Chapter 23 #3
Which is a euphemistic way of saying that he feels guilty for being fuckbuddies with me when I have unrequited feelings for him.
It’s nothing new.
So why do I feel like I’m gonna be sick?
“There’s nothing to feel guilty about,” I tell him, keeping my voice even despite my heart being torn to fucking shreds. “We’re two consenting adults. I don’t know how close you are to this Seth, but he doesn’t know me from Adam, so he has no right to project his experiences onto me.”
“True,” Tyler says after a short pause. “He was probably being protective. Can’t fault him for that. But you’re right, it’s got nothing to do with him.”
He’s agreeing with me, so I don’t know why I still feel like shit.
“Does that mean you’re going back to your morning workouts?”
“Yeah, might as well.” He shoots me a smile and a wink. “It also means I’ll have more energy in the evenings.”
The joke doesn’t land, but I smile anyway. “Win-win.”
“That’s right.”
A question burns on the tip of my tongue, and I take a moment to consider whether I should ask.
I bite the bullet.
“Would you…mind another gym buddy? I’ve been thinking of getting into an exercise routine, especially now that I’m close to finishing the massage course and will need to build strength,” I rush to explain.
“It would be nice to know someone at the gym already, so I don’t feel too weird.
” I’ll still feel weird and out of place, but not as much as if I went on my own.
I don’t know what response I’m expecting, but Tyler’s beaming smile and excitement flashing in his eyes is not it.
“For real? Hell yeah! I can show you the ropes.” He’s practically vibrating now. “When do you want to start? Wanna go tomorrow? Is six too early?”
“No, that’s…that’s fine.” Welp, now I have to go. RIP sleeping in. “I don’t think I have any workout clothes, though.”
“Please, have you seen my attire? Just wear a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt, you’ll be fine.”
“Oh. Okay. I can do that.”
“Sweet.” He slaps my thigh, and I squeal. “We’ll turn you into a gymbro in no time.”
“God, no.”
“Hey, I resent that!”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Tyler huffs and, I kid you not, pouts.
I wanna kiss that pout right off.
So I do.
Setting the plate and the drink down, I lean in to steal a kiss, which is a bit challenging in our current set up, but I refuse to move otherwise.
Tyler blinks, slightly dazed from the surprise kiss, before his eyes narrow.
“Don’t think a kiss is gonna let you off the hook.”
“No? Then, what would?”
His eyes narrow, and between one blink and the next he’s on me, literally. His weight settles on top of me as I’m pressed into the couch, and his mouth descends on mine with a single-minded purpose: to take.
Closing a hand around my jaw, his tongue pushes between my lips, impatient as if he’s dying for a taste of me.
His other slides under my T-shirt, warm and heavy.
It settles briefly over my heart, which thumps pitifully, before moving to my nipple.
He rubs his palm over it, then flicks it with his thumb, hard.
I cry into his mouth, the pleasure-pain sending an electric shock through my whole body. I feel him grin against my lips, like he’s proud he discovered something new, a new way to drive me insane.
He didn’t. I can’t even count the number of times he’s taken me apart only to build me back from scratch.
And I’ve loved it every single time. At times like this, it’s so hard to forget our arrangement is just temporary.
Tyler doesn’t come across as someone who just started exploring his sexuality.
He doesn’t hold back, he doesn’t overthink.
He certainly has no qualms about getting closely acquainted with every part of my body.
If anything, I’m the one with qualms, constantly waiting for him to freak out.
A part of me might even be hoping for it to happen.
Because that would at least make sense. Sure, it would hurt, a lot.
But it wouldn’t leave me confused and uprooted, and, most importantly, it wouldn’t leave me creating make-believe scenarios of what we could become.
And Tyler doesn’t make it easy. When we have sex, he doesn’t tear my clothes off and spread my legs before burying himself inside me, fucking me hard until he gets off.
He doesn’t flip me on my stomach so he can fuck me without looking at my face, or my dick.
He doesn’t race towards the finish line like I’m just another notch he can’t wait to carve into his belt.
Instead, he always kisses me long and deep, with all the time in the world.
His hands map the shape of my body, as if he’s preparing to make a sculpture out of me and needs to memorize every detail.
Even when he enters me, it’s sensual and strangely reverent.
He treats me like I’m special, precious.
Not a dirty slut, so desperate for cock that he used to give up his ass and mouth to strangers in dirty bathrooms because he couldn’t hold back anymore.
Tyler treats me like a lover.
And it kills me.