The storm picks up again. The night’s one drawn-out opus of splattering rain and howling wind. I barely manage to get a few hours of sleep before a noise wakes me.

I sit up straight, familiarizing myself with my surroundings, my ears straining to place the sounds.

I’m still at Kellan’s place. So, that part’s not a dream.

The sky is still dark and starless, with nothing but the moon lighting up the room. I’m surrounded by the sound of the wind, the swaying of branches, the soft spattering of rain.

Pure, complete nature.

It must be what woke me.

Having lived in NYC all my life, I’m used to noise: the constant rumble of traffic, the honking, the hollow thudding of the music in nearby bars and shops, the shouting of the drunk on a Saturday night. I’m so used to my life in the city and the fumes that the complete absence of noise unnerves me.

It’s supposed to be calming, and yet I find it peculiarly strange.

I feel as if I’ve been sucked into a black hole and spat out on another planet.

As if I’ve become the air itself, trapped somewhere between the earth and sky, and I don’t know which way I want to go.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the agitated chirping of birds, celebrating that soon a new dawn will break. Slowly, I sink back into the pillows and pull the covers up to my chin.

As soon as I close my eyes, I hear it again.

It’s the same sound that woke me.

I cannot ignore it.

It sounds like…

I jump up, eyes wide open, my heart stopping, as I become aware of one fact.

It’s coming from the adjacent room.

That’s where Kellan’s sleeping.

It’s unmistakably moaning, interrupted by heavy breathing. And then soft voices.

Kellan has a woman in there.

I reach out for my phone on the table. The clock says it’s four a.m. I left Mandy and Kellan barely two hours ago. My heart sinks as I recall the last few hours.

During dinner, which consisted of medium rare steak and bread, Kellan was friendly, respectful, and formal. I expected more sexual advances, but to my surprise, none came. There were no double meanings. No lingering looks. No more mentions of Club 69. Not even an intimate encounter that would put my willpower to the test. No mention of his girlfriend either.

The entire dinner focused mostly on our trip to Montana, Kellan’s house—it’s been in his family for generations—and a very long and heated conversation on the New York Yankees, Mandy’s team, and Boston Red Sox, Kellan’s favorite baseball team. Even Mandy, with her intense character and her big mouth, kept any snarky remarks to herself, for which I was very grateful. Except for a few glances Kellan and I exchanged, nothing happened—which both relieved and frustrated the hell out of me. At around two a.m., tiredness crept over me, and I excused myself, leaving Mandy and Kellan alone in the living room.

Which, maybe I shouldn’t have, because now I have no idea what went down.

What is still going down.

I might have been so focused on avoiding him that the thought of him hitting on Mandy never occurred to me when it was a likely possibility. Their heated discussion could have easily turned into a heated situation with them ending up in his bed.

Upon our arrival, when Mandy hinted not so subtly that she’d go after him I didn’t take her seriously. How could I have been so wrong? A pang of pain, raw and sharp, hits me in the chest. I can’t help but feel betrayed.

I rise to my feet and tiptoe to the door, my heart beating in a frenzy. Fear chokes my throat as I head for Kellan’s room and linger in front of the door.

It’s cracked open. Caught in the throes of passion, they probably forgot to close it.

My heart lurches. I feel faint.

Every part of my brain tells me that Kellan can fuck whomever he wants.

But every fiber of my being screams that Mandy knows I’m into him. That even though I told her she could fuck him, I didn’t mean it.

Maybe she wants him for herself.

I have to know what’s happening in there, if only to know where I’m standing.

I close my eyes, sickness washing over me as I picture the worst-case scenario.

I promise myself not to be angry at Mandy, but I know that’s not a promise I can keep.

By fucking him, she’s betraying every friendship code.

Should I make my presence known? Should I confront them? I have no plan. I just need to know.

Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath to prepare myself for what I’m about to see. As I crack the door a little bit wider so I can scan the room through the gap, nothing could have prepared me for what I see.

The truth hits me like thunder.

