UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts

The house still smelled like roasted chicken and garlic. Dishes clinked in the kitchen. My mom’s laugh floated down the hallway mixed with my stepdad’s low voice. Everyone was still downstairs, full and loud and completely unaware.

I should have gone straight to my room.

Instead I stopped outside Adrian’s door.

It was cracked open just enough. The hallway light cut a thin line across the carpet. I don’t know why I looked. Habit, maybe. Or something worse.

He was on the bed.

Back against the headboard. Sweatpants shoved down to his thighs. One hand wrapped tight around his cock. Slow, deliberate strokes. His head tipped back, eyes closed, jaw tight. The sound of skin on skin was quiet but unmistakable.

My mouth went dry.

I should have walked away. I told myself that three times. My feet didn’t move.

Adrian was twenty-four. Broad shoulders, dark hair that always looked like someone had just run fingers through it. Three years older than me. Not blood. That was the part my brain kept repeating like it could make this less wrong.

He stroked harder. A low sound left his throat. His hips lifted off the mattress once, then settled. The head of his cock was flushed dark, shiny at the tip. Every upward pull made the veins stand out.

Heat pooled low in my stomach. Traitorous. Immediate.

I pressed my thighs together. The soft cotton of my sleep shorts suddenly felt too thin. I could feel how wet I already was and it made me hate myself a little.

He didn’t know I was there.

I could still leave. Close the door. Pretend I never saw anything. Go back downstairs and smile at our parents like the good stepdaughter I was supposed to be.

My hand stayed on the doorframe.

Adrian’s breathing changed. Faster. His free hand fisted the sheet. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every stroke. He was close. I could tell by the way his stomach tightened, by the short, rough sounds he was making now.

I shifted my weight and the floorboard under my foot gave a soft creak.

His eyes opened.

They locked on mine.

For one second neither of us moved. His hand froze mid-stroke. My heart slammed so hard I felt it in my throat.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Something sharper.

He didn’t cover himself.

He didn’t tell me to leave.

He just kept looking at me while his fingers stayed wrapped around his cock, like he was waiting to see what I would do.

The voices downstairs rose and fell. Someone dropped a glass in the sink. Laughter followed. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. They felt a million miles away.

Adrian’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, to where my nipples had gone tight against my thin tank top. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

His hand started moving again. Slower this time. Showing me.

I couldn’t look away.

The air between us felt thick. Charged. My pulse beat heavy between my legs. I was soaking through my shorts and he hadn’t even touched me.

He gave himself one long, deliberate stroke from base to tip, thumb swiping over the head, and a quiet, broken sound left him. His eyes never left mine.

I should have been disgusted. Embarrassed. Furious at myself for still standing there.

All I felt was hunger.

Adrian’s voice came out low and rough, barely above a whisper so the people downstairs wouldn’t hear.

“You just gonna watch, or are you coming in?”

My fingers tightened on the doorframe until my knuckles ached.

I didn’t answer.

But I also didn’t leave.