Chapter 7
Ignoring him doesn’t work. Talking back doesn’t work. So it’s time to set some boundaries—for real this time. I can’t let him keep up his relentless flirting any longer, let alone all summer.
I’ve spent all day thinking about it, rehearsing in my head what I’m going to say, but now that I’m here, outside his door, my plan feels as shaky as my knees.
I feel oddly embarrassed. Guilty, when I shouldn’t be. Mason is the one who should feel guilty, damn it. He’s older. He should know not to flirt with his little brother’s best friend. He doesn’t understand boundaries, obviously, so I’ll have to teach him.
Yeah. Easy. I’ll just go into his room in the middle of the night and talk. Nothing else. Just talk.
He needs to learn that he can’t keep flirting with people when they’re not even responsive. Because I haven’t been responsive… right? I haven’t let my true feelings show outwardly. At the very least, I haven’t given him any reason to say what he said in the kitchen.
“I’ll give you something else to suck on.”
Is he fucking kidding me? He can’t just… say things like that. Even as a joke, which I’m fairly sure it wasn’t.
I shudder and try to shake the thought out of my mind. I should be angry—furious even—but the thing is, my dick doesn’t seem a hundred percent on board with my mind’s conviction. More like zero percent.
I tap my knuckles on Mason’s door, knocking softly, warily. As I wait, the seconds stretch into what feels like minutes, but there’s no reply. No “come in,” and no one opens the door. I can’t knock harder for fear of Oliver waking up, so I guess I’ll just have to go inside.
I crack the door open, heart pounding.
Back in the danger zone. A place where Oliver won’t come and interrupt us—especially not now, when he’s sleeping soundly at the other end of the house.
It’s dark inside. No lamps, no screens to guide my way. When my eyes are used to the darkness, I see the silhouette of Mason in the bed. Is he sleeping? I go to his bedside to get a better look. He’s shirtless under the covers, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was naked, too.
The bedside lamp flicks on.
I give a little yelp and jump back.
“What are you doing here, puppy?” Mason looks the way he always does: self-assured and smug, with a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. His hair looks ruffled, though, and his eyes are glassy.
I kept him up all night. He’s been waiting for me.
“I-I just want to talk.” I should leave, but I also need to get my message across.
“About what?” he asks, his calm voice a stark contrast to my shaky one.
“About… us.” Fuck, that sounds weird. I just want him to stop flirting with me. I just want him to stop tempting me so I can stay out of trouble and focus on enjoying my last few weeks with Oliver.
“Sure,” Mason says casually. “Want to take a seat while you talk?”
He flips the covers off himself, revealing his body. His very much naked body. His toned pecs, visible abs, and the V leading down to… to…
If ever there was a time I should leave, it would be now. So why are my feet fixed to the floor? My face turns piping hot while I try to make sense of it all. Take a seat. He can’t mean—
“You can keep your clothes on,” he says, but it doesn’t sound very reassuring. “Go on.” He nods downward, toward his naked crotch and his cock lying slumped over his thigh. It’s just as big as I suspected based on the bulge in his sweatpants—if not bigger, and I can’t stop looking at it.
“You look so lonely up there.” His voice is pitying, as if he’s worried about my well-being, but his mouth is stretched into his usual smirk.
“You don’t even know what I want to talk about yet.” It’s a miracle I manage to keep my voice somewhat steady through the thundering beat of my heart. My feet are glued to the floor, and my eyes are glued to his cock. Even soft, it’s massive. Intimidating, just like the rest of him.
“Then tell me.” He folds his arms behind his head. The motion exposes his hairy armpits and his bulging chest muscles.
“T-Tell you what?” I squeak.
His smirk widens, and he nods down at his body again. “You’ll think clearer with some blood back in your brain. Come sit right here.”
At first, I don’t quite understand what he means.
But then I realize he must have noticed the bulge in my boxers.
A lot of my blood has rushed to my dick, that’s for sure.
Maybe he’s right—maybe I’d think clearer if I got some relief.
It wouldn’t be like… having sex with him.
I’d just sit in his lap. His naked lap. I’d be wearing clothes, though.
Our skin wouldn’t even touch. Yeah. Maybe that’s okay.
Before my rational mind has given my body the go-ahead, I’m swinging my leg over Mason’s hips and crawling into his lap.
On top of him. On his naked cock. It’s still flaccid, but as soon as his crotch touches mine, I feel it swell, nudging up against my own.
“There you go,” Mason says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He tugs at my shirt, as if he’s about to lift it over my head.
“Don’t.” No skin-to-skin contact. Clothes on. Those are the rules if I’m going to do this at all—which I shouldn’t, but I guess it’s too late now. I just can’t let it get out of hand.
“Just on the outside, then?” Mason asks, and when I nod, he shifts his hands to my hips, gripping them gently.
