Chapter 27
GRIFFIN
After Tiana disappears down the hallway, I remain in the kitchen, staring at the spot she just vacated.
Markell’s name alone was enough to sour my mood.
I replay the look on Tiana’s face when she checked her phone. She looked almost defeated. Tired.
I rake a hand through my hair and head upstairs before I do something stupid. The second my bedroom door closes behind me, I start pacing.
Tiana’s ex-boyfriend has a death wish. It’s the only explanation.
I told him very clearly to stay away from her. And yet he’s still blowing up her phone.
I stop and stare out the window.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but the protective instinct refuses to let go.
I don’t like the idea of someone making her uncomfortable.
I like it even less when that someone refuses to take no for an answer.
With a frustrated exhale, I drop onto the edge of my bed and grab my phone.
I need a distraction.
My thumb automatically opens Instagram and I see the message.
Oh, shit.
For a full second, all I can do is stare at the screen, the words blurring as heat crawls up my neck. Then, I lock the phone and toss it onto the bed like it burned me.
I pace the room again—once, twice, dragging a hand through my hair. Tiana is right down the hall, expecting me to answer her message. She doesn’t even know it’s me. Guilt crawls up my spine. I shouldn’t message her back. I should delete the account and come clean.
And yet…
I pick up my phone again, tell myself I’ll read the messages again and won’t reply. That I’ll do the responsible thing for once.
I think I need my favourite internet stranger tonight.
The message hasn’t changed. Not that I expected it to.
But neither has the way my pulse spikes.
This is playing with fire.
I know it.
But I type anyway.
@built2last
Sounds like you need a hug.
I almost delete it. Instead, I hit send.
The second the message delivers, my heart starts racing like I’ve just stepped off a ledge. I force myself to breathe through it.
This is stupid and reckless. But I can’t stop thinking about what she’ll say next.
@tianawithlove
I think I need more than a hug…
I stare at the screen, my vision pulsing with every word.
Jesus Christ.
@built2last
Are you flirting with me, Trouble?
@tianawithlove
is it working?
@built2last
Maybe a little.
@tianawithlove
wow that was easier than I thought.
A laugh escapes me.
@built2last
Confidence looks good on you.
@tianawithlove
I’d say the same to you, but I don’t know what you look like.
She doesn’t, and thank God for that, because I don’t know how Tiana would react if she knew it was me hiding behind the profile.
I type: Mystery is half the fun, isn’t it?
@tianawithlove
not a fan of surprises, but I’ll let you keep yours, stranger.
@built2last
How charitable of you.
@tianawithlove
I have my moments.
I pause, grinning like a fucking idiot at my phone. I half expect to look up and see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, calling me out for being a creep. But the hall is quiet behind the closed door. The only witness to my idiocy is the mess of bedsheets and gym shorts on the floor.
I should set the phone down. Take a shower, clear my head, do anything except stare at the little dots dancing under her name. But I can’t help it. I’m a moth and she’s the damn flame.
@tianawithlove
tell me something interesting about yourself.
I snuff out a laugh.
@built2last
That’s not how anonymous internet friendships work.
@tianawithlove
we’re just friends?
@built2last
What more do you want, Trouble?
@tianawithlove
do you want an honest answer?
@built2last
Only if you want to.
@tianawithlove
I need to not feel so alone tonight.
My chest tightens, and I have to tamp down the urge to cross the hall and go to her.
@tianawithlove
what if I said I think about you sometimes?
My hands are slick. I want to throw my phone under the bed, hide it in the wall, do anything except read that sentence again.
I’m not built for this kind of shit.
I handle stuff with my hands—remove a radiator, put up drywall, sometimes repair cars. But this digital flirtation, this tightrope walk between the comfort of anonymity and the greasy pit of being found out? I’m good at a lot of things; this isn’t one of them.
I picture Tiana on the other side of that screen, waiting.
Not Tiana, my nanny who organizes my kid’s lunches by color.
No.
It’s the girl I keep at arms’ length but secretly want to let all the way in, pixelated through the dumbfounding filter of possibility. My best and worst idea, staring back at me.
@built2last
I think about you sometimes too.
It’s out. Sent. Launched into the ether.
Her response is quick.
@tianawithlove
what do you think about?
When I breathe, it’s shallow; when I sit, it’s on the floor against my bed frame. I try to picture a version of myself that answers honestly.
