Chapter 3 Noah #2
Exhibits two, three, and fucking ten million: he does push-ups everywhere, outside, inside, and all around the house, and he practically lives in the pool out back, swimming all hours of the morning, the afternoon, and one night at three in the morning.
He had to get involved in our poker game last night, cramming in at the table beside me and rinsing me in every round. Late in the game, Weston made a joke about me having a good poker face, and Torin had a reply:
“True. Noah performs best when he’s being watched.”
It took restraint not to pin him on top of the table and sock him in the face.
I just.
Can’t.
Fucking.
Escape him.
Hence the reason I went to the Luros House party in the first place, trying and failing to forget about the past two weeks.
We step inside the house, and luckily Torin’s nowhere to be seen.
As I head up the staircase alone, I’m turning the conversation with Roman over in my mind.
Do I have a good enough weapon?
Does the cute little black switchblade Hunter gifted me this past Christmas count?
As I walk down the upstairs hall I pass by Torin’s room.
The door is wide open. I glance inside, seeing the glow of the handmade wood and iron lamp he put on his bedside table. The room is empty. Torin’s probably out back in the pool again.
I glance back down the hall and see that no one else is up here right now.
And a small surge of adrenaline hits me.
Fuck it.
I take a step into his room like a fucking creep. It smells like him in here, that woodsy scent hitting me all at once and instantly plunging me back into memories from the night at the hotel room.
He has a crate in his room that’s full of smaller pieces of wood, in all different shades. There’s a carving tool in there next to them, and various pieces have different intricate patterns carved into various parts of them.
I pick up one amber-colored piece of wood and run my fingertips over the precise, dark patterned lines carved into the grain.
It’s smooth, not splintery at all.
The pattern on this one forms the shape of an abstract wolf, and I can see the beginnings of a forest that Torin’s been starting to carve in behind it. It’s impressive artwork. Torin is skilled at so many things that he could build or craft anything he wanted, and it’s…
Beautiful.
Too bad it was made by an asshole.
I drop the piece back down into the crate and look around more. The patterned solid silver cuff he sometimes wears around his wrist is sitting on the table, and I run my fingers along its cold metal.
He has a stack of condoms out on top of the table, too, naturally.
Is he already taking hookups back here?
Has he been fucking different people every night, and does he choke them like he choked me, too?
I exhale, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment.
I've tried to push the thought of it out of my mind for two weeks now, but what Torin didn’t know is that… I like being caught. And I also like the feeling of a hand on my neck.
It was the most confusing feeling I’ve ever experienced, that night, having things that turned me on so much coming from a person I cannot fucking stand.
But I’ve known it for a while. One wild night last year, Stephanie Kim was riding me and reached down to playfully choke me as she bounced on my cock.
I liked it then, too.
But it felt very different with Torin’s hand.
He was stronger.
Less playful.
My cock perks up under my pants, and I know I need to get the hell out of Torin’s room.
There is something seriously wrong with me.
Or wrong with my dick.
I reach down to rearrange my bulge beneath my pants, but I catch another whiff of Torin’s scent standing near his bed and it throbs again.
I’m losing my mind.
A loud, booming sound comes from down the hallway and I jump, whipping around to look behind me.
Christ.
It's just music.
The beginning of a loud, bassy song coming from the speaker system in someone else’s room.
The crazy is contagious, apparently.
I glance around the room another time.
Despite the condoms, I haven’t seen Torin take home any hookups since he’s been here. Whatever his sex life looks like, it’s not my concern.
There is something I could look for here, though.
Hmm.
Do you potentially have a weapon I could borrow in here, Stepbrother Psychopath?
I’m pulling open the top drawer of his nightstand when I hear a floorboard crack behind me, and this time I’m certain it’s not part of the song.
I turn around and curse under my breath.
Torin’s leaning in the doorway, giving me a calm stare.
My chest goes molten.
He has a white towel slung around his waist, his hair still wet from the pool.
“Care to tell me why you’re rifling through my things?”
He barely seems bothered.
I’m sure he’s actually fucking delighted that he caught me doing something I shouldn’t be doing.
