Chapter 13
The second I hear the bathroom door close behind Jazz, I put my head back in my hands and let out a soft groan.
I thought I’d been discreet when I made my exit from the bar earlier, and with Jazz occupied with his set I figured I’d have some time to myself to get rid of this predicament without risking another awkward encounter like earlier.
Well, clearly I was wrong on both fronts.
I have no idea how Jazz figured out the cause of my arousal, but it’s obvious the creepy little bastard couldn’t be happier about the situation. I, meanwhile, couldn’t be more agitated.
Or more turned on.
And I don’t fucking understand why.
I rub my palm over the front of my jeans, where my painfully hard cock is on the verge of tearing open my fly.
For the millionth time, I desperately beg my erection to go down, but it’s not working.
My cock must be fucking drunk or something, because it just keeps throbbing more insistently with every word I replay from that conversation with Jazz.
Conversation. More like torture session. Who the fuck comes into a bathroom and spies on a guy over the stall wall? Fucking creep was probably hoping to catch me jerking off.
I groan as the memory of Jazz’s parting words makes my cock throb painfully. I can’t do it. I just can’t. Not here. Not when it’s exactly what he wants me to do.
But I can’t think of any other way out of this situation either. I can’t just stay locked in this stall forever. And my dick doesn’t seem to be on board with returning to its normal, un-fucked up way of behaving.
Feeling like absolute shit, and yet somehow more turned on that ever, I finally unzip my fly and pull out my hard, angry cock.
I should stand and do this in the toilet, but it seems that now I’m finally giving my cock the attention it wants, none of my other limbs are functioning properly. All I can do is slump back against the toilet and let waves of relief, lust, and shame wash over me as my fist flies over my dick.
Jesus, what if Jazz decided to return to the bathroom and found me like this?
I’d probably come, I realize with a groan. I don’t know if it’s dread, or desire, or both. I just know if that little shit walked in right now flashing that knowing smirk, I’d spray my load right in his pretty face.
And I doubt he’d hesitate for even a second to return the favor.
My orgasm surges up in a blind rush, hitting me completely off guard. Before I can make an effort to catch it with some toilet paper or something, cum is spurting all over my hand and onto my jeans and the bottom of my t-shirt.
I rest my head back on the wall behind the toilet, breathing heavily as I come down from the high of the orgasm. My body is singing with relief and satisfaction, but my mind is a storm of confusion and my gut is a pit of shame.
What the hell was that at the end? I didn’t… I jerk my head sharply, because no. There’s no way I orgasmed from the thought of Jazz coming on me. It was pure coincidence. That would be so gross. And dirty. And…
“Unless of course you want me to empty my load on you? Then I’d be happy to oblige.”
No. Fuck no. I give a hard shake of my head to banish the memory of his creepy words. I don’t want his cum, or his dick—or anything of his for that matter—anywhere near me.
His final words are still ringing in my ears, however. I didn’t want to think about there being a next time. I wanted this to be a one-off freak thing. But as I look down at what I’ve done to myself, I know that’s unlikely to be the case.
Even the shame of coming all over myself like a fucking teenager is mingled with threads of lust. I can only imagine the fun Jazz would have if he witnessed this right now. If there’s a nineties song about cum, he’d find it and sing it on repeat.
I shake my head to banish the thought. Who the fuck cares? Jazz is never finding out about this. Neither is anyone else.
I finally spur myself into action and clean my hand off with some toilet paper before doing the best I can for the mess on my clothes. I’ll need to finish the job with some water so it’ll probably look like I’ve pissed myself or something. Great.
I tuck my traitorous cock away and emerge from the stall, relieved to find the bathroom free of cocky twenty-one-year-old assholes.
After I’ve cleaned up and dried off as best as I can, I finally leave the bathroom and head back out to the bar.
“You okay?” Gia asks me, concern written all over her features.
“I’m fine.”
“You can go home if you’re not feeling great. It’s not that busy.”
Well, I guess her assuming I’ve spent the past half hour taking a shit is better than the reality.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. It’ll suck giving up the extra few hours of tips, but with the way my head’s all messed up right now there’s a high probability of me screwing up some orders. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.”
