Chapter 2 Torin
Torin
My shoes hit the treadmill like two beating drums, over and over in rhythm.
Push it.
Right to the fucking limit.
My lungs expand as I push the button to increase the speed. The little beep fills the air and cuts through the music in my earbuds.
Beep, beep, beep.
More.
Need more.
My pace is even faster than usual, although I always like to end my workouts with a sprint. My body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
One more half-mile.
I stare ahead at the big mirrored wall of the hotel gym, narrowing my eyes as I watch my form. I’m alone, but I wish anyone else was here in the gym with me.
I fucking thrive on competition.
Not the usual kind, like everybody else who was at today’s wedding tends to enjoy; which typically revolves around money, status, and luxury goods.
I crave competition that makes me feel alive.
The kind that involves pushing bodies to limits they wouldn’t otherwise reach.
Like try to beat me in a race.
Or better: choke me, and I’ll choke you harder.
Fuck me and then watch yourself forget your own ability to speak, when I fuck you twice as hard with the best cock you’ve ever had.
That kind of thing is more my speed.
I want blood, sweat, and tears, hopefully combined with coming so hard I can’t think straight anymore, and those things are very hard to find when you’re at a wedding like today’s.
A gilded cage.
Where I felt like a tiger trapped in a zoo.
People at the wedding kept giving me attention for the Lumber Depot photoshoot I did, but as usual, half of them acted like elderly ladies clutching their pearls in shock about it.
One woman even blushed, barely able to say the word shirtless to me.
“Is that… piercing actually real?” she asked, whispering the last few words.
My nipple barbell really seemed to catch people’s eyes on Instagram.
“It is,” I told her.
“Gosh, that must have hurt!”
I gave her a small smile. “A little.”
It’s funny how one viral social media post has gotten more attention than any of the hands-on volunteer work I’ve ever done in my life.
Not funny ha-ha.
Funny strange.
None of them have a clue what my real desires are, or how posing shirtless was one of the least “risque” things I’ve ever done.
I reach down and jam my finger on the treadmill’s speed increase button a few more times.
Beep, beep, beep.
My calves and thighs are burning and my lungs are at capacity, but I need more. I’m desperate for adrenaline. Need this pent-up feeling inside me to finally explode, before I lose my mind.
I break into a sprint, keeping my breath as even as possible.
Another half-mile.
All night I’ve had the feeling like someone was watching me. While I sat at the wedding ceremony, then afterward at the reception, every time I was lost in the crowd: somebody had it out for me.
Noah Vancliff, of course.
My heart pounds even harder in my chest as I think of him.
Noah is fucking hotter than he’s ever been, and his attitude is worse than it’s ever been, too. His dark hair has grown out just a little, and the way it falls across his forehead makes him look less prep-school and more like a young, blue-eyed Keanu.
A little twist of deep satisfaction hit me every time I caught his eyes on me.
Noah’s not all that great at seeming menacing, since he always has a sleepy-eyed puppy look to him.f
I would have sworn Noah was trying to eye-fuck me himself if I didn’t know he was a straight boy with a pathetically hopeless romantic streak toward every woman he meets.
All of that potential, and you spend your time fruitlessly chasing love, like a kid with endless crushes.
Fuck it.
I pull in a deep breath through my nostrils, willing myself to keep going.
Another.
Quarter.
Mile.
I move through life fueled by pure ambition and desire, working my ass off for the things I care about.
Noah?
He sits on his cushy mound of money, parties, and social connections, licking every silver spoon that’s offered to him and drowning in liquor.
Tonight he apparently wasn’t numbing his brain into oblivion with alcohol, and that seemed to make it easier for me to burrow under his skin much deeper than usual.
Lord knows why he wasn’t indulging. Maybe his dad demanded that he stay sober for the wedding, so as not to cause any sloppy scenes like he has in the past.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
My body feels like it’s going to break.
I don’t feel like I can make it another quarter mile, but that’s exactly why I’m going to do it.
I push myself to the brink, and with each breath of air, it feels like my chest might crack in two.
I watch the number slowly tick upward.
Point seven miles left.
Now point five.
Point two…
I drop into pure focus to push through the last bit of the run. And when I hit the goal, I slam my hand down on the decrease button, slowing to a jog again.
I breathe deeply as I come down from the sprint.
I finally feel alive for the first time today.
