Another moan sounds from upstairs. Another creak. I start to get up when Gray puts a hand on my shoulder. My whole body is paralyzed and disobedient, traitorously following his push to go sit down on the edge of one of the lobby recliners.
I can’t breathe as he nudges my knees aside with one of his own. He’s not looking at me; his eyes are locked on my high school diary, pupils flying back and forth as they devour page after page of illicit confessions.
It’s then that I notice his free hand. It’s left my shoulder and drifted down to the top of his pants, where his thick fingertips graze the end of a swollen shaft.
“Was this some kind of joke?” He asks, his voice coming out choked. He’s still not looking at me.
“N-no.” I shake my head. I’m out of my body. I’m out of my fucking mind.
“Was it, like, a therapy exercise where you were supposed to write your most intimate feelings to get them out? Was it some writing assignment too dirty to turn in to your teacher?”
“No,” I breathe.
He looks down at me then, his dark eyes smoldering. “Tell me the context. Tell me why you wrote this.”
“You know why I wrote it.”
Another moan comes from the upstairs guests. This time, the erotic sound sends goosebumps cascading across my shoulders. My chin lowers, and I have to fight not to stare at the growing bulge at the front of Gray’s pants.
“I want Gray Smith to take my virginity. I want him at the Homecoming Dance this weekend. Maybe he’ll take me to a back classroom, and act embarrassed that he wants to kiss me. I’ll promise not to tell any of his friends. It can be our little secret. He’ll prop me up on a desk and pull down my panties and I’ll feel his massive, wet—”
Gray’s voice chokes. I realize with a start that his hand has fully clenched his hard cock now, and—like the pages have come to life—there’s a gorgeous blossom of precum soaking through the sweatpants where his tip weeps for me. He strokes it, face contorted with the strange mix of shame and desire I remember picturing when I wrote those words.
He clears his throat, and I straighten my back and close my eyes.
“I can’t listen to—”
“You’ll listen to it,” he murmurs. Then his hand is at my chin, and he’s tipping up my face so I have to watch him as he devours my diary. He clears his throat again and rolls his neck. “Maybe I should bring lube or condoms. I don’t want him to think I’m some slut ready to give it up to him, but I also don’t want him to find out how soaked I get thinking about him. How I drip through my panties every night in bed, wondering what it would be like to finally have him.”
He looks down at me again. I’m squirming in the chair, unable to stop my thighs from rubbing together in their desperation to have something long and thick planted between them.
“You never said a word about any of this.”
“You were my brother’s best friend. And you were older and—”
“Did your feelings change?”
I pause. There’s so much I could say here, and none of the right words are coming to my lips. “I… um…”
Gray brandishes the diary again. He gets down on his knees, parting my legs further so he can slide up to my chest. He’s so tall and I’m so short, we’re practically nose to nose as he glances back at the open pages.
“I’m going to watch your face and you listen,” he tells me. “And then we’ll know the truth of it. And…”
His gaze drops. My inner walls pulse as I realize what he’s about to do.
Looking back to me once more, making sure he has my consent, his free hand finds my zipper. He tugs it down, his wide fingers sliding past the delicate lace of my panties and down over my mound. I cringe, wondering when the last time was that I did any landscaping down there. But in a moment, the fear is gone, and my cunt is clenching painfully, exquisitely tight as Gray’s first finger parts my lips.
“He can have me any way he wants,” Gray reads. He’s not looking at the page. He’s already got that little line from memory, and he recites it as he watches my face now. His pupils are blown out with lust, and there’s a twitch against my knee as his cock reacts to this encounter. “I’m nervous—God, so nervous. Carrie Pratt says it hurts, but it’s hard to remind myself of that when I want him so bad. All at once, I want Gray to be gentle and soft and sweet… and I want him to fuck me so hard I’ll be ruined for any man after him. I’ll let him come in me, I’m let him go more than once, I don’t care. I just need that cock riding me so deep I can taste it in my mouth…Jesus, Molly.”
My hands have gone out to clutch his elbows, and my jaw slackens as a particularly brutal wave of feeling crashes through my pussy. I’m so fucking close, and he’s barely touched me. Can I even imagine what it would have been like to take him in the way I described in my diary?
Gray pulls his fingers out of my pants, and I turn my head, unable to watch through my shame. But then he’s thumbing my chin back again, and I look up as he examines the slick coating of my honey on his middle finger.
He holds it up to the light, inspecting what he’s done to me. My juices shimmer in the Christmas lights. Only for a moment, though, because then he’s sliding his fingers past his lips and his moan is timed with one that comes sweeping downstairs. I whimper, unable to help myself.
A crash sounds from outside. We both whip around to look out the window. At some point between depositing the Christmas trees and getting here, a snowstorm has picked up. Tree branches are whipping against the glass, and the barn door is clearly still wide open, swinging in the wind.
“Oh God.”