She nods. “No worries. And if you’re feeling better tomorrow you can make up the hours then. I asked Mel to cover for me, but I think she could use the help.”
I smile at her. “Thanks, you’re amazing.” She’s not wrong—Gia usually does the work of about three bartenders so if she has to take time off we definitely need more than one person to cover her shift.
“Oh, and don’t worry—Jazz won’t be here to annoy you tomorrow. He has family stuff.”
I arch a brow at her. “Jazz has a family? I kind of just assumed he was like one of those apex predators who hatched in the wild, ate all their siblings and then survived on their own, feeding on creatures weaker than them.”
She tosses her head back with a wild laugh.
“Okay, maybe when it comes to guys he can get a bit like that. But his family is a totally different matter. They’re really tight knit, which you wouldn’t expect for a bunch of Ritchie Rich types.
And he’s really sweet with them, especially his little sister. ”
My brows shoot up in incredulity. Jazz? Sweet? We must be talking about a different person.
Obviously registering my shock, Gia offers me a soft smile.
“You know he’s only messing with you, right?
With the whole singing thing? If it makes you really uncomfortable you can tell him to stop and he will.
He can be an asshole sometimes but he won’t push it if you tell him to cut it out.
” She lets out a wry chuckle, shaking her head in exasperation.
“To be honest, I think the only reason he’s still doing it is because you haven’t cracked and told him to stop yet. ”
“I can handle Jazz,” I assure her. But the words feel like a total lie in my mouth. Maybe earlier today they would have been true, but not after what happened in the bathroom.
But at least I can look forward to a reprieve tomorrow.
I glance over to the table where Blake, Shay, and Jamie had been sitting. They’re no longer there, so I take my phone out of my back pocket and am not surprised to see a text from Blake.
Blake Forrester
Decided to call it. Tried to find you but apparently you’re working in the back. Great bar, definitely coming back soon! See you at home.
I let out an exhausted sigh. That’s exactly what I need. For Blake to turn this bar into a regular hangout.
“Hey, you’re home early,” Blake comments when I stride into the kitchen and start rummaging through the pantry.
I shrug. “I’m covering tomorrow night so finished up a bit earlier tonight.”
“Oh. I guess you forgot about the thing at the Kellys’ place tomorrow?”
I wince. Yes, I had forgotten. What with all the boners and the creepy asshole insisting on tormenting me and the jerking off in the bathroom thing, it definitely slipped my mind that Owen’s gigantic family are holding a get together at the family house on Staten Island tomorrow.
“Sorry, man, I totally forgot,” I say with an apologetic smile.
“I already said I’d work. It’s not, like, a really special occasion is it? ”
He waves me away in his typical good-natured fashion. “Nah, it’s fine. They do this kind of thing pretty regularly. I just thought it’d be fun for you to get to know the rest of Owen’s family.”
I give a wry shake of my head. I’ve met so many members of Owen’s family recently it feels impossible to imagine there are more of them.
“Oh, and I’m pretty sure Sunny’s going to be there,” Blake adds.
“Oh, well now I’m sold,” I deadpan, prompting Blake to let out a bark of laughter.
Sunny is our mom, and obviously I love her, but our relationship is…complicated. To start with, let’s just say she’s better taken in small doses. She’s the kind of person that everyone absolutely adores, but generally for the same qualities that make having her for a mother incredibly frustrating.
No one wants to kick off their fourth grade birthday party with a graphic re-telling of their journey down the birth canal. Or learn that their mom has been blackballed from the middle school bake sale because she “spaced” and forgot not to put pot in the brownies.
And then there’s the fact that she took off on one of her whims while I was at a summer football camp in college and just didn’t come back.
Her exact words when I eventually tracked her down were, “Well, darling, you’re all grown up now, I didn’t think you needed further mothering.
But let me know if you’re ever in Guatemala—I can put you in touch with my curandero. ”
Needless to say, mother-son bonding isn’t my top priority at the moment.
“You’re both in the same city now,” Blake points out. “You’ll have to spend quality time with her sooner or later.”
“I’ll take later,” I say wryly, grabbing a packet of trail mix from one of the shelves in front of me. “You mind?” I ask Blake.
