Chapter 9 Nate #2
I closed my eyes, heat roiling through me like a creeping fog. Fuck, Eric really did own my ass. Proof: after a beat, I opened my eyes again, fixed him with a threatening glare, and said, “Do not abuse your power,” even though I knew all along he would.
If he didn’t, I’d be disappointed.
Thirty minutes into the official start of the Sigma Halloween party, I was regretting the poet blouse.
The ruffles—or whatever the fuck they were called—were magnets for everything from the silly string some asshole dressed as Spiderman kept spraying all over the place to roving girl hands.
Seriously, I’d been stopped at least three times and counting by girls who grabbed up little bunches of the lace on my shirt and ran their fingers over my chest like I was a petting zoo exhibit or some Victorian sex doll.
There was a time I’d have basked in the attention, and I found myself glad that these days I only wanted to bask in the attention of one set of hands.
One set of very masculine hands attached to a stupidly sexy man I kept checking the front door for.
Eric wasn’t late or anything, I was just embarrassingly overeager as usual.
Since I had to come early for set up, he decided to take advantage of the empty apartment to finish up a paper he had due on Tuesday, forever and always more diligent than I was.
That wasn’t all he was doing, though. I’d barely made it inside the frat house before the plug in my ass started vibrating.
I’d almost dropped the case of Bud Light I was carrying the first time, which wouldn’t have been a huge loss.
But the DJ amp I was hauling the second time Eric hit the switch sure as hell would’ve been.
Fortunately, that time there’d been a wall nearby for me to lean on as pleasure rocketed through my ass and balls.
Now I’d mostly gotten used to it, even if his timing was unpredictable. I’d only startled someone else once when I’d suddenly gone rigid and gasped. It was Marty, though, and he was already a little tipsy, so it was fine.
I scanned the surrounding scenery, sipping a beer I’d definitely earned.
I tried to mentally pause and really take it all in, Ferris Bueller style.
This was likely the last Sigma Halloween party I’d ever attend.
This time next year, who knew where the fuck we’d be.
Both Eric and I had to start job hunting in the spring, and we had no idea where we’d end up.
We just knew that wherever it was, we’d be together. That was good enough for me.
The Sigma house was chaos in a way that felt almost nostalgic.
Lights strobing in every color of the rainbow, some horror movie on mute projecting gore above the fireplace, and bodies everywhere—mostly still alive, aside from some guy dressed like The Dude from The Big Lebowski, who’d already passed out on our couch.
He’d regret that. Someone was crowd-surfing, another uniquely poor life choice, considering the only thing separating him from the cheap IKEA coffee table was four guys in polyester superhero capes.
Some genius had covered nearly every flat surface with red cling wrap and fake blood, so everything you set down looked like it belonged in an episode of CSI: Frat House.
I snaked my way through the crowd, more hands finding me as I headed toward the keg for a refill.
From five feet away, I spied Spiderman darting through the throng, a canister of silly string poised in one fist. His eyes locked on me like he was planning a drive-by.
I glared at him, flexed my biceps, and he redirected to a group of minions near the drinks table. Choose your battles, Peter Parker.
I refreshed my drink, chatted briefly with Mark and Chet, then continued roaming aimlessly until I spotted Ansel near a fake ficus drowning in fake cobwebs.
He wore a full-body skeleton costume and had even made up his face to match, his angular features exaggerated with dark shading, eyes stark and hollowed out like twin voids.
The white paint highlighting his cheekbones made him look as if he’d been carved from shadow and bone.
It was arresting, really, and a little unexpected.
“Yo,” I said in greeting. “You come alone?” I never knew with him, but I was aware of how overwhelming our parties could be, and Ansel wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality.
Since I’d moved in with Eric, I didn’t see him as much, but even when I’d been in the house, he was mostly a ghost. He was easily the most cryptic and self-contained guy I’d ever met.
I was pretty sure he had friends besides us, though.
Maybe? He at least had teammates on the track team, and some of them had to be here.
He quirked a smile. “Nah. Pete’s here and some other guys.” He gestured vaguely, then glanced briefly down at his phone when the screen lit up.
“Want me to grab you a beer so you don’t have to fight the crowd? Or something else?” I offered. “We have hunch punch. Also, Captain and Coke.”
“Pass.” He wrinkled his nose. I’d gathered he wasn’t much for hangovers. Probably due to the insane number of miles he pounded out in a week. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t envy him either; running was probably my least favorite form of exercise. Ansel lived for it, though.
His phone lit up again, and once again, his attention skittered quickly that way before looping back to me. “I’m probably going to dip soon for a while, anyway.”
I nudged my chin toward his phone. “Hot date? Secret rendezvous? Masterminding a plan to blow up Jenkins Hall?” I could get behind the latter option, since that was where most of the university’s math courses were held.
