I let James inside. My best friend Mary’s dickhead of a boyfriend is back in her life again.

“I’m only letting you in because Mary’s my best friend,” I say bluntly, crossing my arms as he steps through the doorway.

“She’ll be back in a few hours and will hopefully take you away from here.”

“Nice to meet you too, Grace,” he replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I turn and walk into the kitchen of the apartment, and he follows me, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Why is he here? Why did Mary get back together with him after what he did? I think to myself, frustration bubbling up. “You know where the sitting room is,” I say, my voice laced with passive-aggressive venom.

“Alright, calm down,” James says, unfazed, as I rummage through the fridge for something to eat.

I pull out a bag of bagels, turn around, and he’s gone. I sigh in relief, unwrapping one and taking a bite, savoring the chewy texture and the faint sweetness. For a moment, it’s just me and the bagel—peaceful, quiet.

But then, out of nowhere, I start to feel bad for James. Maybe I’ve been too harsh. Maybe he’s changed. I swallow the bite and call out, “James, I’ve got a bagel for you if you want it!”

I turn my back to the counter where the bagels sit and start cleaning up the kitchen, wiping down the sticky spots from last night’s takeout. I hear him come in, his steps slow and deliberate, walking toward me and the bagels. I feel him standing behind me for a minute, too close, and I wonder what he’s doing. He better not be staring at me.

“Are you working today?” he asks, his voice casual, like we’re old pals.

“No, I’m off today. Back in tomorrow, sadly. Just going to relax after I get a nice hot shower,” I respond, keeping my tone curt. Just because I offered him a bagel doesn’t mean I want to chat—not after what he’s done.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Thanks for the bagel, Grace,” he says, starting to walk off. But before he goes, he reaches over and slaps my ass—hard and brief. His hand slides off, but not before he gives it a quick squeeze.

I whip around to glare at him, but he’s already strolling through the doorway to the sitting room, bagel in hand, like nothing happened.

I finish cleaning, then head to my room to grab clothes for after my shower. I spend way too long picking them out—jeans or leggings? Tank top or sweater?—and when I finally get to the bathroom, I hear the shower already running.

What a dick. Why is he in there? It must be to annoy me. I can’t let him get to me, but—shit—he’s going to use up all the hot water. I won’t be able to shower for hours. Fuck. Maybe if I just keep my bra and panties on and stand as far away from him as possible… It’s a big shower, right?

After a minute of debating, I push open the bathroom door and start undressing.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice cutting through the steam.

“Just getting a shower, dick,” I snap, avoiding his gaze as I pull down my jeans, then lift my top over my head. I can feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin. I turn and see him naked in the shower, his erection impossible to ignore. It brings back a bad memory—one I’ve tried to bury. I step in beside him, keeping my distance, and start washing myself. I face him, not because I want to, but because I don’t trust him behind me.

“I knew you’d be back for more, Grace,” he says, smirking. “I could feel it in my dick.”

“Stop talking, please. I want nothing to do with you, ever again,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I try not to look at his dick, but it’s hard—he keeps touching it, stroking it. It’s as big as I remember.

I turn briefly to grab my shampoo, and when I turn back, he’s moving toward me.

“I’m just grabbing shampoo, okay?” I say, nodding toward the bottle. He comes right up to me, reaching around—hopefully for the shampoo. I feel his dick brush against my waist, and I grit my teeth. Why is he making this so hard? Why can’t he just be happy with Mary?

Then he slaps my ass again, harder than before. It knocks the shampoo bottle from my hand, and it clatters to the floor near his feet. He backs away, smiling like he’s won something.

What should I say? I should yell at him or leave. But… I kind of liked it. It felt good, sharp and electric, though I can’t let him know that. He keeps smiling—does he know? Why does he keep stroking himself? Why does it look so big?

“You like what you see, Grace?” he says, catching me staring.

“No. I mean, what are you on about?” I stammer, trying to hide how turned on I’m getting.

I focus on washing myself, but I can’t remember where I put my shampoo. Oh, right—it’s down there. I kneel to pick it up, and as I look up, his dick is right in my face, freezing me in place. It’s so big. Maybe if I just touch it, just quickly… It won’t hurt Mary. James has done far worse with other girls, and she still takes him back. I reach up and start stroking it. He looks down at me and smirks. I keep going, slow and deliberate, using both hands as he moans.

“I told you you’d want more,” he says, that smug smirk in his voice.

I hate his tone, but I can’t stop. It’s right there, brushing my lips. Has he moved closer, or have I? I open my mouth and take him in, swallowing him down. Our moans grow louder. I look up at him, towering over me as I suck him off. He puts a hand on the back of my head, pushing until I gag. It reminds me of the last time—the mess, the fallout, how badly it ended. This isn’t right. Mary’s my best friend. James is a dick, and this will hurt her. But I like it. It’s just a blowjob. She won’t know, I tell myself as I deepthroat him.

The shower fills with steam, water pouring over us. I watch it run down his leg and picture Mary crying—me comforting her, helping her move on. She cried for days after she found out last time. I pull away and stand, turning my back to him.

“Come on, Grace. She won’t know. I know you liked it,” he says. I ignore him, focusing on washing myself, pushing the horny thoughts out of my mind.

After two minutes of ignoring his pleas, he gives up. I hear him stroking himself, but I refuse to look. He starts touching my ass, and I keep brushing his hands off. They keep coming back. Eventually, I hear him moan, and something warm hits my ass before he slaps it again.

I turn as he steps out of the shower and dries off. He’s such a dick. I can’t believe I sucked him off. What was I thinking? I touch my ass—it’s sore from all the slapping. What’s on my hand? What is that? Oh my God—what the fuck?

“Did you just cum on me?” I shout.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want it,” he smirks.

“You’re such a dickhead!” I yell as he leaves the bathroom, still smirking.

TO BE CONTINUED