I Wasn't Supposed to Find My Brother's Best Friend's Filthy Journal

Ellie'S POV

The morning light felt like an accusation. I’d barely slept, the journal a hot, guilty secret under the pillow.

Every sound from the street made my heart jump. I kept telling myself this was just a move. Gunner was just helping. My brother’s friend. Nothing more.

But I knew that was a lie.

I was in the kitchen, making coffee I wouldn’t drink, when the low growl of an engine cut through the quiet.

It was too early. Liam had already left for the garage, saying he’d meet us at my apartment later. He’d kissed my forehead, told me to be strong, and left me alone in his house.

Alone.

The engine cut off. A truck door slammed.

My pulse shot into my throat. I set the coffee mug down with a clatter, my hands shaking. I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. I needed to build a wall, to find the disgust my brother felt for him, to armor myself with logic. But all I could think about were the words in his journal, and the way he’d looked at me after knocking

Mark down.

The knock on the front door was firm, confident. Two sharp raps.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked to the door, my legs unsteady. I took a deep breath, trying to summon some semblance of cool control. I failed. I opened the door.

Gunner leaned against the doorframe, filling it completely. He wore a simple grey t-shirt stretched over his chest and worn jeans. He wasn’t smiling. His blue eyes swept over me, from my messy hair to my bare feet, a slow, assessing scan that felt more intimate than a touch.

“You’re early,” I said, my voice tight.

“Couldn’t wait,” he said, his voice a low rumble. His gaze moved past me, into the house. “Liam’s gone?”

“He left for work.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Good.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence immediately shrinking the small living room. He smelled like leather and morning air. He looked around, his eyes landing on the couch, the kitchen, the hallway that led to the bedrooms. To the room where I’d slept. To the journal under the pillow.

“You pack light?” he asked, though his attention wasn’t on any bags. It was on me.

“I… haven’t started. I just woke up.” I crossed my arms over my chest, a defensive gesture he didn’t miss.

“You look tired,” he observed, taking another step toward me. “Big night?”

“You know what kind of night it was,” I shot back, a spark of anger cutting through my nerves. “You were there.”

“I was.” He nodded slowly. “Saw the whole sad show. Saw you holding that bag of yours real tight.” His eyes dropped to my shoulder, as if he could see the strap of the bag through my shirt. “The one with my book in it.”

The air left the room. My mouth went dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” He took another step, closing the distance between us. I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

“Ellie. I saw your face when I said it. When I told your worthless ex that, yeah, I think about you. I fantasize about you. You didn’t look shocked. You looked… seen.”

“Stop it,” I whispered, but there was no force behind it.

“Why? Because your brother wouldn’t like it?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

“Because I’m not supposed to want my best friend’s little sister? Because I’m the bad man he warned you about?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “All of that.”

“But you read it,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Didn’t you? You opened it. You read my words. You know what I want to do to you.”

I couldn’t lie. Not with him this close. I gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

His expression shifted, a dark, hungry satisfaction flooding his features. “Tell me,” he commanded, his voice soft but absolute. “Tell me what you felt when you read it. When you read about me wanting to fuck you right there on your brother’s porch, with the sun watching, so you’d never forget who owns the heat inside you.”

He quoted the journal entry verbatim, his voice wrapping around the crude, beautiful words, making them real in the quiet morning light of Liam’s house. A shiver tore through me, violent and unbidden.

“See?” he whispered, watching the tremor. “Your body remembers. It knows the truth even when your mouth wants to lie.” He reached out, not touching me, but tracing a line in the air an inch from my cheek. “So tell me. Did it scare you? Or did it make you wet?”

The vulgarity, the directness, was a shock to my system. I’d just been betrayed. I was raw. “How can you say that to me?” My voice cracked. “My boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend—just cheated on me. I’m not some… some thing for you to play with. You can’t just talk to me like that.”

“I think I can,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I think you want me to. I think you’re tired of being talked to like you’re made of glass. I think you’re tired of safe boys who go fuck married librarians in the stacks.” He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, his grip firm but not painful, forcing me to hold his stare.

“I’m not safe, Ellie. And I don’t lie. I want you. I’ve written it down. I’ve said it out loud. Now it’s your turn.

Tell me what you want.”

Tears pricked my eyes, a confusing mix of anger, grief, and a devastating, unwanted arousal. “My brother would kill you,” I choked out. “If he knew… if he knew you were here, saying these things… if he knew you’d touched me…”

“Liam won’t know,” Gunner said, his voice a low, sure promise. “This is between you and me. A secret. Just like that journal was a secret. Until you found it.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my lips. “So what’s it gonna be, Ellie? You gonna keep living in your brother’s shadow, with boys who don’t see you? Or are you gonna find out what it’s like to be with a man who sees every fucking part of you and still wants more?”

