27. Arlo
I load weights onto the bar while glaring at the clock on the wall. Maybe if I look at it sternly enough, it’ll skitter back fifteen minutes. Maybe then Hota will stride into the locker room, strip out of his school uniform—which is always the most glorious torture—and get dressed in shorts and a tight-ass T-shirt, and we’d work out together like we had for the last month and a half. Like he was supposed to. Like he should have. But he didn’t, the clock didn’t, and he’s not here.
“Need a spot?”
When I drag my gaze away from the uncooperative clock, Miles Reymon slides a clip onto the far side of my bar. The guy is a year or two older and taking A levels, I think. They’re classes taken in year twelve and the other in year thirteen to assess your aptitude for university.
He’s big and wide. The blond guy looks like Apollo came down from Olympus. He has approximately two percent body fat, thanks to the performance-enhancing drugs he takes. No way a person gets the size of a small military tank with pure muscle stacked on top of muscle without a little help.
He peddles them too.
Our suspicions were confirmed when we saw him exchanging with a few guys in the gym months back. And now those guys are quickly catching up in armored-vehicle size.
The last thing I need is his greedy eyes on me. I need fucking Hota to show up.
I shake my head and wave him off.
He gives me a seductive smile that would work on nearly anyone else. I’ve seen it happen. I still remember the first time he hit on Hota. That day, I got a personal best on squats because I pictured myself lifting Miles over my shoulders and chucking him across the room.
Luckily, Hota hadn’t taken the guy up on his offer.
But Nate?
I roll my shoulders and survey the back of the gym, where the asshole in question usually works out with his wrestling buddies. Where Hota worked out while I was losing my shit. Neither of them are there.
My stomach roils.
“Are you sure?” Miles pipes up from a rack one over. I’m surprised he’s still here, still bothering me. “I’m good with big weight, and I’m developing a thing for the strong, silent type.”
The guy’s blue eyes gleam. He snags his lower lip in his white teeth. He has quite the packaging, and not a single thing about him moves me. He’s not Hota.
I ignore him while I strip the weights I’d just put on the bar and hurry to the locker room. I grab my ratty old duffel bag, the one that makes me shiver whenever I touch it. The one with too many ugly memories from that horrible place associated with it. Then I hurry to the dorm.
By the time I get there, I’ve run through several terrifying scenarios as to why Hota missed the gym. Sickness. His dad came and pulled him out of school. He’s fucking Nate.
There’ve been a ton of parents on campus today. I’ve tried to ignore the fact that I have none. Maybe it’s like fucking early summer move-out or something. It’s not even a viable possibility, but my brain won’t acknowledge that. I’m spinning.
No matter the reason, all the options are bad. Terrible, really.
My heart pounds in my ears as I unlock my door and slip inside. It’s all I can hear for several seconds.
The door to the bathroom is open on my side.
It’s enough reassurance that I’m able to drag in several calming breaths. Then I step forward.
His side is closed.
I swallow hard. It hasn’t been closed in weeks. And it was only closed before that because I closed it.
Then I hear it. Hota’s too familiar grunts.
My skin flashes hot, and my cock stands at attention.
These grunts are harder than before. When he used to jerk off to porn twice a day, they were softer, more breathy. These are the grunts of hard work.
I picture his pants around his ankles and his hips snapping forward, pounding into Nate’s ass.
“Fuck!” I choke, grabbing the leaking head of my cock.
It’s the wrong move. My hips jerk, accepting the invitation. My knees go weak, and my heart thuds a staccato against my sternum.
The grunts get stronger and more strained.
My feet move of their own accord. I didn’t permit them, but I doubt I can stop them. Closer to his door, the growl sounds are even more ferocious. I grip the knob, swallow, and turn it.
Hota’s chest is bare. His caramel skin is slicked with sweat. Boxer briefs cling to his thighs and mold too perfectly around his hips. And he’s upside-fucking-down, doing handstand push-ups against his other door.
I scan the room for Nate. There’s no one else here.
He grunts one last time, then gracefully slings his legs off the wall. When he’s upright, his face is flushed red like he’s been fucking hard and fast.
My throat goes dry.
“Hey.” He assesses me with a quirked brow. “Why aren’t you at the gym?”
“Why aren’t you at the gym?”
His brow falls. “Nate didn’t tell you?”
My molars grind, and I squeeze my cock. “Tell me what? That you aren’t going to make it because you have a date tonight?”
His head jerks back, then cocks to the side.
“I’m sorry.” I release my cock, which I really should have done a solid thirty seconds ago, grab the door, and shift to leave.
“Wait!” Hota grabs the door, and we wrestle for control for half a second before my lust-soaked body gives up. He takes a step closer, his gaze scorching my body. “You thought…” His head tilts to the other side.
Dammit, my fingers itch to touch him. To plow my fingers through his hair and crash his lips to mine.
Then my brain goes fuzzy with fear.
