Introduction:
This story is a direct continuation of the events from Weight of Want part 1. If you haven't read the first part yet, make sure to start there to fully understand the deep emotional journey, the evolving desires, and the secret cravings between Milan, Nevena, and Stefan. Their story is only getting more intense... and even more complicated.
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The morning after, the apartment felt different.
Not quieter Milan and Nevena had always shared a gentle rhythm, soft voices and slow mornings but something in the air had shifted. As though the walls themselves remembered what had happened the night before.
The sheets still smelled like sex, but not just theirs. Nevena's scent was familiar, sacred. But now it mingled with something else Stefan's cologne, his sweat, the musk of something unshakably masculine and foreign. And yet, Milan didn't change the sheets. He just sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, listening to the sound of Nevena moving in the kitchen. Her feet bare on the tiles. Humming.
She was humming.
He let out a breath, somewhere between disbelief and arousal.
It hadn't felt like cheating. Not really. But it hadn't felt like just sex either. There had been layers to last night. Things neither of them could have planned for looks exchanged, moans swallowed, the way Nevena gripped Stefan's arms like she was afraid to let go.
And Milan... the way he couldn't stop stroking himself while watching. Not even when it hurt.
He stood and padded into the kitchen, finding her in one of his t-shirts, nothing underneath. Her hair still slightly damp from a quick shower, her skin glowing. No makeup. Just her.
Nevena turned and smiled. Small, soft. And for a second, Milan saw it the difference.
Her smile wasn't shy. It wasn't reassuring. It was... content.
"Hey," she said gently, passing him a cup of coffee.
He took it, brushing her fingers with his. "Hey."
Silence fell between them, but it wasn't empty.
He stared into the steam curling up from the mug and said it before he could think better of it. "Are you okay?"
Nevena blinked. "Yeah. I mean..." She paused, cocking her head. "Are you?"
Milan met her eyes. The weight of everything passed between them in one glance.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I don't regret it."
Her lips parted slightly. Relief flickered across her features.
"I don't either," she whispered. "It was... more than I expected."
They sat at the kitchen table, knees brushing, hands resting palm-down on the wood like they were tethered there. Neither spoke for a while.
That week, something subtle unfolded between them.
Not distance. Not tension. But something Milan didn't have a name for.
Nevena moved through the house differently. She was more... fluid. More aware of her body, of space. Like she was newly awakened to herself.
Milan watched her from the doorway one evening her body in leggings, hair tied back, pouring wine for the two of them and wondered how long she'd been this magnetic, and how long he'd convinced himself she wasn't. Just to protect his own ego.
That night, she curled up beside him on the couch. Her head on his shoulder, her hand resting over his thigh.
"Do you keep thinking about it too?" she asked quietly, not lifting her eyes from the TV.
He turned the volume down.
"Yeah. All the time."
Nevena's fingers brushed the inside of his thigh. "I dreamt about it. About... being with him. But you were there too."
"Watching?"
"No," she murmured. "You were in my dream. But it was like... I was yours and his. At the same time."
He swallowed. "How did that feel?"
Nevena turned to look up at him. Her voice dipped. "Good. It felt like I had permission to be everything. To take everything. And still come home to you."
That hit him harder than anything else.
Not because he felt replaced but because he didn't.
Instead, he felt chosen.
In the days that followed, sex between them took on a different tone. Slower. Deeper. Sometimes they didn't even speak just let their hands explore, like they were learning each other from scratch.
Milan noticed the small things Nevena did now:
The way she rolled her hips more confidently when on top.
How she whispered filthier things, testing how far he'd let her go.
How her orgasms came harder, faster, like something had broken loose inside her and refused to be tamed.
He also noticed his own changes:
The way he didn't shrink away when he got hard and Nevena's eyes dipped down.
The way he imagined Stefan while they fucked and didn't feel ashamed.
The way he kept seeing that moment her hand around Stefan's big cock, and the way she looked at Milan after.
One afternoon, Milan caught her in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with her phone in hand, lips parted just slightly.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
Nevena looked up slowly, almost shy. "Nothing."
He smiled. "You're lying."
A pause.
"I was thinking about... messaging him."
Milan's pulse skipped. "What would you say?"
"I don't know. I just... wondered if he's been thinking about it too."
He hesitated. Then said, voice low, "I hope he has."
