Chapter 1 #2
I sucked in a breath meant to cleanse my brain of all the dirty thoughts currently seizing it and nodded, trying to focus.
Tonight, right. The scene. The scene. The one I’d been imagining and anticipating pretty much every time I jerked off since we came up with it a few weeks ago.
Okay, it was mostly me and my finely-tuned Instagram algorithm that had come up with the idea, but Sam had been game immediately.
Like, not even a tiny bit of hesitation.
“Yes. Ready for tonight. Very ready. Which is why you need to quit doing… you just need to quit,” I stammered.
“Save your strength,” I finished weakly, because that was better than telling him a few more minutes of his casually erotic confection affection was either going to make me melt, cum, or both at the same time, and I was pretty sure jizzing within a foot of my food prep area wouldn’t exactly be considered the gold standard of food safety practice.
Unless it was Anthony Bourdain or something. He probably would’ve approved.
“Fine.” Sam chuckled. With one more firm squeeze of my hip, and a slow thrust of his pelvis against my ass—like I needed the reminder of exactly the kind of Kraken cock I’d be treated to later—he stepped away, spinning to lean against the counter next to me.
“I do have a question, though. About tonight.”
“All ears.” And dick, and mouth, and… whatever else he wanted, really.
“I’m not supposed to be nice, right?”
“Right.” I nodded sternly because Sam’s default state was so damn golden retriever coded I was a little worried that what he considered “mean” might be the average Joe’s baseline nice.
That wouldn’t do for this scene. On that note, maybe more instruction was in order.
“No checking in with me or worrying about if I’m comfortable or something, and absolutely no being considerate.
Like, under no circumstances are you to be considerate or thoughtful. Got it?”
Sam’s brows knit. “But what if—”
“Sam,” I huffed, and he grinned at my glare, which wasn’t much of a glare at all. But goddammit, he was so fucking cute leaning against the counter like that with his half-cocked smile and semi still partially outlined in his gym shorts. I wished we could just skip ahead a few hours.
“Alpha asshole mode, got it. Be the Gordon Ramsay of porn.” He saluted me, and I burst into laughter, secretly loving that he’d picked up enough about the cooking trade to make pointed innuendos just for me.
Mark and Chet chose that moment to blow in through the back door, Mark lofting a giant shopping bag triumphantly, and Chet with two fake swords. This ought to be good.
“Halloween costume shopping officially done. I’m starving.” Mark immediately swerved in the direction of my rice krispy balls. “Hell yes, rice krispy treats?”
“They’re for trick or treaters!” I held my fingers up in a cross to ward the two of them off, but it didn’t work.
Mark beelined toward the array of balls on the counter, Chet on his heels, and nearly smacked into Sam when he stepped in front of the counter, growling, “Back off, peasants. You heard him. They’re for trick-or-treaters.”
Mark stopped short, blinking up at Sam. “Seriously? Does Jesse have you on security detail now?”
Sam tossed a look over his shoulder, lips curling smugly as if to say, see, I can be mean, then faced forward again, scowling. “More or less, yeah.” He squared his shoulders. “There gonna be a problem?”
He was so convincing, I think I creamed my pants a little. The protectiveness was really doing it for me.
I stifled a laugh as Sam slanted another victorious glance over his shoulder at me. Then I decided to take pity on Mark and Chet because I well knew that shopping could work up a fierce appetite.
I grabbed a ball that was slightly lopsided and offered it out to them. “You two can split this one.”
“Gee, thanks. Your generosity is limitless.” Mark rolled his eyes, but Chet reached out, taking the ball and pulling it in half.
“Don’t look a gift Jesse in the mouth, isn’t that the saying? Fuck, these are good,” he added around a mouthful.
I nodded at Chet, clearly the smarter of the two.
“Exactly. Beggars can’t be choosers.” Then I prodded one of their shopping bags.
“So what’d you end up going with? Lemme guess—” I squinted at Mark.
“Tragic trust fund baby on a vendetta and—” I considered Chet next.
“Misunderstood villain, also on a vendetta. So, basically John Wick and the Joker?” I tilted my head, and Sam snickered.
“Nope. Better,” Mark replied, blowing past my tease. He reached into the bag and pulled out a smaller plastic costume bag, displaying the picture and label on the front.
My face fell. “Really? A Roman gladiator? That’s the big reveal?”
Look, I fucking loved Halloween. Loved it, capital L.
It had been my favorite holiday since I was a kid.
