28. Micah
TWENTY-EIGHT
MICAH
Back at the dorms, the quiet feels louder than the hotel ever did.
No team shouting in the halls, no laughter bouncing off the walls—just the hum of the TV and the fake cheer of Mario Kart music.
It shouldn’t feel this loud, this heavy, but my head’s full of the hotel room and of him.
Colton. The taste of him on my tongue and the way he broke for me, soft and shaking.
I shouldn’t be smiling at that memory, but it creeps in anyway, twisting my chest tight.
Luke sprawls next to me on the beanbag, controller in one hand, a bag of Doritos in the other.
He’s grinning like he already knows too much.
“Alright, spill it,” he says, nudging me as though I’m a vending machine he’s trying to shake snacks out of.
“You and Golden Boy disappeared for, like, an hour at the hotel. Didn’t play cards, didn’t answer your phones. What the hell were you doing?”
“Sleeping,” I say flatly, eyes on the screen.
“Uh-huh.” He crunches down on a chip, not buying a word of it. “And the reason he came back with new pants? ”
My fingers tighten around the controller. My kart swerves off course and hits a banana peel, spinning out while Luke rockets past me.
“Clumsy,” I mutter.
Luke’s smirk only widens. “Sure. Look, I don’t need a play-by-play. I’m just saying… you got that look .”
I shoot him a side-eye. “What look?”
“That ‘I just got laid and I’m trying to be casual, but really I want to hum a Disney song’ look.” He kicks my beanbag for emphasis. “I know that look.”
I snort. “You’re an idiot.”
“An observant idiot,” he says, sing-song, then yelps when I ram him off Rainbow Road .
I should feel smug, but the knot in my chest only tightens.
Because he’s not wrong.
I can still feel Colton under me, the shudder of his thighs against my shoulders, the helpless little sound he made when I pushed him over the edge. The way he’d clung to me, trusting me to ruin him and hold him all at once.
And worse, the way I’d taken it too far.
I wasn’t supposed to be that possessive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But the second I got my hands on him, I couldn’t stop. Pressing him into the door like I owned him. Holding him down on that bed like he was mine.
Mine.
God, the word pulses through me, hot and stupid and dangerous.
“Hey.” Luke’s elbow jabs me, dragging me out of my head. His smirk falters into something closer to concern. “You good? ”
I force a laugh, shaking off the dark edges of my thoughts. “Yeah. Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.” He eyes me, then smirks again. “Tired… or blissed out?”
“Play the game, Luke,” I mutter, leaning forward and pretending the round actually matters.
Because if I let myself keep thinking about Colton—his mouth, his sounds, the flush creeping up his neck—I’m going to lose my mind. I’ll walk across campus and have him again, just to hear him break for me one more time.
But I can’t.
I shouldn’t .
This was supposed to be about payback. About making him feel a fraction of what I felt two years ago when he kissed me and let me burn for him—then left me choking on the fallout.
I keep telling myself I can walk away whenever I want. That I can take what I want from him and leave him needy the way he left me.
But my pulse is still racing with the memory of his taste, the way he trembled under my hands, and my cock twitches at the thought, it’s got a mind of its own.
I want him again already.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Luke’s voice cuts through the roar of the Mario Kart race. “You’re not even trying, dude.”
I blink at the screen just in time to watch my kart spin out on another banana peel. I’d been in second place. Now I’m in twelfth.
“Whatever,” I mutter, tossing the controller onto the couch cushion beside me. “I’ve got too much crap on my mind. ”
Luke smirks. “Homework crap? Or other crap?”
“Both,” I say, leaning back and stretching my arms, feigning that I’m relaxed, when really my pulse is still jumping with the memory of Colton on his knees. “Coach has been up my ass. My stats aren’t where he wants ’em. And my car’s making that sound again—so yeah, my brain’s a little fried.”
Luke snorts, unconvinced. “Right. It’s totally about your car. Not about the tension happening between you and Golden Boy last weekend.”
I force a smirk. “You’re obsessed with that guy.”
He tilts his head, watching me too closely. “I saw how fast you bailed after pizza night. And how he came back with his hood up, looking as though he just ran wind sprints in a thunderstorm. You’re telling me nothing’s going on?”
Heat crawls up my neck. I shove it down. “If anything’s going on,” I say with a shrug I hope looks bored, “it’s just me finally getting a little payback. That’s all.”
Luke whistles low. “Revenge, huh?”
I let my smirk sharpen. “Yeah. Revenge.”
The word tastes hollow, but I make it sound cocky. Like it’s just a game. Like I didn’t spend the whole bus drive back to campus thinking about his mouth and the way he whispered my name as if he’d break if I stopped.
