CHAPTER 7 #2
My heart is pounding so loud I'm certain he can hear it. Every muscle in my body is locked tight. I'm barely breathing, terrified that any movement will give me away.
Another soft sound from below. Barely audible. A quiet gasp Kane couldn't quite suppress.
My cock twitches.
No.
Absolutely not.
We are not doing this.
But my body apparently didn't get the memo because I'm getting hard. Actually hard. From listening to my annoying, uptight, frustratingly hot roommate touch himself in the dark.
This is bad.
This is so astronomically bad.
The sounds continue—so quiet, so controlled, but unmistakable once you know what you're listening for. The rustle of sheets. Kane's breathing getting slightly rougher. Small, breathy noises he can't quite hold back despite his obvious attempts at silence.
Each sound goes straight to my cock like a direct line.
I'm pressed against the mattress, my erection trapped between my body and the bed, and I don't dare move. Don't dare adjust. Don't dare do anything that might alert Kane to the fact that I'm awake and listening and getting increasingly, painfully turned on.
My brain is helpfully supplying images I absolutely do not want and desperately need. Kane's hand wrapped around his cock. Those long, scarred fingers. The focused intensity he brings to everything—skating, note-taking, organizing—now directed entirely at his own pleasure.
Stop. Thinking. About it.
Except I can't stop. The sounds are right there. Quiet but devastating. My imagination fills in the rest—the way his abs would contract with each stroke, his head tilting back against the pillow, his lips parted around those soft gasps.
Would his face have that same intense focus? Or would it be completely undone, all that careful control shattered?
Another sound from below. Slightly louder this time. A gasp that's almost a groan, quickly bitten back.
My cock throbs painfully. I'm so hard it hurts, trapped against the mattress, and I still can't move. Or breathe. Or think about anything except what's happening three feet below me.
The rhythm of movement increases slightly. Kane's breathing gets heavier. He's close—I can tell from the subtle changes, the way the sounds are coming faster now.
This is torture. Actual, literal torture.
I shouldn't be turned on by this. We're teammates.
We've known each other for five days. Five days of mostly arguing and mutual irritation.
This is an accident. He thinks I'm asleep.
I should not—absolutely should not—be lying here with my cock hard and aching, hanging on every quiet gasp like my life depends on it.
But I am.
God help me, I am.
Kane's breathing hitches. A soft, breathy groan he can't quite suppress—
I hold my breath, my entire body wound tight as a bowstring.
Then silence.
Complete, devastating silence.
I lie perfectly still, not daring to move, my erection pressing insistently against my stomach. My heart is racing so fast I'm worried I might actually be having a medical emergency. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire.
Seconds pass. Maybe a minute. I've lost all sense of time.
Below me, I hear the quiet rustle of tissues. Movement. Then Kane settles back into his bunk with a soft exhale.
Minutes tick by in agonizing slowness. Kane's breathing gradually evens out, deepens, falls into the steady rhythm of sleep.
He fell asleep.
He just came and fell asleep like it was nothing.
Meanwhile, I'm lying here in the dark, harder than I've been in months, having a complete mental breakdown.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
I wait until I'm absolutely certain Kane is asleep—his breathing deep and even for at least ten minutes—before I let myself move.
Carefully, slowly, I shift onto my back. My cock is still achingly hard, tenting my boxer briefs, demanding attention.
This is wrong, I know. But I'm so fucking turned on I can barely think straight, and the memory of those sounds is burned into my brain like a brand.
My hand slides into my waistband.
The first touch sends electricity shooting through me. I'm already so worked up that it's not going to take much. I wrap my fingers around my dick, and it's almost too much sensation after lying there wound tight for so long.
I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making any sound. The last thing I need is for Kane to wake up and find me doing exactly what he just did.
My hand moves slowly at first, cautious, but the need builds too fast. I speed up, working myself with quick, efficient strokes, trying to stay as silent as possible.
The sounds replay in my head on loop. Those quiet gasps. The soft groan he couldn't quite hold back. The rustle of fabric and the subtle shift of movement.
My imagination runs like a wild animal—Kane's hand sliding down his cock, his face slack with pleasure, his body tense and then releasing. The way he would look completely undone, all that careful control shattered.
Would he look at me like that? If I were the one touching him? Would he make those same sounds, or would he be louder? Would he tell me what he wanted, or would I have to figure it out myself?
Fuck.
My hand speeds up, grip tightening. I'm close already.
I think about Kane's hands. Those long fingers. The scar across his thumb I've been noticing. Those hands on me, or me on him, or—
The orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I barely manage to catch it in my fist, my other hand clamped over my mouth to muffle any sound. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, so intense I see stars behind my closed eyelids. My hips jerk involuntarily, cock pulsing in my grip as I come harder than I have in months.
Holy shit.
I lie there in the aftermath, heart pounding, cum cooling on my fingers, trying to process what just happened.
I jerked off to the sound of Kane jerking off.
That's what I just did.
That's the choice I just made.
I wince at my cum sticking my fingers, then wipe it off on the sheets. No fucking way I’m getting up to clean myself up now.
My heart’s still pounding as I’m staring at the dark ceiling, my body finally relaxed but my mind racing at a thousand miles per hour.
Kane is annoying. Kane is uptight. Kane talks like a hockey textbook and organizes his life with the precision of a military operation.
Kane is not someone I should be attracted to.
This is a problem.
This is a huge fucking problem.
Below me, Kane sleeps peacefully, completely unaware that he just accidentally destroyed any remaining illusion I had that my feelings toward him were purely professional irritation.
I don't sleep for the rest of the night.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear those sounds. Those quiet, desperate gasps. And my traitorous body responds immediately, ready to go again.
By the time Kane's first alarm goes off at 5, I'm exhausted, confused, and pretty sure I've made a terrible mistake.
Not the jerking off part.
The catching…feelings part.
No. Not feelings. Fuck the feelings.
What the fuck do I do now?