Chapter 9 Liam #2
Her dorm door clicked open. The place was small: two twin beds, two desks, string lights, and an overflowing bulletin board plastered with photos of her friends and sticky notes with motivational quotes.
It smelled faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent. Very girly.
She stepped inside and tugged me after her. The moment the door shut, she leaned up and kissed me. Like really kissed me—hands in my hair, her body pressing against mine. She pulled away with a wild look in her eyes.
“Hey captain,” she said.
I smirked and kissed her back, letting myself sink into it. Her lips, the slide of her hands at the back of my neck, the small sound she made when I pulled her closer—it all felt good. Really good.
My heartbeat kicked up, and my hands found her waist, her shirt.
My pulse thudded hard in my throat as she pulled me toward the bed, sitting and drawing me down with her. Her hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, fingertips warm against my skin. Heat rushed low in my stomach, and my dick hardened.
“You okay?” she whispered, breath warm against my cheek.
“Yeah, very okay,” I said, my voice rough.
Then the door burst open.
“Hey Em, did you—AHH! OH GOD—sorry! Sorry!”
Her roommate froze in the doorway, backpack half on, half off, eyes wide like she’d just walked in on a homicide.
Emily shoved me upright as she scrambled to pull her shirt back down. “Maya! I texted you!”
“You said maybe don’t come back!“ Maya said. “Maybe! Not definitely! Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m leaving, I’m leaving—“
She backed out so fast she hit the doorframe with her shoulder, muttered something like “kill me later,” and vanished.
Silence fell.
“Awkward,” I said.
Emily looked away. “I’m... really sorry.”
I grabbed her face and pulled it back to mine. “It’s fine... It happens.”
She tried to laugh it off, but the spark from before had dimmed. It wasn’t her fault, but the moment was gone. The shift was too sharp, too jarring.
My brain was already sliding back into the tight coil of worry I’d spent the entire dinner trying to outrun.
“Do you... wanna still—“
“Nah, I should head back. Early practice anyway.”
She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”
I stood and forced an easy smile. She walked me to the door and I grabbed her face and kissed her.
“I really appreciate you, Em. Thanks for celebrating tonight.”
Her eyes dropped to the floor and she smiled.
“We’ll find time. Don’t worry.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close.
She looked up at me with that twinkle in her eyes. “Good night, Liam.”
I walked out of the building feeling warm, confused, guilty, and more wound up than before. So much for relieving stress.
The walk back to my dorm was quiet. Campus had settled into that late-night stillness—just the hum of streetlights and the distant sound of someone’s music leaking through a window. I kept my hands shoved in my pockets, replaying the night in my head.
Emily’s laugh. Her hands on me. The way it all felt good but not quite… Alex.
By the time I reached my building, my chest felt tight again. I shut my dorm door behind me and the silence hit like a wave.
Noah’s bed was empty.
Good.
The last thing I needed was an audience for the mess inside my head. I just needed to be alone. The night was nice, but there was so much going on that it was hard for me to relax.
I sat on my bed, still feeling the leftover heat from Emily’s room. Her hands on me, her breath on my neck, the way my body had reacted to her. I wanted her, she was hot, but there was a quality missing. Something I felt with Alex. Maybe it was just because he was a guy. Maybe I liked guys more.
I pulled out my phone. The first thing on my feed was a Kingswell Crew post—a video of Alex rowing a single. I clicked before I could stop myself. There he was. In the boat. Powerful. Clean. In control.
The camera zoomed in on his shoulders, the strain in his back, the way he drove through each stroke. Heat flooded through me and a hard, insistent pulse low in my gut that made my cock twitch in my jeans.
“Shit...”
I should’ve turned it off. Should’ve scrolled past. Instead my thumb moved on its own, tapping his username.
@alex_harrington
His page opened and it was game over. Photos of him in uniform, jaw sharp, eyes focused. Candid shots of him laughing with teammates. A shirtless training pic with muscles hard from summer work, sweat beading down his chest.
My breath went shallow. My cock thickened against my zipper, already half-hard and demanding attention.
The warmth from earlier with Emily flared up again, but stronger this time. Hotter. More demanding. Like my body had been waiting all night for this, not that.
I glanced at the door. Still locked. Hopefully Noah doesn’t come back.
Fuck it.
I popped the button on my jeans, dragged the zipper down, and shoved them past my hips. My boxers followed. My cock sprang free, already hard, already aching. I wrapped my hand around myself and groaned at the contact.
This is insane.
I stared at Alex shirtless and stroked slowly, deliberately, letting the pleasure build. My whole body lit up. The wanting hit fast, almost violent. This wasn’t mild attraction or leftover adrenaline. This was a punch of desire straight to the gut.
With Emily, the heat had been warm, steady, comfortable.
With Alex... It felt like being yanked into a current I couldn’t fight.
I leaned back on the pillows, breathing uneven, hand moving faster now, pressure building low and urgent. I let my eyes fall shut, and that made it better because it wasn’t the photo anymore.
It was memory.
Alex stripping down to his underwear on the dock, muscles flexing. Then me grabbing his shirt and pulling his body close to mine as I shoved my tongue in his mouth. The feel of him surrendering against me. The taste of his mouth.
My stomach clenched. My hand moved faster, grip tight, strokes harder.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him—not then, not now, not even when I tried. And tonight, after being with Emily, the contrast hit hard and undeniable.
I imagined what it would feel like to have Alex’s hands on me instead of my own. To feel his mouth around my dick. To hear him say my name as he sucked me.
My breath came in sharp gasps. My hips jerked up into my fist. The tension coiled tighter, hotter, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but chase it.
“Alex—” His name tore out of me, half-whisper, half-moan.
The orgasm slammed through me. I came hard, spilling over my hand and stomach, pleasure ripping through my whole body. I lay there panting, with the thought of Alex on top of me naked, licking and kissing my body.
God, I wanted him so bad.
The air felt thick. My skin felt hot. My chest ached with a mix of relief and something like guilt. I wasn’t straight. But I wasn’t gay either. Emily turned me on—that was real. But Alex... Alex was a different kind of fire entirely.
I cleaned myself up with a t-shirt from the floor, pulled my boxers back on, and stared at the ceiling.
Whatever this was—this thing he did to me, this pull I couldn’t explain, this spark I couldn’t kill—it wasn’t going away.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever, probably.
I turned off my phone, rolled onto my side, and let the exhaustion pull me under.
The last thought before sleep hit was simple: I wanted Alex Harrington. And no amount of pretending was going to change that.