Once again, I was searching the entire apartment like a crazy person, but this time, instead of a TV remote, I was trying to find lacy pink underwear. I checked the washing machine three times, as if hoping they’d magically appear. I searched every inch of my bedroom, including my closet and the drawers where I kept all my lingerie.
After an hour, I’d searched every single room of the apartment. Every room except Ben’s.
Maybe…maybe he accidentally took them. It sounded unlikely, but socks went missing all the time, right? Maybe my panties had gotten tangled up in his clothes.
He was at class, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t return for a while yet. It wouldn’t take me long to check. Just for peace of mind.
I tried the door, and just like last time, it swung open. I closed the door behind me, then got started.
I checked his closet, looking through his folded pants and t-shirts and his drawer of socks (all neatly sorted). I checked his underwear drawer too, trying not to feel like a creep as I searched for lacy pink within the collection of black and grey boxer-briefs.
After exhausting his closet, I tried the rest of his room, until I’d looked everywhere.
Everywhere except that locked drawer, that is. The silver keyhole seemed to taunt me, and I moved towards it, as ifunder some spell. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he’d bought the bedside table without caring abut the locked drawer.
Or maybe it did hold something. Cash? Valuables? Weed?
I tried the drawer, not sure what I was expecting, and just like last time, it remained stubbornly closed. Something — irritation? Determination? — surged through me. I would find out what was in that drawer. I had to.
Then the apartment door swung open loudly, and I jumped.
Shit. I was in Ben’s roomagain. Sneaking around and looking through his thingsagain.
I doubted he’d be so amicable if he caught me a second time. Also, I didn’t want to explain that I was searching for my panties. It would sound like an accusation, and the whole thing would just be so awkward.
I heard the creak of his approaching footsteps, and I moved without thinking.
Which is how I found myself hiding in the closet, peering through the wooden slats hoping to god he couldn’t hear my breathing or the pounding of my heart.
Ben entered his bedroom and closed the door behind himself. He didn’t appear to notice anything off, and I sucked in a few breaths.
Calm down, Jules. It’s okay. You won’t be caught.
At least it was comfortably in the closet, sitting with my back to the wall, the carpet soft under my legs. All I had to do was wait until Ben left, then sneak out. I could do this.
Ben dropped his backpack by his desk, then sat on his bed, back against the headboard. He pulled out his phone.
Right. So he was just chilling after a long day of classes.
One minute passed. Then another. I fought the urge to shake with impatience.
God, how long was he going to stay there? If he was on social media, he’d probably be occupied for hours. What was he even doing? Watching cat videos?
His legs shifted, and then he slid a hand down the front of his pants.
And just like that, all my impatience evaporated. My breath caught in my throat.Oh.
He kept his eyes on his phone and while I couldn’t see much, it was clear his right hand was moving up and down. He played a video, and the volume was low, but I could still make out the distinctive sound of a female moan.
Yeah, he was definitely not watching cat videos.
I knew I shouldn’t watch. I should close my eyes and plug my ears. But I was frozen. Maybe I was simply fascinated that Ben — nerdy, socially awkward, shy Ben — jacked off like every other man.
After a minute, he dropped the phone and pulled his pants off, letting them fall off the bed onto the carpet. He shoved the waistband of his boxer briefs down, and out popped…
Holy mother of god.He was hung. I never would’ve guessed, but he had to be seven or eight inches, and he was so fucking thick and…
Between my legs, something pulsed with desire. Was my mouth watering? It was definitely watering.