I still hated math. Still sucked at it, too, no matter how often Eric “tutored” me.
At that moment, the plug started vibrating in my ass again, this time at a higher frequency that made my knees wobble. I sucked in a shaky breath, clenching my cheeks.
Ansel’s lips had parted, as if he was going to answer my question, but he paused, his eyebrows flickering up with concern. “You good, man?”
“Yeah,” I bit out. “Hemorrhoid flare-up, I think.” In that moment, I decided I’d figure out a way to pay Eric back someday, no matter how long it took. It would be glorious retribution.
“Oof.” He winced in sympathy. “I’ve heard my dad talk about that before. Sounds painful.”
“Very,” I agreed, almost certain there was a little extra color in my cheeks. “Anyway, you were saying: hot date?” I grinned at my stealthy redirection.
“Ha! Yeah. None of the above. Or maybe all of the above.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll probably never know.”
I didn’t doubt it. I knew next to nothing about Ansel’s social life.
I was pretty sure he didn’t date anyone, basically ever.
The only reason I knew he wasn’t some introverted virgin was because Eric and Chet’s best friend, Amanda, had a friend who’d actually hooked up with him once and apparently wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks afterward—along with how he’d ghosted her.
I was about to pry more, readying some conversational wizardry to draw him out, when I glanced over the crowd again and my brain froze.
Because there he was, fucking finally, prowling through the crowd like a wet dream with fangs.
Eric’s brand of sex appeal should’ve required a fucking license.
It was lethal. And it wasn’t just me. Heads turned every which way.
You could chart his trajectory by the way people turned and stared after him, openly ogling.
I didn’t blame them; I was doing the same, but at least I remembered to shut my mouth so my jaw wasn’t just hanging open like a Venus flytrap.
The leather pants he wore were indecently tight, highlighting every inch of his thighs, every flex of muscle as he moved.
His cock was brazenly outlined against the zipper and his white shirt, like mine, was open all the way to the waist, but looked far better on him under a velvety fitted waistcoat with tails.
He’d even gotten the hair right, the wavy blond wig tied with a black velvet ribbon like Tom Cruise’s in Interview with a Vampire.
My stomach did a weird flip-flop thing when I looked at the familiar features in contrast with the totally wrong length and shade of hair.
A familiar stranger. A strange familiar.
I wasn’t sure which. My dick definitely liked it, though.
Eric made the perfect Lestat, but meaner, hotter, and more likely to fuck me on the nearest flat surface than drain me dry.
His eyes found mine across the room, and the look he gave me burned right into my core. He stared at me like he wanted to eat me alive, and I was a willing tribute. I kept my grip on the beer cup, though I was tempted to set it down and brace myself instead.
When he finally reached me, he stopped a few inches away, gaze flicking up and down my frame like it had earlier in the bathroom.
The result was much the same; every part of my body took notice, lighting up like a circuit board.
His hand zeroed in on the waistband of my breeches and tugged, pulling me in before I could think of something semi-witty to say.
Or even a coherent greeting at all. His effect on me was like gravity that way, completely undeniable.
I felt the heat of his body meshing with mine, our shirts brushing together, one leg sliding between my thighs.
His mouth curved, and I caught a glimpse of the fang caps, perfectly placed, as he dropped his voice low and smeared a kiss along my jaw. “Sorry I’m a little late, frat boy.”
What was time anyway?
“Damn, okay, your costumes beat all the others I’ve seen by a mile,” Ansel said as Eric loosened his hold on me. I tried to blink out of my daze, having briefly forgotten Ansel existed. “Also, may that kind of love never find me.”
Eric chuckled, amused. “Why?”
“Too time consuming,” he replied succinctly, giving me a good idea why his dating game was nonexistent. His phone flashed bright again, and this time he tapped out a quick message before tucking it away and excusing himself. “I’ll be back later. Maybe.”
Eric and I watched him elbow through the crowd toward the door.
“He’s an interesting one,” Eric mused.
“Maybe he’s actually just boring?” It was hard to say. “Just runs his miles, does his homework, and then powers himself down for eight hours.”
Eric sucked his lower lip between his teeth, then released it. “I’m not so sure. I think at the very least he’s one of those with a rich internal landscape.”
“Eh,” I shrugged. “You’re the maestro of observation. You want to go grab a drink? And I swear to fuck if you touch that remote again, I’ll—”
“Cum?” Eric filled in, an unrepentant smirk twisting his lips. “How about this: I’ll give you a five-minute reprieve. After that, no promises, because remember… I haven’t gotten to see my handiwork in action yet.”
I groaned, which was pretty much an agreement.