“I was looking for weapons.”
Kind of the truth.
“You assume I brought weapons with me into Onyx House?”
I slam the nightstand drawer shut. “Plenty of guys in Onyx have weapons. It’s not like we’d kick you out. I just needed a weapon for something.”
His gaze narrows for a moment.
“Stalk me much, Noah?” he asks, stepping in and dropping his towel to the ground. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his swim shorts and tugs them down in one quick motion.
I pull my eyes away.
“For fuck’s sake, Torin.”
He’s fully naked now as he walks further into the room, ignoring me. I glance back over and get a glimpse of everything, and the back of my neck rushes with heat.
Even when his dick is soft, it hangs long and thick between his legs.
I feel like I’m looking at an ancient Greek statue, except Torin’s way more endowed than any of those ever are.
Not that I need to be assessing the state of his cock.
He faces away from me and opens his dresser drawers, giving me a full view of his ass as he looks for clothes.
I turn away completely this time.
I need to get the fuck out of here even more than I did five minutes ago, and I’ve been given more than enough cues to exit.
As I’m walking toward his door, he finally speaks.
“Noah.”
“What?” I toss back in a clipped tone.
He’s still not looking my way.
“Are you in here because you’re looking for a repeat? Because I’m a little busy tonight, but if you need me to watch you come that badly, you could just ask.” He finally turns, looking me in the eye. “Or if you need a hand on your throat again.”
A flare of heat moves through me.
Bitter rage that’s so white-hot that it feels dangerously close to arousal.
“You’re never touching me again,” I tell him. “But keep dreaming if you want, bro.”
He turns around to meet my gaze. “Later, stalker. Why did you need a weapon, by the way?”
I flip him off and walk off without answering.
My cock is still hard under my pants, and it’s not helping that he brought up the idea of watching me come.
Certifiably fucking insane.
Why do I have to be so easy to turn on?
I head to my room, lock the door, and throw off my pants the moment I’m alone.
I collapse onto my mattress, looking up at the ceiling.
When I pull out my nuisance of a cock, I squeeze hard around it like a punishment. Finally gripping it is a massive relief after it’s felt like an itch that I haven’t been able to scratch all night.
I need something.
Badly.
I have to release whatever weird pent-up feeling that’s been bothering me all day, and for the past two weeks, and be done with it.
At first I think of nothing at all as I start to stroke. My cock feels so hard I swear I could come in two seconds flat, but I try to keep it at bay for a minute.
I keep a tight grip and force images into my head that have always worked for me, like Vela Dryden, the intensely cool punk rock girl from Luros who never wanted me back but I was helplessly obsessed with last year.
I used to love her tall black boots. Her sheer tights. Her dark eye makeup, and her commanding attitude.
But I feel nothing as I think of her.
And even as I think of other women, like celebrities and old crushes and people I thought I loved, nothing works.
I’m close, but I can’t finish.
Like I’m endlessly edging myself to the line but unable to cross it.
And then I picture something less tangible.
Intensity.
Fire.
Things I can’t control.
My cock throbs in my hand as I imagine someone pinning me face down on the bed. A heavy weight behind me.
Pushing inside me, in a way that would definitely hurt.
A fullness.
I let out a low moan, gripping the sheet below me with my free hand. And then I have a second thought, moving my hand up to my collarbone, instead.
And then I drape it over my throat, imagining that it belongs to someone else.
A woodsy scent, filling my nostrils.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My mind is going to bad places. Places that would feel far too masculine for what I’d ever be interested in, but my cock leaps at the thought of it, so good I can’t fucking stand it.
Someone overtaking me, completely.
“Oh, God,” I utter as I lose control.
I come fast, spilling white over my own hand.
My mind goes completely blank. I force it to stay that way.
Out of my system.
Done.
Never have to think about this again.
It’s like I’m an alien in my own room as I clean up, put on fresh clothes, and come back down to Earth. I grab my phone and check the screen, seeing that I have new messages.
My family has always had a big group chat with all of the six Vancliff siblings and Dad. Dad added Kolina last year, and all of us use the family group chat all of the time.