He was giving me a choice. A terrible, exhilarating choice. I could push him away. I could scream. I could call

Liam right now and end this. But I didn’t move. I stood there, trembling under his hand, the memory of

Mark’s betrayal a cold ash in my stomach, and the heat from Gunner’s words a roaring fire in my veins.

His eyes searched mine, seeing the war being waged inside me. He saw the moment I lost. The moment my resistance broke.

“No one has to know,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “We could just… see. We could just find out if the reality is as good as the fantasy.”

Before I could answer, before I could even think, his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t a question. It was a claim. The kiss was fierce, hungry, and all-consuming. It stole the breath from my lungs and the sense from my head. His lips were firm, demanding, and I opened for him with a helpless gasp. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, conquering me. One hand fisted in my hair, angling my head back to take the kiss deeper, while the other arm wrapped around my waist, crushing me against the hard wall of his chest.

I kissed him back. God help me, I kissed him back. My hands flew up, clutching at the solid muscle of his shoulders, holding on as the world tilted. It was nothing like Mark’s soft, placating kisses. This was a storm.

This was a confession. Every filthy word from his journal was in this kiss—the promise of possession, the threat of pleasure, the raw, unvarnished want.

He walked me backward, never breaking the kiss, until my back hit the wall next to the front door. The impact jarred through me. He pinned me there, his body a solid, immovable weight against mine. I could feel every hard line of him. The evidence of his arousal pressed insistently against my stomach, a blunt, shocking reality that made a moan vibrate in my throat.

He tore his mouth from mine, his breathing ragged. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with need. “Tell me to stop,” he growled, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t form. All I could do was stare up at him, my lips swollen, my body aching.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, and his mouth crashed down on mine again. This time, his hands moved. One stayed tangled in my hair, holding me in place. The other slid down my side, over my hip, and gripped the hem of my loose sleep shirt. In one rough motion, he pulled it up and over my head, tossing it aside.

I was left in just my jeans and a simple cotton bra. The morning air was cool on my skin, but his gaze was scalding. He looked at my breasts, heaving with each ragged breath, and a low, approving sound rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Even better than I imagined.”

His head dipped, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck. He sucked, he licked, he bit down gently, and fireworks exploded behind my eyes. My head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a helpless sound escaping me. His hand slid from my hip around to the button of my jeans.

“Gunner,” I gasped, as his fingers popped the button open.

“Shhh,” he murmured against my throat, his voice thick. “Just feeling. Just seeing.” He dragged the zipper down, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. His hand slipped inside, past the waistband of my jeans, past the thin barrier of my panties. His palm was hot and rough against my lower stomach. He cupped me, his fingers splaying possessively over the most intimate part of me, still covered by denim and cotton.

I cried out, my hips jerking involuntarily against his hand. The friction was maddening, not enough and too much all at once. I was wet. Soaking wet. And he could feel it. A dark, triumphant smile curved against my neck.

“That’s what I wanted to know,” he groaned. “That’s what those words did to you.” His fingers curled, applying a firm, delicious pressure that made my vision blur. “You’re drenched for me, aren’t you, Ellie? After everything that bastard did to you, your body still knows what it really wants.”

He was right. Shamefully, helplessly right. My body was screaming for him, betraying every rational thought, every warning from my brother. I was panting, my fingers digging into his biceps, holding on as he rocked his hand against me, building a friction that was quickly driving me toward a cliff’s edge.

He kissed me again, swallowing my whimpers. His other hand came up, fumbling with the clasp of my bra. It gave way, and the garment loosened. He pulled back just enough to look down, to see my breasts bare to him, my nipples tight and begging for his touch. He didn’t touch them with his hands. He just looked, his gaze so hot and heavy it felt like a physical caress.

“Perfect,” he whispered, the word reverent and filthy all at once.

His hand, still inside my jeans, began to move with more purpose. He hooked his fingers into the side of my panties.

“I’m gonna take these off,” he said, his voice a dark, delicious threat against my lips. “I’m gonna see what’s mine. And then I’m gonna taste you. I’m gonna get my mouth on you and lick you until you forget your own fucking name.”

The image was so vivid, so shockingly explicit, that a violent tremor of need racked my entire body. I was lost.

I was gone. I was nodding, my forehead resting against his, my eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word a surrender.

His fingers tightened on the fabric of my panties, ready to tear them away.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A furious, heavy pounding shook the front door, right next to where we were pressed against the wall.

We froze.

“Ellie!” a slurred, familiar voice shouted from the other side. Mark’s voice, thick with drink and rage. “Ellie, I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door! We need to talk!”