He waves me off. “Take whatever you want. I can make you a proper dinner if you’re hungry, though.”
Tempting, but after today’s insane events I kind of just want to be on my own for a bit. “Thanks, but I’ve got some soup in the fridge upstairs so I’m good.”
He nods. “Okay, well I’m making up some pasta for when Owen gets home from his shift, so if you’re hungry later just come down and grab some.”
“Great, thanks.”
I take my snack upstairs to my ‘suite,’ still marveling at how my brother’s house features what basically amounts to a studio apartment on its top floor.
I settle on the sofa and flick on the TV, scrolling through the streaming apps and looking for something easy and distracting to watch.
But my efforts to distract myself from the insane events of today don’t last very long. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, and as soon as I see the text, everything comes screaming back.
Jazz Grimsay
I know what you did dirty boy
Naughty Damon. So hard up you couldn’t even wait to get home to jerk off
I know he doesn’t actually know with a hundred per cent certainty what I did in the bathroom, but he’s made an educated guess based on the state he left me in, and of course he’s guessed right.
Even so, I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.
Me
You don’t know shit
Jazz Grimsay
I know lots
I know you’re usually a pretty easy going guy. You’re comfortable in your own skin. Don’t get rattled easily. You probably get embarrassed from time to time—everyone does. But humiliation isn’t an emotion you’re all that familiar with
I know all it took was one look from me to rattle you to your bones.
And I know you liked it. You like being made to squirm. Being pushed out of your comfort zone. Feeling your whole body run hot. Those prickles and tingles you get…it’s like a drug. And you’ve been hooked from day one.
I knew it turned you on. And now you do too
So now we both know you’re a dirty slut who touches himself at work
We both know you’re a messy boy who gets cum all over his jeans when he rubs it out
And we both know you’re hard as stone right now
Fuck. I groan and toss my head back against the couch, using a cushion to cover my crotch as though hiding my raging boner from the zero other people in the room might make his words untrue.
The seemingly endless stream of texts appears to have stopped but I honestly have no idea what I’m supposed to say to all that.
Nothing. I should say absolutely nothing. I should not be engaging in this. But fuck, how the hell does he know all this?
And why—why—is this happening to me?
It’s true that I don’t usually rattle easily, but that doesn’t explain why it’s him having this effect on me. Or why it’s fucking turning me on. Who the hell gets turned on by being shamed and humiliated and pushed miles beyond their comfort zone?
Jazz Grimsay
I’m assuming the lack of response is because your hands are busy flogging that monstrous dick of yours
You should maybe see someone about that. I mean, there’s big, and then there’s TOO big
Is that why your marriage broke down? Your wife got tired of riding your massive cock? Poor woman must have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon by now
Fucking little shit. My dick is slightly above average, nothing to write to Guinness World Records about. Definitely not too big to shove down Jazz’s throat and make him shut up for once.
My whole body stiffens as I register the thought that just went through my head. What. The. Actual. Fuck? Since when do I think about putting my cock anywhere near another guy’s mouth? And Jazz of all people? He’d probably bite the head off and just keep smirking.
Me
My dick is not too big. I can only imagine your dick must be pretty small if you’re convinced mine is so enormous
Jazz Grimsay
Ah, so you’re imagining my dick now?
Fucking hell. I just fell into another trap, didn’t I?
Me
That’s not what I meant asshole
Jazz Grimsay
You are though, aren’t you dirty boy? You’re sitting there hard as fuck and wondering how big my cock is. Do you want to know whether I’m cut or uncut as well? What about girth?
Jesus Christ. Why the hell does he have this power over me? I don’t care what his cock looks like. That’s not something I ever need or want to know about. And yet for some insane reason, I still can’t seem to stop my brain from speculating.
I need to just ignore his texts and focus on something else. If I relax and just chill for a bit the boner will go down and these ridiculous thoughts will stop.
I’m sure as fuck not sexting with Jazz Grimsay. The incident in the bathroom today was bad enough; I’m not going to give him any more ammunition.
And the fact that my idiotic cock seems to like it when he fires at me is irrelevant. I’m a strong-willed guy; I’m not going to let my dick make decisions for me.