His Hands on My Shared Pillow​

The dead of night found me sprawled across the bed, weak and breathless, pleading with the man behind me. "You... slow down. You're like a damn stallion."

He didn’t relent. Instead, he gripped my hair, forcing my head back as he slid two fingers into my mouth, swirling them with deliberate slowness.

"Ever tried doubling the fun?"

My name is Evelyn Roland, a recent college graduate sharing a two-bedroom apartment with my best friend, Lily Lawrence.

That evening, I walked into our shared apartment to find Lily sprawled on the couch, cheeks flushed, clothes disheveled, her tiny skirt still bunched around her waist.

In the corner of the sofa, a flash of rose-red caught my eye—Lily’s discarded thong.

Meanwhile, her boyfriend, Marcus Evans, was hastily yanking up his sweatpants.

Clearly, they’d been in the middle of something when the sound of the door interrupted them.

I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Marcus was a fitness trainer at a local gym—tall, muscular, and undeniably attractive. I’d always found him intriguing.

But every time he stayed over, he kept Lily up all night, and her moans carried through the thin walls like a siren’s call. It left me restless, often resorting to desperate measures to quiet my own frustration.

The unmistakable bulge in Marcus’s sweatpants made my ears burn. I forced composure as I headed toward my bedroom, muttering, "Don’t mind me. Carry on."

Through the glass balcony doors, I could feel his gaze lingering on my backside. I was used to it. With curves like mine—full chest, narrow waist, long legs, and a round backside—men’s stares were inevitable.

Since the bathroom was shared, I waited until they retreated to their room before gathering my things for a shower.

But as I locked the bathroom door and stripped, about to toss my underwear into the laundry basket, something felt off.

That morning, I’d changed into a fresh pair—though I hadn’t washed them yet, I always folded them neatly. Now, they were crumpled into a tight ball.

Frowning, I lifted the white lace thong, ready to smooth it out—when a heavy, unmistakably masculine scent hit me.

No way.

Marcus had been fantasizing about me for who knows how long, but this? He’d actually taken my worn underwear and—

And didn’t even bother to clean up after himself.

Anger and something far more dangerous coiled in my stomach.