Do I tell her that I often imagine how it would feel to sleep with my head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat instead of the yelling in mine?
Or that I think about the way she laughs when something catches her off guard, and how I’d do almost anything to be the one who put that sound in a room?
Or that I wonder what it would be like to just sit next to her somewhere that isn’t here, somewhere neither of us has to be anything?
That sometimes, when she’s gone to her room, I almost go and knock on her door just to see if she’s still awake, too?
But I can’t say any of that.
I want her to think I’m interesting, not that I’m a freak. Both seem impossible, but I finally hit a compromise.
@built2last
I think about how well you’d fit in my arms and whether you’d let me hold you, if I ever got the chance.
The typing pause is longer this time. I watch the screen until it times out and goes dark, then I stab it back awake. My finger trembles over the glass. When Tiana’s reply finally comes through, it’s a short one.
@tianawithlove
I’d let you.
There’s something that comes out of my chest, almost a laugh or a groan. It’s a wonder my heart doesn’t blow out sideways through my ribs. I press my palm to my sternum, like that might steady it.
She sends another:
@tianawithlove
would you be gentle? or rough?
I can picture the smirk on Tiana’s face as she typed that —something halfway to a dare.
@built2last
I could be both. Whatever you needed.
I hit send, and wonder if that’s too much, but the dots appear right away.
@tianawithlove
I just need… you.
Fuck.
My skin tingles all over, like I’ve stood too close to a live wire. I reread the last message three times. I want to respond with something smooth that will keep this momentum without making me sound like some desperate loser.
@built2last
What else do you need, Trouble?
I stare at the screen, my vision pulsing with every word.
@tianawithlove
send me a pic of you… anything
I’m not supposed to want this, not supposed to need this so bad, but I can’t help it.
I angle the phone downward, framing the straining silhouette of my cock beneath the thin, worn gray of my sweatpants.
The outline isn’t just visible; it’s insistent, the head nudging upward as if it’s trying to push free of the waistband, the whole length twitching under my palm when I adjust my grip on the phone.
I almost don’t send it. But then I think: if this is a game, let me at least be brave for once.
I hit send and then clamp a fist to my mouth.
@tianawithlove
oh
my
god.
If I could crawl inside my bedsheets and never emerge again, I would. I almost set my phone facedown and pretend this never happened.
@tianawithlove
that’s so unfair.
I wouldn’t even know what to do with it.
but I want it…
I shut my eyes and imagine hers, wide and surprised, then narrowed with something hungry. My hand slips down to palm myself through the cotton, a clumsy, punishing squeeze.
@built2last
I want you so bad I can’t think straight.
Let me see you. Touch yourself for me.
Beneath the raw need, shame prickles at the base of my neck. I’ve never talked this way with anyone. But I can’t seem to do anything logical when it comes to Tiana Jones.
Though the idea that she’s in the next room, reading these lines, perhaps slipping her hand under the sheets the way I wish mine could, that’s enough to detonate whatever shame is left.
The typing bubble hovers, then disappears. My hands sweat on the phone. There’s no answer, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I start to type an apology, but then the screen jumps.
A video of her thighs parting, one hand against her skin, her tank top pushed up over her breast, the edge of her nipple showing.
The sheet slips lower, past the jut of her hip bone, and I can see the pale line of her underwear sliding down her thigh, knuckles pressed white as she rubs small circles over herself. Her soft moan makes my pulse skip.
I can barely see her face, just the wild kink of her hair, her lips parted around a shaky breath. The video only lasts a minute, but it’s enough to make my throat go dry.
A numb buzzing travels from the base of my skull down my arms and out through the tips of my fingers.
I want to be in her room.
I want to be on my fucking knees in front of her.
I scroll back, play it again, and there’s nothing fake about the pressure in my pants.
@built2last
Tiana, you’re unreal.
She responds immediately.
@tianawithlove
I got scared and stopped recording
but I want you to see me
A photo follows—her on her back, knees bent and spread, one hand between her thighs. The flash paints her skin in silver and shadow. I couldn’t look away if I tried. My body is a lit match, every nerve sparking.
@built2last
You’re killing me, Tiana.
@tianawithlove
come here and do something about it.
I want to barge into her room and drag my lips down her trembling spine. Instead, I call up the camera and take a photo, one palm fisted in the waistband, pushing it just low enough to expose the base. I don’t even stop to check the angle before I send it.
@tianawithlove
… holy fuck.