I tell myself I can quit whenever I want. That I’ve made my point. That I can leave him aching for me and walk away before it means anything.
But my skin still buzzes as though he’s touching me, and my dick twitches just thinking about how he tasted.
I want more. I want him .
Luke starts a new race and shakes his head, grinning. “Just d on’t get stupid, Micah. Guys like Colton? They burn you if you’re not careful.”
I don’t answer. I grab my controller, keep my eyes on the screen, and pretend I’m not already burned to the bone.
By the time I leave Luke’s room, I’m strung tight.
We burned through ten rounds of Mario Kart , and he spent all of them trying to get me to talk about Colton. I played it off—shrugged, gave him nothing—but inside? I was coming apart.
Every drift and boost was just a distraction from the memory of Colton’s mouth, his groan against my cock, the way his sweats clung to crotch after I made him cum in his pants. The whole damn weekend feels like a fever dream now.
When I step into my dorm, the quiet slams into me. No roommate. Just me, my heartbeat, and the hum of the mini fridge.
I kick my sneakers off and flop onto the bed, phone in hand. I tell myself I’ll check messages, maybe doom-scroll until I crash.
Then my screen lights up.
Prism notification: 1 new image from GoldenSpiral23.
My pulse spikes instantly. My thumb hesitates for a split second before tapping it open. It’s a photo.
A bottle of lube and a box of condoms on a rumpled dorm bed.
“Fuck,” I mutter, voice breaking in the empty room.
Heat slams through me, straight to my groin. My cock stirs immediately, pressing against my zipper. My hand twitch es toward it before I stop myself, gripping the phone instead.
Another buzz.
GoldenSpiral23: Thought about you tonight.
And another.
GoldenSpiral23: Couldn’t stop.
My throat goes dry. I lean back against my pillow, staring at that photo like it’s a live feed of temptation. I told myself I’d pull back. That this was just revenge. That making him beg in that hotel room was enough.
But my cock is already hard, my body aching to ignore every rational thought I have.
I picture him here—Colton—Golden Boy, spread out and waiting, one hand on his slick cock, his mouth parted as he moans my name.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, and my brain is a blur of need and bad decisions.
I should stop. I should delete the app. I should…
My cock twitches, and my resolve cracks like thin ice.
I unbutton my jeans, tug the zipper down, and my cock springs free—hard, flushed, already dripping at the tip. I fist it and groan, letting my head fall back against the bed.
The camera app opens with a swipe. One hand wraps around my length, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke, the other lifts the phone. I angle the shot low, catching the veins along my shaft, the glint of pre-cum, and just enough of my abs to make him crazy .
Snap.
I glance at it. Filthy. Perfect. My cock looks hungry.
I send it.
Seconds later, the typing bubble appears. My heart pounds hard, echoing in my ears.
GoldenSpiral23: Fuck…
You trying to kill me?
I grin, slow and wicked, letting my thumb slide over the slick tip of my cock just to tease myself.
Me: Thought you wanted to see what you do to me.
Another long pause. Another bubble.
GoldenSpiral23: I’m hard as hell. I can’t stop thinking about your mouth. About you making me beg.
A shiver runs down my spine. I pump my cock in my fist, faster now, imagining him on his knees in the same way he was in that hotel, sweat-damp hair, those hazy, desperate eyes looking up at me.
Me: Bet you’re already touching yourself.
I don’t wait for a reply. I send another pic: my cock fully gripped in my hand this time, thumb rubbing over the piercing. I let a little of the slick pre-cum catch the light.
GoldenSpiral23: Jesus Christ, Micah .
Seeing my name on my screen does something primal to me. Like I’m already there, and I already own him.
GoldenSpiral23: I want you.
The rational voice in my head doesn’t stand a chance.
Me: Then come over.
No hesitation.
GoldenSpiral23: Give me ten minutes.
I throw the phone down and scrub a hand over my face, heart racing, cock still throbbing in my fist. My pulse is a roar in my ears.
I told myself I’d pull back. That I’d keep control.
Yeah. Right.
Instead, I’m about to let Golden Boy into my room to destroy us both all over again.
The knock comes nine minutes later.
I’m already hard, already pacing, already imagining him the way he looked in that hotel room—sweat-damp hair, pink cheeks, lips slick from my cock.
When I open the door, he’s there in a hoodie and joggers, hood pulled low as if he’s trying to hide. His hand’s stuffed in the pocket, and when he steps inside, he pulls out a small bag with lube and condoms, tossing it onto my desk.
My blood surges. “You came prepared.”