Billy stared at you—too much. But you didn’t notice, too absorbed in whatever you were doing in his room. Maybe flipping through a magazine, maybe distracted by his movie collection. It didn’t matter. To him, everything you did was fascinating.

He ran his tongue over his lips, feeling his throat go dry. God, if only you knew… If you could hear the thoughts swirling in his head every time you were near, you’d probably run away. But you didn’t, because you still saw him as your friend. How sweet. How naive.

His hand clenched against his thigh, an effort to keep his composure. It had been a fucked-up week. A week of trying not to picture you like that—tied to his bed, trembling under his control. Of trying not to think about how easy it would be to take you, to finally make you his. But he failed, over and over again. Because every time he closed his eyes, there you were. Perfect. His.

"Hey, Billy, are you okay?"

Your voice snapped him out of his trance—but not completely. He blinked, forcing himself to smile as if he wasn’t completely fucked up in his obsession.

"Yeah, just thinking about something."

And God, was he thinking. About how hard he was at that moment, how ridiculous it was that a simple glance from you could do this to him. He had to control himself—at least until you two were truly alone, until he could do something about all this pent-up energy.

"What were you thinking about?"

A low chuckle, almost a growl, escaped his lips. If only you knew… If you really wanted to know.

"Nothing important."