said she works for a bank or is an accountant or something like that. She’s good with numbers is what I remember.
We had a lot to drink.
Steven was definitely drunk. Chance was the culprit. He bought four rounds of tequila shots, and I couldn’t take all of mine so Steven stepped up. Six tequila shots and a pitcher of beer later, and Steven was feeling the booze.
Chance and I had to hail him a cab when he tried to drive home. I rode back to his place with him to make sure he got in okay and found his bed. He started taking his clothes off once he was in the front door. He left them all the way down the hallway to his bedroom and walked around in nothing but his boxers. His tight boxers that left nothing to the imagination. I’ve never seen so much of him before. I’ve been so turned on all night.
I made him drink some water and take Tylenol. He called me a helicopter parent. It was kind of sweet. We laughed. Then he told me how much he loved my laugh.
I brought him to his bed. He got on top of the covers and asked if I wanted to spend the night. It was late, he had said, and he knew I had an early morning.
I said no. I couldn’t bear to sleep beside him.
And he fell asleep right after. I watched him for a while. A long while. I watched his chest as he breathed. I stared at his package for God knows how long. It’s bigger than I thought. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Then, I finally left, and here I am, lying on my bed, horny as hell, thinking only of his nearly naked body on his bed and how I turned down the invitation to share that bed with him. I need to get rid of this pent-up tension asap.
Thank goodness for my vibrator.
Friday, June 20th
Being near Steven all the time and not being able to fuck him is killing me. I want him to show up at my house, rip my clothes off, and throw me down on the bed. I want him to have his way with me. I want him to shove his cock into me, as deep as he can, and fuck me until I can’t see straight.
I want to feel him everywhere. I need him.
We could do it on my bed, on the floor, in the kitchen—it doesn’t matter. He could bend me over the back of my sofa and take me from behind. Thinking about it now makes me so wet. He could tie me down, blindfold me, and tease me with endless kisses and touches until I was nothing but need.
I wish I could learn how to stop aching for him.
I came. It was a ragged release of pleasure that left me breathless. I thought of Allie, tied to her bed, lying naked beneath me. I wanted to do everything to her that she had imagined. I could show her what it would all feel like.
I would show her what it felt like.
Chapter 6
Allie
Work was going well for once. James was out of the office for the day and had left me a to-do list. I didn’t mind. Keeping busy made my day go by quickly, and not being constantly interrupted by him was a nice reprieve.
I was able to clean my desk for the first time in weeks (nearly a month and a half, which horrified me) and even went through some of the old papers in my filing cabinets. I had cleared out three full drawers when my cell phone chimed.
I dropped down into my chair, spun it around to face my computer, and plucked my phone from the desk. Steven’s name flashed across the screen. He’d messaged me. I smiled absently to myself and opened our conversation.
What I saw made my stomach leap up into my throat. My heart started fluttering, my chest felt ho
t, and it was everything I could do not to drop the phone.
On my screen was a picture of Steven; well, it was sort of a picture of Steven. He wasn’t in the foreground. Or the background, either.
I recognized his watch, his knuckles, and even his hips from seeing him nearly naked that one drunken night this past June.
What I didn’t recognize was his dick, front and center, demanding all of my attention.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, glancing up to make sure none of my coworkers were around. The coast was clear. I peered closer to the picture, taking note of the size and girth of his member, and realizing quite suddenly that this probably hadn’t been meant for me.
I felt my cheeks grow hot and knew I was blushing. I closed the picture, and it shrank to a smaller size as it fell back into the conversation. I quickly typed out a message to Steven.
“Uh. Steven. Wrong person!”
I hit send, locked the phone, and put it face down on my desk.
It chimed again not even ten seconds later.
Another picture lit up my screen. This time I gawked at it. It was a picture of an all too familiar yellow notebook. My diary.