Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
T he front door creaks open, and Neriah walks in ahead of me, toeing off her shoes just inside the door. Mum pops her head out of the kitchen. “Good day at college?”
Neriah walks up the stairs with her Fj?llr?ven bag slung over her shoulder. A faint crackling sound comes from the kitchen, the telltale pop of something sizzling in a pan. My stomach growls on cue as I breathe in the rich scents of roasted garlic and caramelized onions.
“It smells good, Mum,” I call out as I jog upstairs, momentarily forgetting about the new visitor.
Music drifts from my sister’s room—a Taylor Swift song she likes to play on repeat.
I step into my room, toss my phone on the bed, and rub my tired face. That’s when I hear it… soft breathing. Slowly, I lower my hands. Arkin is asleep on his bed, facing away from me.
Curious, I walk over as quietly as possible, careful not to wake him.
He is so big and tall that the single bed looks like a kid’s bed with him in it, and something about his size tightens my stomach. I know it’s wrong to intrude on his privacy like this, but I can’t silence the burning intrigue.
Dark locks of hair tease his nape and curl around his ears, drawing my gaze.
My eyes linger on the curve of his tanned neck where it meets his shoulder.
His T-shirt stretches tight over his muscles, outlining his shoulder blades and the taper of his waist. Just below the hem, a small sliver of skin peeks above his joggers, and that tiny glimpse twists my stomach into a tight knot?—
My phone vibrates on the quilt, and I almost jump out of my skin. With my heart dancing around in my chest, I walk back over to my side of the room, where I should have been in the first place, and snatch up my phone.
It’s a message from Harrison about the upcoming game this weekend. I type out a quick reply and then pocket my phone.
We’re up against our main rivals, so it should be an intense match with even odds.
When I turn, Arkin is there, right in front of me. Stumbling back, I catch myself on the bed. “Fuck, dude! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
There’s a slight tremble in my body as I straighten. Arkin stands too close, his eyes a deep shade of blue, like an ocean at night. I clear my throat, wondering what to say. He seems to have no perception of personal space because he’s right up in mine, and it’s tripping me up.
“Dude, step back a little bit.” I push on his chest, feeling the hard muscles tense. Thankfully, he lets me create some space between us.
Silence falls as we stare at each other, but when I look down, my mouth dries up.
Arkin is hard.
His erection tents his gray joggers, but he makes no move to tuck it with the elastic waistband or hide it in any other way. He just stands before me, unapologetically aroused, and my dick twitches, much to my horror.
He notices me gulping as I continue gazing at his massive erection. It shouldn’t be this hard to look away. Arkin remains a statue, his hands relaxed by his sides—big and veiny, like his forearms.
He’s not the only one who’s hard, though. My cock strains against my zipper, demanding release, and I have no fucking idea what to think of this turn of events. It’s unsettling, to say the least.
How do I even tell him that it feels weird for two straight dudes to sport hard-ons in front of each other? I’m not shaming anyone, but this is fucking awkward. The only time I’m okay staring at a guy’s boner is if there are naked women involved.
I’m about to say something—God knows fucking what—when Arkin walks past and enters the bathroom. He turns on the shower, and the sound filters through the gap in the door because he failed to shut it fully.
That’s another conversation I need to have with him. Doors have locks for a reason.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I will my cock to go down, telling myself this was another fluke.
I’m just about to walk back downstairs—because no one can maintain a boner with their mother in the room—when grunts filter through from the bathroom.
Deep, masculine, sexual grunts.
I pause, holding my breath. Is he… jacking off?
My cock twitches again as my heart begins to pound.
Crossing to the bathroom, I listen intently outside the door. He’s definitely fucking his hand. There’s no doubt about it.
His grunts and groans mix with the distinct sound of slapping skin and shower water.
I rest my hand on the wall to steady myself and breathe steadily. Okay, let’s calm down. My dick is throbbing, and it’s so uncomfortable that I almost whip it out there and then to soothe the relentless ache.
Arkin grunts again, and I bite down on my knuckles, hating myself a little for getting so worked up over a guy fucking himself in my shower. I swear this has never happened before. Dudes don’t do it for me. This is what it’s like to break under pressure.
