Page 47 of Shifted Desire

Max: I didn’t. I asked if he was an asshole first.

That makes me snort, but my heart races as I type out my reply, praying it’s enough to get him to back off.

Sam: If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Not Maggie or Claire, not Mom and Dad, and definitely not Mona. No one.

Max: You’re the one that spills secrets, not me.

Sam: Fuck off, nevermind.

Max: Sam, come on. I promise I won’t tell anyone. You know I won’t.

It’s true. Max still hasn’t told anyone about how I actually broke my arm as a kid. He’s always been there for me, and I hate telling him a half-truth, but it’s the best I can do.

Sam: I may still have a SMALL crush on Nathan.

There’s a long pause. I see his typing bubbles appear and reappear a few times.

Max: Damn. I was worried that might be it. Are you okay?

He bought it. I hate that he’s being sweet about it rather than giving me crap for being so messy at this age.

Sam: I’m fine. I’ll get used to being around him and that’ll make it easier to not act so weird.

There’s another long pause.

Max: Have you thought about bringing it up with him?

I blink in surprise at his message.

Sam: Are you crazy? No! He’s never been interested in me like that, and I’m not about to make a fool of myself and lose my job because I think he’s hot.

Max: Okay, okay, sorry. You’re right.

Sam: No shit, I’m right. So let’s agree not to talk about this again, because nothing good will come of it.

Max: Fine. But if you need anything, you know I’m here.

Dammit, why is he being so nice? My stomach churns with guilt.

Sam: I know. I won’t, but I know.

I groan as I set the phone down, scrubbing at my face with my hand in agitation, then grimacing when it comes back smeared with mascara.

It’s getting late, and I have a job now, so I wash up and get ready for bed, shoving the conversation with Max into a box in my head with all my guilty interactions so I don’t have to ruminate on it.

I completely forget about Nathan’s text until I’m in bed, prepared to doom scroll until I get sleepy.

My stomach flips when I open my conversation with him and find that he sent me a video.

Heat pulses through me as I remember what I told him to do, and press play.

The loud sound of him stroking his dick and moaning fills the bedroom.

“Shit, shit!” I scramble to turn down the volume, heart leaping into my throat as I wait for someone to knock on my door and ask what I’m doing.

When a minute passes and there’s no sound of my parents coming to check what’s going on, I look back at the video and press play again, bumping up the volume just enough to hear the faint slap of a lubed hand on skin and Nathan’s low curse.

The video is from the waist down, his dripping cock centered in the frame as he works himself. I wish I could see all of him, but sending a video of his face would be beyond crazy. He must’ve hit record right when he was getting to the edge, because it only takes thirty seconds for his cock to buck, the shaft throbbing with rhythmic pulses as cum fountains from the tip and drips all over his hands and the hard plane of his abs.