I'm so sick of your shit. You're always pushing me, baiting me into a fight we both know I won't win then expecting me to be the one who makes it right. You haven't spoken to me for a few weeks, since we had our last fight. You'd think that just ONCE you'd apologise to me, right? But of course not, because you're fucking perfect and I'm just an asshole.
Fuck it.
If you can't say you're sorry, I'll just have to make you sorry.
You made a reddit post earlier about having a wine and board games night with the girls, so I knew you'd be out. I also knew you'd leave the window open in the spare bedroom, because I've warned you to stop doing that more times than I can count.
I make my way to the bedroom and I can already feel my need growing. I absent-mindedly rub myself through my jeans as I look for the best place to hide, when I notice the bedside drawer is open.
Seriously? Are you that pent up since we stopped seeing each other that you had to masturbate before a rousing night of Scrabble?
I wonder if you think of me while you're doing it. The idea makes me throb, my cock is so hard it's almost painful. I need to cum, but I've been waiting for tonight for days. I force myself to focus on what a bitch you've been, how much I need you to pay for how you've treated me. The anger helps the urge subside, and I settle in and wait for you to get home.
Finally around 3am I hear you get out of an uber. You're fumbling with the front door, it's just like I hoped - you're drunk. That'll make things easier.
I hide behind your bedroom door and wait for you to stumble in, but you don't. I can't hear any movement, what the hell are you doing?
Shit.
Did you realise somebody was here?
Shit.
I haven't done anything that bad yet. Maybe I can still sneak out. If I do get caught, I'll just say I came to apologise and the door was open. You probably won't believe me, but at least you might not press charges.