The bed is on the east side, facing the wall to my room. Kellan’s alone, naked on the bed, his eyes shut. He’s propped up against the pillows; the sheets are gathered around his ankles. A radio station is running in the background, voices chatting, but the volume’s too low to make out the words.

There is no woman, no girl, no Mandy in sight.

He is all alone with his cock. His enormous, hard cock, which he now holds in his hand.

Holy shit.

I stare at his erection, the blood rising to my face. I know I should head back to my room, but I can’t. I’m too mesmerized by what I see.

The picture in front of me is hot. Too hot. It’s so much better than anything I’ve ever seen. And so intimate. I hold my breath as I take him in.

All of him.

He looks like a god engaged in his favorite activity, his beautiful face drawn in concentration.

One hand is wrapped around his cock, moving up and down in hard, determined strokes, the other pressed down on his balls, forcing back the orgasm he’s chasing. His lips are slightly parted as another sexy moan ripples through his chest.

I stare at the engorged head glistening with wet arousal, and something twitches between my legs.

He’s so caught up in his own pleasure that he doesn’t hear me, even though I’m pretty sure my own heartbeat’s so loud that even Mandy can hear it from her bedroom on the far side of the hall.

This is too personal. I shouldn’t be watching him, particularly when I don’t even have a good excuse or the right to be in his room. But there’s something about him, about the way he seems so caught up in his arousal, that makes me want to stay, to break the rules.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s night and I can be someone I’m not.

Shit.

I’m probably turning into a peeping Tom. I’m a voyeur.

I’ll probably burn in Hell.

But I can’t move. The movements of his hand speed up. His chest rises and falls. I can tell from the sound of him pleasuring himself—pumping up and down—that he’s getting closer to orgasm.

I want to share that orgasm with him.

My own arousal grows with every move, every shaking breath he takes, every swipe of his tongue across his lips, and the deep groans of pleasure escaping his chest.

I bite hard on my lip until I can taste blood.

I want to touch him, taste him, feel him inside me.

I ache to replace his hand with mine as he strokes over the rim of his head. Suck his tongue into my mouth as he wets his lower lip.

I want to kiss him. To cup his heavy balls. To take him into my mouth, if only to release the throbbing inside me.

I feel lightheaded.

He has captured my breath.

The air I’m holding—I have to let it out of my chest, but I can’t out of fear that he could hear me.

I know he would.

But I have to breathe—fast.

Without blinking, I turn away, not bothering to close his door, and quickly walk back to my room. As soon as I’ve locked myself inside, the air comes out of me with a swishing sound.

I sink onto the bed, my heart beating against my ribcage, my head swirling, painful regret and trembling desire sloshing through me. My whole body is shaking, on fire.

I need him.

Why didn’t I take him up on his offer?

Holy shit.

I had no idea he looks so hot in bed.

Watching him taking care of his needs is going to haunt my dreams. Even though we share everything, there’s no way in hell I’ll tell Mandy about it, or else she’ll make fun of me for the rest of my life.

This is going to be a secret I’ll take with me to my grave.

Holy. Shit.

Through the thin walls—God, is this house made of cards?—I can hear his heavy breathing and deep groans of pleasure. He’s getting close to pleasure heaven. I’m frozen in time and space. All I can do is picture his face, his huge erection in his hand.

Walls may be separating us, but I know in my heart he’s going to be my undoing.

Sure, I had imagined him, us, countless times in the past few weeks.

But I never thought I’d see him again. And surely not like this.

I close my eyes, my mind focusing on the picture of him on his bed.

But now he’s no longer alone.

It’s me who’s doing all the naughty things to him. He’s groaning while I’m pleasuring him. I like the thought that he’s aroused because of me.

My hand slips into my panties. Between my legs, I’m dripping wet—for him. The muscles inside me clench, the heat unbearable. I slide two fingers inside me, imaging it’s his fingers that glide between my wet folds.

To the sounds coming from next door, I begin to touch myself. When he comes, my own orgasm ripples through me.