Maybe this is like that hippie crap about manifestation where they claim the subconscious can’t distinguish the negative from the affirmative. ‘I can’t do it’ has the same meaning as ‘I can do it’, or some shit like that, because it’s all about the feeling behind the words. I’m probably talking out of my arse. Who the fuck knows? Amy told me all this shit one night while she was riding me dressed up as Tarzan’s Jane. Forgive me if my brain wasn’t keeping up. I was Tarzan for the night.
But maybe that’s what this is. Maybe my subconscious can’t tell a dick from a pussy. Sex is sex, right? Or perhaps my brain thought, You fucked Jane, so you might as well give it to Tarzan, too.
Nope, hell no! I need to get out of here.
With my mind made up, I escape the room as if running from a swarm of rabid bats. I need to sort myself out with a hard fuck and a high-stakes football game to purge some of the testosterone pumping through my veins.
Mum smiles at me over her shoulder, stirring a pan as I enter the kitchen.
Don’t worry, my erection deflated at an alarming rate the moment I heard her singing to Paul McCartney.
“I’ll help set the table,” I offer, opening the cutlery drawer.
“How did he seem?” she asks, dish towel flung over her shoulder.
Horny.
“He seemed fine,” I reply, placing the forks and knives down, feeling my cheeks heat. “He was asleep when I got in.”
“It’s a big change. Poor guy.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what happened to him, but I’d rather talk about anything else than the latest object of my cock’s fixation.
While I finish setting the table, Mum discusses her plans for an upcoming church fundraiser. I’m only half listening, my ears pricked for any creaking or shuffling sounds of him coming down the stairs.
Five minutes later, Dad enters the kitchen and kisses Mum on the top of her head. When she asks him to call Neriah and Arkin down so they can join us, my heart thuds harder, but before I can gain a handle on my nerves, Mum shoves me onto my chair with a hand on my shoulder. “Sit,” she orders.
While she plates the food, the others join us at the table. Neriah dips her garlic bread into her lasagna and takes a large bite, ignoring our dad’s glare. “We haven’t said grace yet, young lady.”
She rolls her eyes, and I smile, but then I get caught in Arkin’s blue irises. Dad says grace, and we tuck in. For the duration of the meal, Arkin eats like he worries he might not see food again anytime soon, the corner of his mouth stained with sauce as he takes a large bite of the garlic bread.
Mum beams, pleased he enjoys her cooking, and holds out the breadbasket. “Help yourself to more.”
Arkin looks at no one while he eats, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off him. While my dad discusses the upcoming game and our chances of beating our rivals, I find myself glancing at the mysterious dark-haired stranger at our table who hasn’t spoken a single word since he entered our home. In his short time here, he’s fucked his hand, slept, and ate a lot. The man has no issues looking after his basic needs: sex, food, sleep.
When my dad turns his attention to Mum, I open my mouth to say something to my sister but frown instead when I see her watching Arkin. What the hell? I nudge her with my elbow, a question on my face. She peeks at him again and reaches for her glass of water.
Conversation flows around us as we finish eating. My sister keeps stealing glances at Arkin, unaware that I’m growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
The moment she thanks Mum for the food, I follow her upstairs to her bedroom. She turns to close the door, but I push my way in, catching her by surprise.
“What the hell, Zach?”
“I saw you looking at Arkin.” I keep my voice low in case he’s outside in the hallway and shut the door.
“I wasn’t looking at him,” she answers, her brows pinching.
Why am I so fucking frustrated?
I scan her messy room and the fantasy posters on her purple walls, which depict everything from fairy castles to mermaids. Rubbing my forehead, I try my hardest to remain calm. “We don’t know anything about him, Neriah. He could be dangerous.”
She huffs a breath and plops down on her four-poster bed. The purple curtain has been tied back to reveal the skull pattern on her bedding. She smooths it now, looking smaller than I’ve seen her before.
“He’s just interesting.”
Hesitating, I sit beside her. “Interesting, how?”
She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “He’s different, you know? I’m different.”
I swallow, fighting an odd mix of feelings, as I take her hand. “It’s okay to be different, sis.”
She stares at her small hand in my big one and fiddles with the leather strings around my wrist. “You’re not different. Everyone likes you.”
“That’s not true,” I reply, falling silent when she drops my fingers and stands back up.
“You’re popular, Zach. You date the evil queen bee, and your friends are the most popular footballers at college.”
“Well, I can’t be held responsible for the bad taste of the female population.”