I open it up to see a message from my dad.
Dad: I added somebody special to the chat. Did it work, Torin?
Unknown Number: I’m in. Happy to be here.
Blaise: Welcome to the family, Torin.
Cameron: Dude, you going to come to the country estate with us this summer, Torin? Family tradition.
Unknown Number: Never been to the Vancliff summer estate before.
Dad: Of course you’re coming, Torin. We visit at least once every summer. You’ll be there.
Unknown Number: Beautiful. Can’t wait.
Dad: By the way, Noah, did you get the transfer I sent you?
Noah: Got it. Thank you, Dad.
Dad: Also, Torin, I saw the post you made about rehabilitating that baby robin yesterday morning. Incredible work, kiddo.
After I tap out my reply, I realize I’m gripping the phone so hard my knuckles are turning white.
I saw Torin’s Instagram post yesterday, too, where he was saving an orange and black baby bird that had fallen from a nest. Not a day goes by where Torin doesn’t do something heroic, and not a day goes by without my dad being wowed by it.
When Dad thinks of me, he thinks of… a money pit.
A mess to clean up.
Past hospital bills, when I broke my nose drinking too much.
Or bail-out money, for the incident on the rooftop with Bree.
Sometimes it feels like I have to stop the entire speeding freight train of my life, then somehow find a way to turn it back around. I want to be thought of as good, too, not because I need my ego stroked, but because I know I’m capable of so much more.
I add Torin to my phone contacts under the name Stepbrother Psychotic and lock the screen, tossing it onto my nightstand.
Torin’s going to be on our summer vacation, too.
The Vancliff country estate is one of my favorite places on the planet.
It’s situated on acres of beautiful land full of rolling green hills and trees, like something out of a period movie.
The house is a stone manor that looks like an English castle, and the property has its own river flowing through it.
Every summer, it’s a place where I can reset. Relax. Try to be better.
I’ve always pictured bringing a woman there, hopefully the woman I’d one day marry. I’ve even pictured my future kids running around that estate one day.
And now, later this summer, Torin’s presence is going to bleed into that part of my world, too.
Lovely.
My head is on the pillow for all of five minutes before my phone screen lights up, blue and bright, in the darkness.
When I check the screen, my chest clenches.
Stepbrother Psychotic: Hi, Daisy.
I unlock the phone and see that Torin has started a private text conversation just between the two of us.
And he called me Daisy, the nickname he used to call me in high school. A girl I fucked had tucked a daisy into my hair one day, and I came home with it still there on one of the days that Kolina had brought Torin over.
He always thought he was bothering me with that nickname, but the joke was on him, because it never bugged me at all.
What’s next, stalker? Am I going to find you outside my window? Maybe getting off while secretly looking at me?
Don’t text me. I’m going to sleep.
Listen, if you need a weapon, I do have handmade knives and leather sheaths. You could just ask instead of rooting through my shit.
I’m fine. I have what I need.
And what are you involved with? Tell me what you really need a weapon for.
That’s not going to happen. Stay out of my business.
I’m not the one who showed up in *your* room. Your business becomes my business when I find you going through my belongings. Kind of like when you covered my hotel shower in your cum.
Well, it won’t happen again.
I see three dots pop up on the screen.
It feels like I’m waiting an eternity for his next message even though it’s probably only two minutes.
I need him to leave me alone.
I already felt like I wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep tonight, and now he’s pissing me off and getting me heated, nosing into my business as if he has any right to my personal life.
Just go back to pretending I don’t fucking exist.
I’ll do the same.
I’m about to turn off my phone when another text finally pops up.
Noah.
I exhale in frustration, rubbing my face with my palm.
Waiting around for a text that just says my goddamn name?
I tap out a reply, quickly sending off the message.
What??????
Did you make yourself come after you left my room tonight?
Bro. FUCK OFF.
He sends a kissy-face emoji before I drop my phone back on the nightstand face down. I turn over and bury my face in the cold side of my pillow, forcing myself to focus on the reverberations of the music from down the hall.