Chapter 20
Dante
Well, this is it. This is how I die—locked inside my own bathroom with a hard-on that’s pulled every drop of blood from the rest of my body. What a fucking fossil I’ll be.
I was anxious about leaving Theo home alone, so I drove faster than I should have, pushing the speed limit until it bordered on reckless.
I was already paranoid, and my irrational brain kept insisting he wasn’t safe.
The moment I stepped through the door, a loud bang cemented my doomsday thoughts. I panicked… and then I saw him.
I had no right to stay. The second I realized what was happening, I should have turned around and pretended I never saw it.
Now it’s looping on an endless reel in my mind, because instead of leaving, I stood there, unable to look away from the sight of Theo riding that dildo.
Unable to stop imagining it was me in its place.
Everything about him was flawless—the roll of his hips, the flex and release of his muscles as he drove himself toward oblivion. Then those eyes met mine, and he didn’t shy away. Instead of freezing or bolting like I did, he showed me all of him.
Showed me exactly what I’m missing.
It was everything I’ve ever wanted, and now I’m trapped here, paralyzed, when—
“Dante!” Theo’s voice cuts through the door, followed by the sharp rattle of his hand thumping against it. He’s right there, just inches away and so close I can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.
So close that I close my eyes and pretend he’s in here with me.
“I know you’re listening,” he says, his voice huskier than I’ve ever heard it. “And I’m not sorry you saw that. You probably think I should be, but I’m not.”
Defiant as always.
Even his refusal to behave is addictive.
The silence stretches, and I don’t know how to fill it, so I wait for him to speak.
“I was pretending it was you behind me, and I couldn’t fucking contain myself.”
My head thumps back against the door as my spine arches, pressing my palm harder against my aching cock. It throbs against my hand, every muscle deep inside me pulsing with need.
His voice drops even lower, velvet-rough. “You make me feel so good, Dante. Stop running and let me make you feel good too. You don’t have to come out… you don’t even have to look at me. Just give in for a minute. Let me take care of you.”
I swallow hard and nod, even though he can’t see it. “Okay,” I whisper.
“That’s so good,” he sighs, the praise sliding down my spine like warm honey. “If you want me to stop, just knock on the door and I’ll walk away. We won’t talk about it. I’ll never bring it up again.”
My lips part on a sharp inhale as raw need floods my veins. My fingers tighten around my cock through my shorts, and another quiet groan escapes when I feel the warm rush of precum soaking the fabric.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks softly, giving me one last chance.
“No,” I whine as I stroke myself through the material.
“Good.” His low hum is approving, and terribly indulgent. “I saw how much you wanted me… saw how hard you got the second you walked in. I was thinking about you the whole time.”
Another whimper slips out, louder this time, as my hand slides into my shorts. My fingers wrap around my shaft, and my entire body buzzes with tension as I thrust into my fist.
“Pull your cock out for me,” Theo murmurs.
There’s no hesitation. I shove my shorts and boxers down in one motion. My cock springs free, heavy and leaking, and the second my fingers close around it, a deep groan tears from my throat.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he purrs, sounding pleased. “I bet you’re so fucking hard for me. Are you thinking about everything we could do together? Because we will, baby… every single thing you want. But right now, I want you to stroke yourself. Nice and slow. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah,” I manage.
He lets out another soft, contented hum. “Good... so good. Just like that.”
My hand glides slowly up my shaft, enveloping the slick head before sliding back down. My hips thrust forward on instinct, fucking into my grip as my eyes roll back. The image of Theo on his hands and knees burns behind my eyelids and drives me harder with every pass of my fist.
“I can’t wait to get my hands on you. Wrap my fingers around that thick cock and stroke you until you’re shaking. You’d look so pretty begging for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” I rasp, barely able to speak.
He hums approvingly. “Good. But not yet. Don’t fuck your fist. Take your time.”
I force myself to slow down, a desperate whimper slipping loose. The heavy ache in my balls intensifies, and a thick string of precum drips free.
“That’s it. You’re being so good for me. Now spit in your palm.”
I do as he says. The moment my wet hand wraps back around my cock, a louder groan tears from my throat.