She smiles reluctantly, and my own lips twitch.
“Trust me,” I say, standing up. “Ryan and Harrison are pigs. It’s only a matter of time until the women catch on.”
Neriah lets me pull her in for a rare hug. “Just be careful, is all. We don’t know Arkin.”
“I’m not interested in him like that,” she reassures me as she pulls away and tucks a lock of purple hair behind her ear. “He just seems… different.” She gently pushes my shoulder, a smile peeking out again. “Good different.”
Relieved, I smile at her one final time before exiting her room. I stop with my hand on the doorframe. “Amy is not an evil queen bee.”
Now, my sister truly scoffs. “She’s the worst, Zach.”
Chuckling, I leave her alone, rubbing my neck on my way to my bedroom. Fuck, I’m exhausted.
A sound wakes me in the middle of the night, and I blink my eyes open. What time is it? It’s still dark. I’ve drooled in my sleep, and now there’s a wet patch on the pillow. I lift my head, bleary-eyed and half-groggy. The digital clock on my nightstand says it’s twelve minutes past three in the morning.
I rub my eyes but then pause when the sound comes again. What the hell? Glancing over my shoulder, I stiffen when I see Arkin squirming in his bed.
I’d completely forgotten about him.
He whimpers again, and I slowly sit up. Fuck, the guy’s having a nightmare, and it’s a bad one by the sounds of it, but if I don’t do something, he’ll wake my sister next door.
I wipe sleep from my eyes and carefully remove the quilt, the icy floorboards biting into my soles as I creep closer.
Arkin is breathing hard while his eyes move swiftly behind his eyelids.
It feels intrusive somehow to see him like this, his face clammy and pained.
I don’t know what to do, so I tentatively jostle his shoulder. “Arkin?”
I’ve barely touched him when I suddenly find myself on my back in his bed.
“What the fuck?” I blurt, my heart pounding.
Arkin hovers over me, but it’s the blade at my throat that has me breaking out in a cold sweat. His eyes are wild, and his muscles are tense everywhere.
“What’s with the blade, man?” I ask, my throat rolling with nerves. “It’s just me. Zach.”
Arkin’s shadowed face dips closer as his hard eyes sweep over my face, but he makes no move to climb off, and I soon become aware of his hard muscles and deep breaths.
“Arkin?” There’s a question in my voice. “Put the knife down.”
He readjusts his grip on the weapon, his body heavy on mine, and then a sudden, sharp sting has me sucking in a breath. He grows eerily still and watches me intently.
“Come on, man…” My voice is quieter now. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
He inhales a deep breath and shifts his weight. Something hard digs into my groin, and I feel my own body respond.
This is so fucked up. Arkin has a knife to my throat—a fucking blade. Are my parents aware they invited a lunatic into our home? I doubt they are because they’d send him packing in a heartbeat if they knew he carried a knife.
I grind my teeth, my cock swelling in my boxer briefs when Arkin grinds against me. He smells good too, like lazy Sunday mornings in bed and faint woodsy cologne.
Arkin notices my erection and shifts his weight until his cock rubs up against mine through our briefs. When the knife nicks me, I grow light-headed because of how hard my heart beats. This shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. But when he rolls his hips again, an involuntary grunt escapes me, and he stiffens, growing as still and silent as the night. Seconds pass—heavy, suffocating seconds. Arkin barely breathes, and the knife begins to tremble. Finally, he rolls off me.
For a moment, I focus on the ceiling as I will my cock to calm the fuck down. What just happened? What the hell was that about? I glance at Arkin, but he faces the wall. Should I say something? But what?
With a tight chest, I leave his bed and return to mine. After fluffing my pillow, I try to get comfortable, but my thoughts are racing, and my heart still hasn’t calmed the fuck down after that encounter.
Is this what it’s going to be like? Walking on eggshells around him? Worried that he might pull a knife on me? Still, I can’t deny the adrenaline rush or how strongly my body reacts to him.
I try to listen for Arkin, but his breathing is too silent. Rolling over, I peer at him through the darkness. Is he asleep already? An odd tug urges me back, but I stay where I am, safe on my side of the room. He’s still facing the wall, but I think he’s awake and aware of me.
Minutes extend into hours. I don’t know when it happens, but I eventually drift into a restless sleep.