What if he touches me and I go back to that horrible place? What if his touch reminds me of him ? What if I can’t take his cock? What If I lose him?
“You thought I was in here fucking?”
“I…” My cheeks heat, and my stupid cock refuses to settle, despite my frantic thoughts.
“You thought I was in here fucking Nate?” He grins, and that playful edge of deviance I haven’t seen from him in too many weeks sparks to life.
“Why are you smiling about that?” Though, I fucking love his smile.
“Because you’re jealous.” He takes a step forward. I hold my ground, refusing to be scared off by his words.
“I’m not jealous of Nate.”
Yes, the fuck I am jealous of Nate because he’s not broken goods. He can say what he wants and put his hands on Hota.
“You came in here to watch, then?” His perfect lips purse, sharpening his cheekbones.
“Maybe I did.” I jut my chin. It’s a safer admission than the first.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s just me.”
“You never disappoint me.” I’m willing to admit a lot with him shirtless and flirty in front of me.
He’s been so careful with me lately. So tame. So un-Hota-like. I understand why. I’m like a feral dog. One wrong move and I’m running away. I hate it. I miss him, the full version.
The deviant.
A smile blooms across Hota’s face. It’s like being attacked by happiness. If he’s happy, there’s no way I can’t be happy.
I feel my lips stretch, not near matching his wattage. Still, it’s nice. It lightens the weight on my shoulders.
“How long has it been since you jerked off?”
My smile falls. “Hota.” But my heart races, and my blood rushes south.
“Too long.” He answers for me. “What were you going to do when you got in here?” His tongue skates over his lower lip. “Sit in that chair, pull your dick out, and stroke it every time I shoved inside his body?”
A whimper escapes my throat. My cock pulses.
“You were.” Hota palms his growing length through his thin briefs.
My hips rock forward, seeking friction.
“Put your hands in your shorts.” Hota’s chin jerks toward me.
“I…” I’m a chickenshit. I want to, but I’m scared and horny, and oh God. I plunge my hands into my shorts and move my underwear out of the way. One hand cups my balls while the other hangs tentatively just in front of my cock.
“Grab your dick, Arlo. Stroke it.”
Fuck. He’s back and more potent than ever. His confidence is so abundant it has no choice but to rub off on me. That thought makes me groan.
Hota presses his hips forward, straining against his hand. A dot of moisture turns his gray boxer briefs black near the waistband. He moans, and the muscles strain across his chest and abdomen.
I grip my base and shuttle my hand up my length. My feet brace wider, and my hips join in, frenzied to feel something good.
“That big, beautiful dick is yours, Arlo. You can play with it whenever you want.” Hota clenches his cock through his boxers and strokes himself hard. On every downward move, the fat head peeks out. It’s almost purple with pumping blood flow and weeping.
“Oh, fuck.” My hips thrust up, and my hand jerks back, matching his furious pace. I eat up every inch of his stunning body with my greedy gaze.
“You can watch me anytime you want,” Hota pants.
“Fuck, yes.” My balls draw up tight. My brain buzzes. My eyes close against my will.
“Come, Arlo.” Hota groans. “Make a fucking mess.”
The sounds that come out of me are barely human. A tingle starts at the base of my spine and shoots outward in every direction, overriding everything else. Hot jets of cum spurt out my cock head and catch in my shorts.
“That’s fucking it.” I can tell he’s close by his strained voice.
I force my eyes open. “Come for me,” I beg.
“I am.” He strains, his entire body arching like a bow. His head tips toward the sky, and the front of his boxer briefs go black.
My legs quiver, and I feel a little like upright jelly. I sag against the doorframe, hands still in my pants. Embarrassment creeps in, cold and unwelcome as the gorge of euphoria dissipates.
Hota slips his hand from his cock and wipes it on the outside of his underwear. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I quirk a brow at him and look at the rumpled mess I am.
He licks his lips, and I’m tempted to stroke myself again. Why can Miles do it, and I hate it, but when Hota does it, I’m ready to come?
“You own your pleasure. No one else. You used it. There’s no shame in that.” He points between us. “No shame in this.” He glances at the clock. “As much as I’d like to stay and talk this out, I have to get ready for the athletic banquet.” His mouth forms a cute quirk. “I didn’t know about it until this afternoon. Nate told me, and I asked him to tell you since he was headed to his counselor’s office, which is where you were at the time.”
End-of-the-year interviews and prep for next year’s classes.
“Oh.” I pull my hand from my pants, pull my shirt off, and then use it to clean myself up as much as possible right now. “I finished early and headed to the gym.”
Hota smiles.
“So that’s why all the parents are here? Athletic banquet?”
“Yeah.” His smile falls. “It’s dumb. I don’t want to go, but it’s required, apparently.”
“Your dad?—”
Hota shakes his head. His sweat-soaked hair clings to the sides of his face in little clumps. “He wouldn’t have come before. He won’t come now.” He rolls his shoulders like it doesn’t matter.
