Page 4 of Never Enough

“For being ca-caught off guard. Wasn’t e-expecting to see you ag-again,” he confesses. I see it then, his vulnerability shining through the cracks of his carefully crafted façade. His stuttering tells me he’s nervous, but I am relieved to see that it is not as severe as it once was. There were a few times he couldn’t get a word out.

He looks at me then, deep-brown eyes meeting mine. A flashback hits me: us sitting on his bedroom floor, him with a cookbook in his hands and me listening to him read out the recipes. “I don’t cook anymore,” he says finally, pulling me back to reality.

“Why not?” I push, remembering the joy that used to light up his face whenever he was in the kitchen. It was one of the few times I witnessed him being unabashedly happy.

He shrugs, refusing to meet my gaze. “L-l-lost interest.”

That hits me hard. The boy who found comfort in cooking, who dreamt of opening his own restaurant one day, lost interest? It feels like a lie. His passion for culinary arts was real, almost tangible. How could he just let go? I’m missing something.

“But why?” I begin but stop mid-sentence when I see him flinch.

He takes longer to answer—I assume to collect himself, because when he talks to me again, his stuttering is almost non-existent. “Can we change the topic?” he asks quietly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

I take a deep breath and nod. I can’t force him to speak about it if he doesn’t want to. But it bothers me, more than it probably should.

The class ends, but the silence between us lingers on. He gets up from his chair and leaves without another word, leaving me to ponder over our conversation.

Is this how it is going to be from now on? Us pretending like we were never something more?

As he walks away, I can’t help but remember the old Alexandru. The boy who occupied half my soul. He was always there when Ineeded someone the most, and now ... he’s just a stranger wearing Alexandru’s face.

I miss him already.

Chapter three

Alex

Daphne Burton.

Holy fuck.

I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m obsessed. Of course I am.

It’s funny because my girlfriend has done everything she can to become the type of woman men find the most beautiful. Her lips hold more filler than a duck pond. She’s a natural brunette, but she goes to the salon every six weeks to turn it blonde. And, based on how hard and high her breasts are, I’m pretty sure her cup size is not a natural C. Still, Celeste is beautiful, and she helped me when I needed it the most.

After Daphne had left.

Celeste’s attention attracted a more positive light to me. If the perfect Celeste dared to give the once geeky man-boy attention, that must mean he’s actually worth more than his bank account. Soon, I stopped playingCall of Duty, ditched the steak knife, and learned how to toss the good ole pigskin. Which led to a toned physique and, of course, I had to get rid of my dorky glasses.Daphne never found them dorky, nor anything about me, but Celeste did. I desperately sought validation for my own happiness.

From her loyalty, I give her mine. Like when my girlfriend asks that I work on developing a six-pack, I go to the gym and try. I’m not very good because, to be honest, I hate working out, but I at least try.

All in all, I’m loyal. Still depressed but loyal. For the last several years, I’ve never strayed from Celeste, but Daphne is a temptress I’m having a hard time resisting.

Guilt overcomes me as I grip onto my thickening cock. Only, I’m not thinking about my girlfriend. Instead, I’m imagining Daphne’s kiss-swollen lips wrapped around it.

With each shallow breath I take, her image intensifies in my mind. My heart pounds against my chest while her memory fuels my desire. I tighten my grip on myself, imagining the feel of Daphne’s nimble fingers on me. The way her hazel eyes would look up at me, full of innocence yet consumed with passion.

I remember how her chestnut hair fell across her forehead, the ends curling at her cheeks while she slept on my chest. We were only kids then, but I still felt a connection to her. Now, I can only imagine how that hair would feel between my fingers as I tugged her closer to me. We’re adults, and she grew with me. Does she feel the same longing that stirs my core?

“Daphne,” I moan as I lie face up, staring at the ceiling. The name sounds so right on my lips, so natural, like it’s always belonged there.

Yet it also feels wrong. To do this while thinking about a woman who isn’t Celeste feels like a betrayal. But even as I stroke myself to completion, all I can think about is Daphne. The idea of being inside of her, feeling the tight heat of her body around me. The sound of her soft gasps and moans in response to each thrust. Fuck, I can’t stop. I want to map her curves with the palms of my hands. Breathe in her scent and bathe it against my skin.

Going from my shaft to my balls, I squeeze my cock while imagining it’s Daphne’s warm pussy. She’s so fucking perfect.

I want her.

My orgasm hits me hard and unexpected, like a punch to the gut. Every nerve in my body sings and then slowly stills as I cum all over my abs.

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