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It’s a cluttered mess, with clothes on the floor and a bag overflowing with textbooks slung across a chair. I make a low noise of distaste at the mess, stepping over a pile as I examine her books.
She’s diligent with school, always there unless something else is going on in her life that makes her have to miss it. The clothes on the floor are all like the ones she wears to bed. Long sleeves and long pants or skirts. Meant to cover things up, probably.
I pick up a notebook and flip through it, noting her neat handwriting for her notes. I scan the pages a bit, but it’s all stuff from her classes. A few dates are written in the margins, and some of them are crossed out, but when I track down those dates, they’re just about projects or assignments for classes.
I tuck the notebook back into her bag where it belongs, ignoring the itch under my skin that makes me want to clean and organize her entire bedroom. She’d notice that when she wakes up and realize I’d been here.
Finally, I cross her room to the small, beat up dresser that’s pressed against one wall. It seems to barely hold all of her things, which is probably why she has clothes on the floor. It’s old and scuffed, and it looks like something that someone set on the curb to be taken out with the trash.
Honestly, that’s probably where she got it, considering her financial situation before we stepped in.
Of course, there’s no order here either. Her clothes are folded chaotically or not at all. If there’s a system, it’s impossible to find, and it makes more sense that there just isn’t one.
I close a drawer full of shirts and some pants and quietly tug open another one, finding it full of her underwear.
My head tells me to shut the drawer, turn away from the dresser, and get out of here. But my hands itch to touch, to take, and after waging an internal battle with myself, I finally give in to that urge. I rifle through her panties until I find a pair that’s dark purple, with a small bit of lace around the waist band. They aren’t sexy like some of the panties Malice’s conquests have left around the warehouse, but I can picture her in them.
My fingers curl around the fabric, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m stuffing them into my pocket.
In my pants, my cock is fully hard again, just from being around this girl. Just from touching her things. Irritation curls inside me, and I huff a silent breath.
Usually, I can control my reactions to things. It’s rare for me to be affected by something in a way I can’t deal with.
None of us ever got into drugs for this exact reason. We saw a lot of kids in our shitty neighborhood get fucked up when we were younger. They got a taste from someone, and that was enough to get them addicted and then broken. My brothers and I always wanted more for ourselves than that, so we stayed out of that shit.
But this? Willow?
She feels like a drug.
Like something that’s going to wreck us all.
I grit my teeth and drag in a deep breath, forcing myself to walk out of the room. I ease her bedroom door closed the way it was before, and then leave her apartment, locking the front door behind me.
Although I drive with my usual careful precision, the drive back home seems to pass in a blur.
Luckily, Ransom and Malice are nowhere to be seen when I get back home. The large, open space of the warehouse is dark as I climb the stairs and go to my room, closing and locking the door. It’s not one of the days that I normally jack off, but my body is throbbing angrily, demanding some kind of relief. It makes the buzzing feeling under my skin even worse, as if I might fracture into pieces.
Willow’s panties feel like a weight in my pocket. My hand trembles slightly as I draw them out, rubbing the soft material between my fingers.
My cock pulses in response, and I curse under my breath, undoing my fly so my dick isn’t pressed right up against it.
“One, two, three…”
I start to count slowly, something that usually helps me regain my equilibrium and control, but even as I recite the numbers, my free hand is shoving my pants and underwear down enough to free my aching cock.
“Four, five, six, seven…”
It springs free, jutting out from my crotch, swollen and flushed and desperate for attention. My head is full of thoughts of Willow. The way she looked in bed, her lips parted, her hair spilling over the pillow.
“Eight, nine…”
That stretch of skin that was bared by her shirt riding up. The scars that were just as much a mess as everything else about her.
“Ten…”
Her panties are still in my hand, and running on instinct, I wrap them around my cock. The material is warm from being in my pocket on the way home, and it feels so fucking good.
Usually, I don’t use anything when I get myself off. Just some lube and my hand. But the feeling of Willow’s panties against my heated flesh makes my cock weep, sticky beads of precum spilling from my tip and sliding down. I push my hips forward, letting the material drag against my sensitive skin. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and my eyes fall closed while I breathe through it.