Not only because it gave me a legit reason to really lean into my love of costume, role-play, and frippery, but also because it was one of the few times me and my siblings didn’t have to share with each other.
We all got our own candy sacks, all shuffled up to the door at the same time, and all got our own candy.
I once heard that folks in our neighborhood eventually just started buying an extra bag of candy solely for our family.
Anyway, I still got super into planning my costume for Halloween, and probably too invested in other people’s costumes, too.
I tended to go all out and get unintentionally judgy when other people didn’t.
But come on, a Spirit of Halloween-issue Roman gladiator costume? So fucking trite.
“Uh, what’s wrong with a gladiator? They’re awesome.
Bloodthirsty, resilient. We have Roman blood in my family, you know.
” Mark stopped himself, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I kinda thought you’d be all over this one.
I mean, it involves leather, there’s a skirt…
” I considered for a moment. I did like leather.
And skirts. “But it’s not just a gladiator costume anyway, so fuck off. We’re going as Achilles and Patroclus.”
“Shit,” Sam chimed in. “Okay, that’s actually a pretty cool idea for a couple’s costume.”
“A little dark, maybe.” I sniffed derisively, but fuck, okay, it wasn’t the worst. It was maybe even a little sexy. And it definitely fit. I swerved a look in Chet’s direction. “Where’s yours, then?”
“It’s in there,” Chet said, and Mark reached into the bag, this time pulling out a handful of white fabric.
“A… bedsheet? Dude, you got shafted.” I cracked up.
“It’s gonna be a short toga, and it’s budget-friendly. Okay? Just wait. It’ll turn out cool.”
“We’ve got other accessories to add to it,” Mark said defensively, then cocked a brow at me. “What are you going as, Judgy McJudgerson?”
“Dr. Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” I flashed them an imperious smile. I’d been planning my costume since the day after Halloween last year.
“Shit, okay, that’s pretty badass,” Chet said, but I thought he was trying to distract me with the compliment, because at the same time he said it, he reached behind Mark to grab a piece of licorice off the counter. It worked, though. Fuck my weakness for praise. It got me every time.
“Yeah, I know.” I preened.
“I can’t wait to see it on you,” Sam said.
Chet and Mark both tilted their heads at him at the same time.
“I mean, I saw the movie once and really liked it. Tim Curry was great, and you’re always so good at details, so…
” He trailed off as we all continued to stare at him—Chet and Mark in befuddlement, me with amusement.
A mere two weeks ago, the two of them nearly busted Sam railing me in the laundry room during our stuck-in-a-dryer scene—which turned out to be wildly fucking popular—but they still seemed completely oblivious to what we’d been up to.
All of my roomies were, actually, which was how I preferred it.
“I’m just saying it’s a cool costume. Fuck off,” Sam finished.
“What are you going as?” Chet asked, and Sam made a face.
“Yeah, spill it.” I’d been asking Sam for the last few days since the Sigma Halloween Bash was tonight and we were all going, but he’d been weirdly vague.
“Still not sure yet. I’ve got a few options. I’ll probably just decide on the fly. ‘Sup, Cam!” He lifted his hand for a high five, seeming eager to reroute the conversation as Cam came in through the back door.
Cam slapped him a five and nodded to the rest of us. “I’m just here to change real quick. I can’t hang. Ohhh, rice krispy balls!”
“Pumpkins,” I corrected, but picked out one and handed it to him.
He’d told me earlier in the week he was pulling a double shift on Halloween at the cafe he worked at for extra dough, but I suspected it was also because he didn’t want to be around a bunch of drunken dumbasses and the temptation of booze or drugs, which would be plentiful on campus tonight.
“It’s a pity pumpkin,” I told him, ignoring the errant glares of everyone else.
They could suck it. He deserved a pumpkin krispy.
“Sure you don’t want to call out sick tonight and go to the Sigma party instead? I’ll be your sober buddy.”
“Yeah, me too,” Sam jumped in.
Chet and Mark exchanged a glance, then Mark cleared his throat. “We’ll also go sober.”
Cam’s lips parted, eyes softening. “I… fuck. That’s really nice of y’all. But I really do need the dough, so I’m gonna sit this one out.”
“Alright, man,” Chet said. “But if you change your mind, the offer stands.”
“Okay.” Cam glanced down at his phone and muttered a curse. “I’ve gotta get changed. I’ll catch y’all later. Be safe.” He started toward the door, then turned back, flashing us another warm smile. “Seriously, that was really fucking nice of y’all to offer. I appreciate it.”