Page 43 of Truth Or Dare
I press decline, and the music resumes. Staring down at the bowl, I drop my spoon inside, my appetite vanishing from the sickening feeling in my stomach.
With a sigh, I drop the bowl into the sink, along with the rest of the dishes left from yesterday, and make my way toward the bathroom, needing a shower to clear my head.
I close the bathroom door behind me, and hastily peel off my t-shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket along with my sweats and boxers.
As the warm water covers me, my body relaxes, and I brush my hair back, letting the water fall over my head. Glancing down, my eyes lock on Gabi’s coconut shampoo, and I reach for the body wash beside it, lathering it over my skin.
I had forgotten what she smelled like when I left, but when I came back, it hit me like a wave, invading my senses every damn day.
Images of Gabi flood my mind constantly. No matter what I’m doing, she’s always there, lingering in my thoughts. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s images of her pinned beneath me that consume my thoughts, and I groan as I remember her full lips, parted, looking up at me with desire, her body pressed against mine.
“Fuck.” I let out a groan, dropping my hand to my hardening cock, soaping it up before I give it a firm stroke. A moan escapes my lips as I picture the small metal bars poking through her sheer, white tank top.
She didn’t have nipple piercings in high school. When did she get them? Why did she get them? I wonder what her tits look like with them.
“God damn it.” Before I can stop myself, I’m jerking off to thoughts of her. A montage of Gabi fills my mind, and groan after groan leaves my lips at the sight.
God, she’s so fucking beautiful. I’ve always thought so. Ever since I met her. But it was a few years later that I realized howhotshe was. How my body reacted to hers whenever she was close, how just one smile from her could make my heart pound out of my chest. I knew then I didn’t just like her as a friend.
I felt so guilty—still do—thinking about her like that. She’s my best friend. I’m not supposed to think of her this way, but fuck. I can’t help it.
I remember Gabi asking me if Taylor was my type all those years ago. I don’t know how to tell her that I don’t have a type.Gabi’smy type. Long, dark, gorgeous hair. Bright blue eyes I can’t get enough of. A gorgeous body that felt so good underneath me. Full pink lips that I love whenever she smiles.
And now I’m thinking of her parting her pretty pink lips, and taking my cock between them.
“Ughh. Fuck,” I groan as I stroke my cock, tighter this time, my balls drawing up so tight, they feel like they’re about to explode.
But before I can finish, a loud crash makes me freeze. My eyes shoot open, and I turn my head to see Gabi standing outside the bathroom door. Her mouth is slightly parted, and her eyes are wide.
My hand drops, and my eyes widen in horror, mirroring hers.
This is not fucking happening.
Please, for the love of god, tell me this is just a dream and isn’t actually happening.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Gabi says, turning around, before hastily closing the bathroom door behind her.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I quickly wash the soap off my body and turn the shower off before hopping out and drying myself off as best as I can. I catch my reflection in the mirror, and I stare back at it, wondering what the hell I’m going to do.
“Fuck,” I grunt, closing my eyes.
Once I’ve pulled my clothes on, I hesitate for a second before opening the door, finding Gabi leaning against the back of the couch. Her attention shifts to me as she hears the door open, and our eyes lock together.
I see her throat move as she swallows, and I hold eye contact, neither of us knowing what to say. I want to know what she’s thinking. Is she freaking out?
“I’m sorry,” she finally blurts out. “I should have knocked, or—”
I shake my head, water dripping from my hair. “You don’t need to be sorry, Gabi,” I tell her. “I should have locked the door.” I run a hand through my wet hair. I thought she’d be gone for a while, and I just didn’t… think.
“I thought you were asleep,” she says, lifting herself off the back of the couch. “I was playing music and didn’t hear the shower, and—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt her. She’s definitely freaking out. I don’t want this to change anything between us. She’s clearly horrified by seeing me naked, and while the thought feels like a knife to the chest, I get it. We’re best friends. Nothing more. Have been since we were twelve.
“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyebrows pulled together.
“Yeah,” I reply, a smile tugging at her lips. I almost reach out and pull her into me, but after what happened, I think it’s best if I don’t.