I want this. I want you.
And I want Tiana in my hands. I want to lay her on my bed, on hers, on the fucking kitchen counter, anywhere she’ll let me. I’m half-starved by the time my thumbs find the keys.
@built2last
Next time you touch yourself, pretend it’s me.
@tianawithlove
what if I already am?
God.
I let the phone rest on my thigh and give in, stroking my dick through the sweatpants.
The friction, the fantasy of her hand on me instead of mine, is enough to make me gasp.
I set the phone in selfie mode and angle it so she can see how hard I am, how bad I want her.
I flex my hand around the shaft—making sure to hide my arm tattoos—and squeeze, letting her see the outline of veins.
I hit record and roll my thumb over the precum on the head. I send it before I can chicken out.
I want her to want it. I want her to want me.
@tianawithlove
you could do anything you wanted to me.
I want you to tell me what to do next.
My blood is just static. I let my head fall back and exhale through my teeth.
@built2last
Pull your panties off and let me see you.
The picture arrives so fast I nearly drop the phone. It’s her, camera angled from above, arm slightly blurred at the edge of the frame, panties pale and limp in her fist. Her skin is flushed and dappled with goosebumps, her hand buried between her legs, full pussy on display.
My brain empties out—no thought, just sensation, as if all the air has been siphoned from the room and all that’s left is the heat rattling in my chest. The ache is real now, urgent. I palm the base of my cock and squeeze, nearly doubling over with how close I am.
@built2last
I want to hear you.
Put your fingers inside.
Imagine my mouth.
I can picture Tiana trying to keep it together while she types, maybe biting her lip.
@tianawithlove
l can’t believe I’m doing this
it’s so much better than I thought
keep going…
I grip myself hard—because if I don’t I might actually float out of my own skin. Every part of my brain is on fire.
@built2last
I want you to fuck yourself with your fingers. Get them so wet they drip down your wrist, then rub your clit slowly, like I would if I had you spread open in front of me.
@tianawithlove
I want your mouth on me so badly
My knuckles are tight as I fuck my fist, muttering her name in the air. My body is on autopilot, a thick haze of lust and regret. I can’t stop picturing myself on my knees, nuzzling the seam of her thighs, groaning against her pussy, hands pinning her hips.
@built2last
I want to taste you. I want you to ride my tongue until your legs clamp around my head. I want to push my fingers inside you until you’re clawing at my hair, begging me not to stop.
I’m typing one-handed. I feel like I’ve been turned inside out.
@tianawithlove
fuck… fuck, you’re going to make me come.
The phone vibrates in my hand, and a voice memo comes through.
Tiana is panting before she even speaks, her breath catching, paced out over slow, wet sounds. The syllables come slurred.
“Like that? Fuck—okay, I… I want you so much—please.” A ragged inhale.
Then she sends me a video: the beginnings of her orgasm, hips rocking into her palm, teeth sinking into her lower lip, as if trying not to cry out. She comes, her body shaking, legs splayed wide and shuddering against the sheets, pussy clenching wetly around two fingers.
I could come just from watching her.
When the video stops, I stare at the frame, dazed.
My body is lit up, desperate for relief.
I close my hand around my cock—one, two, three hard strokes and I’m pulsing.
The intensity staggers me, and I let out a curse choked into the dark as I come harder than I have in months, thick heat striping my abs.
I let my head lull back, eyes shut. A laugh bubbles from my chest and I try to stifle it. The absurdity of all this nearly undoes me.
Tiana’s message arrives before I can even find the energy to wipe myself off.
@tianawithlove
I’ve never done that before. I mean, not with someone.
did you like it?
@built2last
More than I can say. You wrecked me.
@tianawithlove
that’s good cause I definitely loved it.
I should try to sleep… my brain is fried from all the adrenaline. and the orgasm.
@built2last
Sleep tight, Trouble.
@tianawithlove
g’night, stranger.
The ghost of Tiana’s body is now burned behind my eyelids. I want to see her face—I want to run straight to her room and collapse at her feet.
Some nights, the idea of the future feels like an open wound.
Tonight, it’s a pulse I can hardly ignore.
I wipe off with a t-shirt from the foot of the bed, then stand in the dark and breathe until my body de-tenses. I try not to think about how fucked up it is that I want her this much.
A soft knock sounds against my bedroom door.
“Griffin?”
I freeze, my stomach dropping straight to the floor.