She smiled and put the phone down for now.
But Milan knew, deep in his chest, something was growing between them. Something dangerous, and honest, and impossibly erotic.
Not just a kink.
Not just a one-time thrill.
Something alive.
It started with a look.
A casual evening rain tapping against the windows, the soft hum of music filling their apartment. Milan sat on the couch, flipping through channels, when he noticed Nevena watching him. Really watching him. Her legs were draped over his lap, a glass of wine balanced in her hand, but her mind was somewhere else.
He could see it in her eyes dark, thoughtful, hungry.
"What?" he asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Nevena didn't answer right away. She let the silence stretch, swirling her wine like she was debating whether to speak the thought out loud.
Finally, she set the glass down and shifted, straddling his lap with slow, deliberate movements.
"I've been thinking..." she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
Milan's hands instinctively found her hips, his pulse already quickening. "About?"
Her lips curved into a wicked smile. That smile that hadn't existed not like this before Stefan.
"About how empty the bed feels without him here."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut and straight to his cock.
His breath hitched, fingers tightening on her waist. "Nevena..."
She leaned in, her lips ghosting over his ear. "Do you ever wish he was here again? Watching me... touching me... while you sit there, hard and horny?"
Milan groaned, his head falling back against the couch. The heat between them was instant, suffocating.
"Every night," he admitted, voice raw.
That was all the permission she needed.
Nevena slid off his lap, standing before him. Slowly, teasingly, she peeled off her shirt no bra beneath letting him admire the curves he knew so well but now saw through a different lens.
"Let's pretend," she murmured, her voice thick with arousal. "Pretend he's here."
Milan's mouth went dry as he watched her slip her leggings down her thighs, standing bare before him in the dim light of their living room. His cock strained against his boxers, already throbbing at the thought.
Nevena sauntered over to the armchair across from him the one Stefan had sat in that night, watching as she undressed. She draped herself over it, legs spread, fingers gliding down her stomach.
"Imagine him sitting here," she whispered, her gaze locked on Milan. " Stefan's big cock out, stroking himself while I show him what's his for the night."
Milan's hand moved to his boxers, freeing himself without shame. His heart pounded in his ears as Nevena's fingers dipped between her thighs, already glistening.
"Tell me," she breathed, her cheeks flushed, her breathing shallow. "How do you picture it?"
Milan's voice was hoarse, his fist moving slowly along his shaft. "I picture you... on your knees. Begging to taste him first. Looking up at me while his cock fills your mouth."
Nevena moaned softly, her fingers working faster. "Mmm... and you'd just watch?"
"I'd watch everything," he growled. "Watch you choke on him... watch you spread your legs for him like you did before."
Her back arched, eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself in the fantasy. "God... I loved how he felt, Milan. So thick... so heavy in my hand..."
Milan's groan was guttural. His mind flooded with images Nevena's delicate fingers struggling to wrap around Stefan's shaft, the way she'd looked back at him with awe and arousal.
"Do you think about how he stretched me?" she whispered, voice trembling with need.
"Every fucking day."
Their breaths filled the room, the only sound aside from the wet rhythm of Nevena's fingers and the slick slide of Milan's hand.
But this wasn't just about release.
It was about keeping him there keeping Stefan alive between them even when he wasn't present. The ghost of that night haunting their bodies, fueling something deeper than lust.
As Nevena's orgasm built, her gaze snapped back to Milan wild, desperate.
"Tell me you love it," she gasped. "Tell me you love watching me like this... ruined for someone else."
Milan's climax surged painfully close, his eyes burning with intensity.
"I fucking love it," he growled. "I love knowing you want it as much as I do."
Nevena cried out, her body trembling as she tipped over the edge, her back arching against the chair. Milan followed moments after, his release hot and heavy in his hand, his head falling back with a ragged breath.
Silence settled again but this time, it was charged. Fulfilled, but never fully satisfied.
Nevena stood on shaky legs, walking over and sinking into Milan's lap, her lips pressing softly to his.
"I don't think I can go back to normal," she whispered against his mouth.
Milan smiled, brushing her hair back from her flushed face.
"Good," he murmured. "I don't want normal."
They sat there for a long while, wrapped in each other, hearts still racing.
But as Nevena rested her head against his chest, her thoughts drifted.
It was one thing to pretend.
