Chapter 7 #3
My fingers move back to his abs before running lower to the waistband of his boxers, brushing back and forth. He groans and lifts an arm above his head, but doesn’t wake. His dick is harder now, growing by the second.
I should wake him first, but I’m too transfixed. I wrap my fingers around him and stroke it over the material. He’s thick. My fingers don’t fit all the way around him.
I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he groans.
That’s all the motivation I need. I push his boxers down, revealing the most perfect dick I know I’ll ever see. There’s a bead of pre-cum, and I immediately need to know what he tastes like. I lick around his tip until I get all of it on my tongue. His moan tells me he likes it.
I’ve only given a handful of blow jobs before. All I know is what I’ve looked up on the internet.
I decide to just go all out, see what he likes. I wrap my lips around him and glide them down as far as they can go until he touches the back of my throat, making me gag.
“Goddamn,” he exhales. “You can take so much of me.”
His words spur me on. I suck up and down vigorously, letting him gag me each time. His hands fist into my hair as he makes almost-painful, choked sounds.
“Yeah, just like that. Take it deeper,” he demands in a deep, groggy voice. “Choke on it like a good girl.”
I’ve never been talked to like this. My panties instantly become wet as a moan escapes my throat. I wrap my hand around the base of his dick, where my mouth doesn’t reach, then move it up and down in time with my mouth.
My tongue slides around his dick, trying to hit every spot for a taste.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come so fucking hard. Where did you learn to do this?” he growls.
I feel a pulsing sensation in his dick before his cum shoots out in warm, rhythmic jets.
I take all of it down, loving every single drop. We’re both breathing heavily when I pop off of him and crawl upward until we’re face-to-face.
His hands find my cheeks, and his lips crash against mine. It’s … everything. My heart soars into my throat, joy and disbelief tangling in my chest.
His mouth moves over mine like a man who knows what he wants and takes it. It’s like I’ve never truly been kissed until now. He grazes my cheek, then trails down my neck, breath hot against my skin.
“Where did you learn how to do that, Natalie?”
My body locks. Every nerve inside me snaps taut.
What did he just say?
My stomach plunges as the name echoes inside my head.
“Natalie?” I whisper.
He jerks back like I burned him, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. He’s panting, wide-eyed. His hands hover near his mouth, like he’s trying to erase what just happened.
There’s a beat of silence. Then it drops.
“Jessie?” he growls—different now. Hard. Sharp. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I blink. My lips still tingling from his kiss.
He is out of bed and pulling his boxers back up in the matter of seconds. His hands tangle in his hair as he rocks back and forth, like he’s trying to wake from a nightmare.
Humiliation floods me. My face burns. My heart—God, my heart—shatters.
He jumps off the bed and begins pacing across the room, dragging both hands through his hair.
“You’re my sister’s best friend,” he spits. “You … you just graduated high school, Jessie. Jesus.”
“I—” My voice is small, shaky. “I thought—”
“You thought what? That this was okay? That there was something here?” He laughs bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. Only rage. Only guilt.
I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him.
“I should’ve never—” He bites the inside of his cheek, then turns away from me. “This was a mistake. All of it.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. He won’t even look at me now. Because to him, I’m a child. A mistake.
And I don’t understand why the rejection feels laced with something deeper, like he’s breaking apart from the inside.
But I know he won’t tell me.
He just shakes his head as I walk toward his door. “We can’t, Jessie. Ever.”
I don’t ask why.
Because I already feel like I’m not enough. And I don’t think I can survive hearing the truth if it’s worse than that.
The memory always hits like a sucker punch, no matter how many years pass. I’ve replayed that night more times than I care to admit—searching for something I missed, some hidden clue in his expression, in his voice.
But the only thing I’ve ever found is silence.
He never gave me a real explanation. Never let me in. After that, he just stopped talking to me altogether. Despite my best attempts at moving past it.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not that he rejected me, not even that he mistook me for someone else.
But that he ruined a friendship over it. He never apologized for the outburst or how it’d made me feel.
I hate how he looked at me like I was a mistake he couldn’t afford to face.
I was eighteen. He was twenty-four. I get it; the timing was awful.
But I’m twenty-seven now. And he’s still acting like my existence is a problem he can’t solve.
It’s not about the age gap anymore.
So, what the hell is it?