My heart squeezes. I know it matters.
“Don’t overthink it while I’m gone.” He looks from my crotch to his. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I agree because I won’t be stewing in my room. I’ll be in the audience at the athletic banquet.
“Good. Now be quick in the bathroom, I have to grab one and get going.”
I nod, go wash up as quickly and efficiently as I can, thankful I didn’t stay and work out. When heading to my room, I call out to Hota, “All yours.”
The shower turns on a minute later. After months of nothing in the southern region, my cock jumps to life again. My door is still open, and I’m tempted to peek inside. I don’t, but not because I feel bad about doing so. I have to figure out what I’m going to wear to this awards banquet.
Today is Friday and we usually bring our clothes to the laundry on Saturdays, which means it’s slim pickings. It doesn’t take me long to decide, but I don’t pull them out yet. I want to surprise him.
It’s the least I can do after literally everything he’s done for me.
A jolt of pleasure rolls through my body, warming my heart. I need to thank Hota. Without him?—
My phone rings.
It has the same effect as a grenade, only I’m still in one piece. At least from the outside. On the inside, my pointy and jagged pieces rattle, cutting through what solace I’d found.
I stare at it as though it might explode. The last time it rang, it shattered the perfect corner I’d managed to carve out for myself.
Hota slithers around the corner. His hair is wet from the shower and droplets of it cling to him like I wish I could.
“I have it.” He holds a towel around his waist with one hand and waves me off with the other. Though I hadn’t moved a bit since it rang. He grabs the receiver and puts it to his ear. “Mr. Judge’s room.”
He nods. “Yes, sir. The banquet. I’m on my way out the door now.” Clearly, he’s not. His gaze lifts to me, a slight grimace tugging at his gorgeous features. “Yes, sir. He is. One moment.”
With a jerk of his head, he coaxes me over. “It’s the headmaster.” His voice is cheery. His face is stalwart.
I peel myself off the chair and walk the two steps it takes to get to Hota on stiff legs. He holds the receiver between us and puts his face on one side of it. I follow suit, trying my best to swallow down the panic.
Why is he calling? Have they found my uncle? Has he somehow survived?
“Hi, Headmaster Bridgeport. What can I do for you?”
The older man clears his throat. “Mr. Judge, we can’t seem to get ahold of your uncle to schedule your end of year pickup.” There’s no question in there. So I wait. “Um, have you spoken to him lately?” He gives a pained sound. “I…I mean, I did a little digging.”
Hota’s gaze meets mine. There’s such calm in his eyes that my rising panic settles.
“Yes, sir?” I prod.
“You know, your family history. I know you just came to be in his care.”
Hota’s teeth grind. I give him a measuring smile. As big of one as I can manage.
“I suspect you two weren’t close.” The headmaster drags out the last word.
“I didn’t know he existed until after the accident.” My legs shift restlessly.
“Goodness. Does he know you speak?”
“Yes, sir.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice or the smile on my face. “He knows.”
Hota offers a reassuring nod.
“Right then. Have you spoken to him lately?”
“No, sir.” Not since I killed him. Though I keep that last part to myself and lie a little. “Not since the Christmas holiday.”
I didn’t speak to him on holiday. I didn’t even scream when he raped me over and over. I didn’t cry when he beat me or told me how worthless I was.
I hadn’t spoken to him since he thrashed me so hard he thought he’d stolen my voice.
“Do you have any idea where he might be or how we might get ahold of him?”
“No, sir. We’re not close.”
Hota nods as though reassuring himself that was indeed a fact.
“Okay,” he stutters and stalls. “I’m going to contact the local police to do a welfare check on him.”
Surprisingly, my heart doesn’t race at that news. I knew this would happen. There are a few more hurdles before I’m truly free. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help.”
With a quick yep, the line goes dead. Hota hangs it up and gives me a steady smile.
I don’t know if it’s impressive that we’re not freaking out right now or scary how calm we are.
“You have to hurry.” I shoo Hota toward his room. “Banquet.”
He stays right in front of me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” I smile. “You need to leave so I can get dressed and make it in time for your awards.”
His mouth falls open. He snaps it closed. “You’re coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, unless neither of us have pants on.”
“Well, that would be more fun.” He winks. “But I’d like to make the team next year. Best not to piss off Coach.” He grins with his whole face and rushes for the door, but stalls. “How do you know I’m getting awards?”
“Because you’re you.” I shrug like he usually shrugs. It feels good. I smile as he dashes out the door.
He wins awards for the wrestling team’s most valuable wrestler, most first place wins, and the regional champion. And his gaze finds mine in the crowd every time he leaves the stage. Maybe I can’t touch his skin right now, but I can touch him where it means the most. His heart. I hope one day to be able to touch him. Even if I can’t, I will support him, always.