I half expect him to start pushing me back and forth, forcing me to grind on him, but he doesn’t—he just rubs little circles on my hipbones with his thumbs. This is okay. I’m wearing underwear, so he’s not touching me—not really. It doesn’t count. Though I’m sure it would feel nice if he’d…
No. No skin-to-skin contact. That would take it a step too far.
“Now,” Mason says, voice low. “What did you want to say?”
“S-Say…?” I’ve forgotten how to speak. All I feel is the pressure radiating from my groin and the places he’s touching me, my whole body zeroed in on the pleasurable friction of my crotch rubbing up against something hard and warm and unyielding.
Without thinking, I rock back and forth a bit, testing how much weight I can drop on him.
His face isn’t showing any signs of pleasure, but no pain either. He’s hard underneath me, but he’s just gazing at me with that knowing look in his eyes, nodding encouragingly.
“That’s it, puppy. Feels nice, huh?”
I nod before I even realize what I’m doing. Yeah, it feels… so good. I’m about to explode just from rubbing myself on his crotch. That surge of tension startles me, and I sit up straight, remembering why I’m here in the first place.
“I’m just here to talk.”
“So talk.” Mason seems unaffected by all of this, as if he doesn’t even notice that he’s hard and that I’m crushing his dick and balls underneath me.
The first press of his hips upward makes my eyes roll back in my head. Fuck, that… that pressure on my groin… to feel the length of his dick pressed up against me… Without thinking, I rock forward, and the sensation is almost too much. Too good. Too dangerous.
“We can’t… We can’t do this,” I gasp.
“We already are,” Mason says in a low voice.
“But Oliver… Oliver can’t know.”
“He won’t,” Mason says, and he sounds so calm, so serious, that I almost believe him.
“Really?” I want to hear him promise that he won’t tell—that he’ll keep this all a secret—but before I have time to word it right in my head, he bucks up against me again, and I feel the wetness of his precum seep into my boxers.
Fuck, he’s as turned on as I am. His dick is so hard, rubbing up against mine, so big and warm, giving me the first taste of relief I’ve had in weeks.
“Now get yourself off, puppy,” he says. “I know you want to. This is what you’ve been aching for, isn’t it?”
I have been aching for it. Fuck, I haven’t even been able to sleep; I’ve been so hard for so long. It’s been hurting so much. Not just my dick, but my whole body. There’s a hollow ache in my gut that needs to be filled.
“Just don’t… don’t touch inside my clothes.”
Mason smirks. “I won’t. You can touch me, though.”
I’m just doing this to be able to sleep. It doesn’t mean anything. And Oliver won’t know.
With that permission from both Mason and myself, I start grinding on him, slowly at first, building up a tantalizing pressure with my straining cock—trapped in the fabric of my boxers—rubbing against his.
Soon enough, my movements turn desperate, and I gasp as my cock twitches and spills another drop of precum into my boxers.
How can I already be so close? I haven’t been able to come in weeks, and not for a lack of trying. But this… this feels easy. Almost too easy.
I fall forward, palms on Mason’s naked chest. His hands guide my hips back and forth, helping me grind and rub and moan and whimper.
“That’s it, puppy,” he murmurs. “This is exactly what you’ve wanted. You just want to feel good.”
I do… I want to feel good.
“Go ahead. Take what you need.”
With that last bit of encouragement, I grind down on him hard, so hard I feel like I’ll hurt him. Little whimpers slip out between my gritted teeth, even though I try my best to be silent.
Then, when I’m so fucking close, he brings a hand down between us and swipes a finger over the head of his cock.
“Want a taste?” he asks, lifting his finger to my mouth.
Before I know it, I’m parting my lips, inviting that finger inside. The salty, musky taste of his precum makes me moan, and knowing where it came from, the depravity of it… Fuck, I’m so, so close, I—
I come with a muffled cry. Being silent proves impossible with the wave of pleasure exploding from my groin and making a mess in my boxers. I slump on top of Mason, a boneless, sticky mess. After I’ve caught my breath, I sit upright, eyes still closed. I’m floating on clouds.
“Mm, look at you.” Mason rubs at the shameful wet patch at the front of my boxers. “All soaked for me.”
I whine in protest as the reality of what I just did sinks in.
I snuck into Mason’s room and humped his groin like a dog.
This is literally the opposite of what I was supposed to do. Oliver will be mad if he finds out—more than mad. He might kick me out. He might end our friendship. And for what?
Mason smirks up at me. Still hard, his cock gives a little pulse underneath me, but he doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry.
Unlike me.
I climb off him with a jerk, like a spooked animal.
Mason stays where he is, eyes locked on me. He looks calm, satisfied, as if he already got what he wanted, even though he didn’t even come.
I back off and turn around, back toward Oliver’s room. When I get there, he’s still snoring, and I sink onto the mattress, not knowing what to think or what to do, painfully aware of the sticky mess in my boxers and the memory of Mason’s body hot and hard against mine.