“Just like that,” he murmurs. “Hold it nice and tight. Fuck your fist for me. Slow and deep.”
My hips snap forward faster, the wet, obscene sound of skin on skin filling the small bathroom.
“Pretend it’s me. What would you fuck right now, Dante? My hand? My mouth?” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Or would you rather bury yourself deep in my ass? You can have any hole you want. They’re all yours. Every single one.”
Every drive of my hips pushes me closer to the edge. I grow louder with each thrust, until his name slips from my lips on a broken moan. The memory of how he looked when he came floods my mind and makes it almost impossible to hold back.
“Please,” I whisper.
“God, you sound so fucking perfect. You need to come, baby?”
My shoulders press harder against the door as I thrust faster. “Yes,” I gasp, every muscle trembling as I fight to hold it off.
“Alright, sweetheart. You can come, but I want to hear you. I want you to tell me exactly how good it feels when you fall apart for me.”
I let go of the last bit of control. Pleasure crashes down my spine, hitting me so hard that staying quiet is impossible. “Fuck—Theo,” I moan, thrusting into my fist, twisting my wrist and squeezing tight as it all comes crashing out.
Loud, raw sounds of pure ecstasy tear from my throat as my cock jerks hard in my palm, thick ropes of cum shooting across the bathroom floor. My hand keeps pumping in slow, greedy strokes while more of my release spills over my fingers in heavy, endless streams.
“Listen to you,” he praises through the door, voice dripping with satisfaction. “So goddamn perfect. Keep going. Drain every last drop for me. I want it all.”
The intensity of the orgasm drowns out every insecure thought.
I ride it out until my legs shake, panting and slumped against the door, completely spent.
Exhausted and satisfied, I stare at the colossal mess I’ve created, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. My face flushes and panic paralyzes me.
Theo speaks up once more, softer and infinitely gentle.
“Dante…” Emotion cracks his voice before he clears his throat and tries again.
“I understand you’ll probably want to run from me after this.
Please don’t. Please? Don’t push me away.
We can wait to talk about it until you’re ready, and I swear I won’t make it weird.
It doesn’t have to change anything—not yet.
We’ll figure it out. We always do. Just…
don’t shut me out, okay? Don’t leave me. Please?”
There’s a quiet thud as he leans against the door, and I know for his sake, I can’t break down. “I will never leave you, Theo. Never.”
His relief is immediate, pouring out in a long, shaky sigh. “Clean up, and I’ll have a movie waiting when you get out… if that’s okay?”
Uncertainty lingers in his voice, and all I want to do is rush out and comfort him. But instead, I stay hidden where it’s safe. Where I don’t have to face him just yet.
Fucking coward.
“That’s… that’s perfect,” I whisper, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I sense him walk away. I twist the faucet mechanically until the water runs hot, then clean the floor before I step into the shower.
I stay under the spray longer than necessary, nerves still buzzing at the thought of facing him.
When I can no longer justify hiding, I climb out and dry off, then throw on my clothes with shaky hands.
My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm that’s half war cry, half victory march as I open the door and step into the hallway.
Theo is nowhere in sight. I walk into the living room and find him sprawled on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt. The pizza box sits open on the coffee table beside a couple of cans of soda. He turns to look at me and offers a small, cautious smile.
“You don’t have to keep ordering Hawaiian, you know,” he says carefully.
“Better than listening to you complain if I don’t.”
“That’s probably true,” he replies, lips twitching as he gestures toward the TV. “Action or comedy?”
“Comedy.”
I finally walk to the couch and sink onto the cushions.
He hands me a plate and a drink without a word.
We eat in relative silence, but it isn’t nearly as awkward as I feared.
When we finish, he stands, puts away the leftovers, then settles beside me, closer this time.
He watches me for a moment before leaning on my shoulder.
My hand rises automatically, pressing gently against the side of his head and pulling him closer.
He tucks his knees up and relaxes as my fingers rake slowly through his hair.
The longer we sit like this, the easier I breathe.
For the first time, I let myself consider the possibility that it might all be okay.
Maybe the thought of being in love isn’t as terrifying as it used to be.