iTrapped⠀—⠀062

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⠀ The sprawling, opulent halls of the Robloxia estate felt suffocatingly vast tonight, draped in a heavy, unnatural silence that clawed at the edges of his frayed nerves.

iTrapped lay sprawled across the velvet cushions of his expansive, custom-built master suite, his gaze fixed blankly on the intricately frescoed ceiling above.

Ordinarily, he thrived on solitude. He considered himself far above the mundane noise of the common folk, finding absolute peace in the quiet echoes of his inherited wealth and unbothered isolation.

Yet, tonight, the sheer emptiness of the room felt oppressive, pressing down against his chest with a dull, persistent ache that left him restlessly shifting against the silk sheets.

Without you lingering nearby—without that familiar presence to casually boast to, to subtly show off his exorbitantly expensive jewelry to, or to casually mock just for the sake of hearing a sharp retort—the sprawling mansion felt like a gilded cage.

You are no longer close to him—or even just close to his house. You are far away now, and that only makes the thoughts swirling in iTrapped's head even worse.

A low, restless growl caught in his throat, his blue ice eyes narrowing in sudden, bitter self-frustration.

He missed you.

The realization tasted foul on his tongue, a bitter pill for someone who prided himself on being utterly untouchable, entirely self-sufficient, and emotionally detached from everyone outside of his tightly guarded circle.

He wasn't just annoyed. He was furious with himself.

Furious that his haughty, arrogant composure could be so easily dismantled by the mere absence of one specific person. He tried to brush it off, telling himself it was merely the lingering annoyance of an idle mind, but the hollow sensation in his ribs only grew sharper with every passing hour.

Staring up at the dark canopy of his ceiling, the memories came unbidden—the sound of your laughter echoing through the halls, the effortless way you managed to slip past his razor-sharp defenses, the warmth of your skin when you sat too close.

It was agonizing. And worse, it made him desperate.

With a sharp, irritated hiss, iTrapped rolled over, his hand snapping out to snatch his high-end, sleek smartphone off the mahogany nightstand.

It was late, deep into the night, and texting you now felt entirely beneath his pristine, snobbish standards. He was an elite, a nepo baby of unimaginable wealth. He didn't chase after people...

Yet, as his thumb hovered over the screen, his cold, slightly bitten fingers gave a faint, betraying tremble.

Before logic could override the raw, aching pull in his chest, he tapped out a short, deliberately aloof message, hitting send before he could talk himself out of it.

iTrapped: hey, can i like, call you or something? just to make sure you are doing okay? not like i care though...

He froze, holding his breath as the seconds ticked by like lead. When the screen finally lit up with your reply, a sharp jolt went straight through him, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as a shaky, uneven breath slipped past his lips.

Acting on pure impulse, he hit the call button, bringing the phone up to his ear.

When your voice came through the receiver, his own voice completely died in his throat. He forced himself to murmur a greeting, keeping it intentionally brief, clipping his tone just enough to mask the raw, trembling vulnerability bleeding through the edges.

He didn't want you to know—he couldn't possibly let you know—just how agonizingly much he had been drowning in thoughts of you all night.

So, he listened. For the first time in his life, iTrapped genuinely, completely listened. He hung onto every single syllable, entirely captivated by how soft your voice sounded through the static, how gently and thoroughly you detailed the mundane happenings of your day.

He closed his eyes, his rich, vivid imagination filling in the terrifyingly clear gaps—picturing you right there, moving through your own space, smiling among your family, or simply existing in a world entirely separate from his own cold, corporate empire.

And then it happened.

A soft, breathless laugh slipped past your lips on the other end of the line.

It was quiet. Inconsequential to anyone else. But to iTrapped, wired on days of aching isolation and desperate longing, it was an absolute detonation.

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of copper as a sudden, scorching wave of heat speared straight down his spine.

Oh, If he didn't get agonizingly, painfully hard just from hearing the sweet cadence of your voice and the vivid phantom of your body pressed against his mind, he wasn't iTrapped.

His free hand slid slowly down from his chest, dipping beneath the heavy silk of the sheets until his fingers wrapped firmly around the heavy, aching length of his cock through the soft fabric of his dark pants.

He stroked himself in slow, agonizingly deliberate friction, his breathing turning ragged and shallow against the speaker.

"God... you're unbelievable,"

He muttered into the phone, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a desperate, suppressed edge. He tried to inject his usual haughty condescension back into his tone, scoffing dismissively about how utterly trivial whatever mundane thing you were talking about was, but his voice shook violently.

There was no judgment left in him—only a heavy, desperate ache, a raw, desperate hunger for you that he was barely managing to keep behind his teeth.

"You talk too damn much about absolute nonsense... but keep going. Don't you dare hang up on me yet."

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