I cool down for a few minutes, going from a jog to a walk and then finally stopping. My muscles twitch like hell, and I stop to do some quad stretches before heading out of the gym.
It’s only been about an hour since the end of the wedding.
Most of the hotel patrons are all crowding the bar now, because most people aren’t going to the gym at eleven o’clock on the weekend.
I hit the button for the top floor.
As I’m waiting for the elevator, my pulse is finally slowing, and another problem rears its head.
My cock is going to be insistent now.
After I work out, it’s a natural reaction. It’s like my body is trained to move from adrenaline rushes right into needing to fuck.
Easy.
Hotels are the best place to find anonymous sex.
The elevator door slides open in front of me. New plan for tonight: go up, shower off, and head down to the bar to find anyone of any gender who needs to fuck as badly as I do.
The pent-up swirl builds inside me as I go up and up, and by the time I’m at the top floor I’m impatient.
I fish for the hotel room key in my pocket as I approach the door near the end of the hall.
I tap it and swing the door open.
And when I hear noise from inside, I know something is wrong.
Someone’s in my hotel room.
I don’t know what the sound was, but it was a low thud, like something bumping into a wall. I glance over at the minibar, because I can make a beer bottle get acquainted with the intruder’s skull if I need to.
This place is one of the penthouse suites, and it's massive, with just as much lavish bullshit as the lobby. It makes sense why someone might want to rob it. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the suite look out onto the sweeping city below, lights glittering under the inky sky.
I quickly grab a bottle by the neck and go deeper into the suite.
The living room is empty but the fireplace at the center of the room is on. Whoever broke in is clearly trying to make themselves comfortable.
And then I hear the sound of rushing water, and I realize it’s the shower being turned on.
The fuck?
An intruder who takes a goddamn shower?
I clutch the bottle in my hand and move toward the bathroom, hovering outside the door for a beat before I continue.
I slowly push open the door, just a crack, and look inside to see skin.
A lot of skin.
Noah fucking Vancliff’s skin, all out on display, completely naked with his dick in his fist.
He doesn’t see me yet.
And holy cock.
I get an eyeful of the part of him that he probably least wants me to see.
He’s very hard, dusky pink and shockingly big. Fuck, he has a nice dick.
And my own cock throbs hard underneath my workout shorts.
Bad.
Very bad.
He’s standing at the edge of the tall, glass shower.
The bathroom is starting to steam up, and he has one hand firmly planted on the glass door while the other pumps along his cock.
“What are you doing getting off in my room, frat boy?” I finally say, my voice cutting through the sound of the shower.
His gaze snaps up to meet mine. His mouth drops open, and his expression almost looks pained.
“The fuck?” he whispers, but there’s a pleading look in his deep blue eyes. “Oh, God—”
Noah squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth drops open just a little as he pulls in a breath.
I set down my makeshift weapon on the countertop beside me.
Holy shit.
He’s…
He looks completely fucking shattered. And as he opens his eyes again I realize he’s desperate, past the point of no return.
“You’re about to come,” I murmur, keeping my gaze pinned on his.
It all happens in an instant.
A desperate, deep moan escapes his throat, and streaks of white cum shoot out from his tip a moment later.
Noah’s pupils are blown wide and his full, ruddy lips are parted. As he watches me it’s like I’m receiving a desperate, hypnotic plea straight from his mind.
Is he pleading for me to stop watching?
Or for me to stay?
Some of the streaks land on his hand and some go a little further upward, hitting the foggy glass of the shower wall.
“Damn,” I say softly, marveling at the mess he made.
I’m not a power-starved maniac, despite what Noah probably assumes.
But in fleeting moments where the balance of power does tip, and I find myself on the other side of someone who can’t control themselves?
Yeah.
I eat that up like I’m a fucking fiend.
The muscles of his chest move up and down rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes look wild as they stay locked on mine, some mixture of relief and building rage in his gaze.
He slowly loosens his grip on his dick and lets it hang free, still coated with cum on the tip.
“I’m so stupid,” he says under his breath.
“Not stupid,” I say, keeping my tone low. “Careless, maybe, but this is the first time I’m enjoying it.”
“Oh, God.”
“Do you always have cumshots that big? Or did you come harder because I was watching?”
I know he’ll hate that.
“Quit staring at my dick,” he says, before looking around like he’s witnessing a crime scene. “Fuck. Fuck.”
“Have you always liked showing off?”
He furrows his brow.