Confession

It started with a message.
Anonymous, raw, and dangerously honest.

> “I think about you when I touch myself.”



She didn’t know who sent it, but the thought lingered like a stain on her mind. The words were bold, sinful, and laced with a hunger that echoed her own hidden desires.

Days later, she found herself in his room—the colleague who always stared a little too long, the friend who laughed a little too softly at her jokes. He admitted it with a shaky breath, eyes locked on hers.

> “It was me. I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”



Her pulse raced. The air between them turned heavy, electric, as though the confession itself stripped away every wall they had built.

He moved closer, his voice trembling but low, dark with need.

> “I dream about tasting you, about hearing your moans in real life instead of just in my head.”



Her body betrayed her before her mind could stop it. Heat pooled between her thighs, her lips parted, and her silence was an invitation.

The kiss was desperate, like he’d been holding it back for years. His hands explored her curves, memorizing every inch as if he feared this was a dream he’d wake from. Clothes melted away, breath tangled, and her whispered gasps filled the quiet room.

It wasn’t just sex—it was the weight of every unspoken thought, every stolen glance, every night they had secretly wanted each other but never admitted.

And when he finally thrust deep inside her, her cry wasn’t just pleasure—it was release. The confession was no longer just words on a screen. It was sweat, skin, and truth written into the air with every shiver of her body.

After, lying breathless and trembling in his arms, she whispered back her own secret.

> “I’ve wanted this too. I’ve wanted you.”

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