Chapter One #3
My cock twitches and I’m fully hard now. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s some kind of twisted mirroring… or something.
I trap my lower lip between my teeth because I don’t really trust what might come out of my mouth right now. I need to get laid. That’s what’s going on. Get those stupid ideas out of my head. Forget the images.
Forget the image he’s making, most of all.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to get his dick out of my head, and when I open them, my gaze meets Sawyer's.
Looking straight back at me.
My mouth drops open and my chest is heaving. Fucking hell, did he catch me staring? At him?
He maintains eye contact while his arm moves, letting me know he’s still stroking his cock over his clothes.
Look away. Look the fuck away.
But I don’t.
I force my mouth to close and swallow, but the inside of my mouth is a desert.
I try to say something. To whom? I don’t know. It’s not like he’d be able to hear me.
And finally, with the last drop of blood supplying my brain, I manage to point my thumb over my shoulder as if letting him know I’m getting the fuck out of here.
And then he makes a scoffing face and rolls his eyes.
What the fuck is his problem?
My brows furrow, and my jaw clenches when he takes a few steps in my direction, the bulge in his pants more apparent now that his palm does not cover it.
Do not look. Do not look.
He walks past the few people separating us, and the second he stops in front of me, I instinctively take a step back. I hate myself for it.
“What’s up, golden boy?” His voice is condescending. Jesus, I want to punch him.
“It’s—” I clear my throat. “It’s getting late. I should go.” I wish my tone had more confidence than it does.
He scoffs out loud this time. “Figures.”
My muscles tense up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sawyer shrugs one shoulder and takes another step forward. I backtrack even more. “It just means you’re a pussy, but that’s hardly news.”
And that’s about as much of Sawyer as I can take. I reach up and push his shoulder. He barely flinches, but when he grabs my wrist, all kinds of shivers run through my body.
“Careful,” he says.
I grit my teeth. “Let go of me.”
He grips my wrist for a few seconds longer before releasing it. “Pretty sure it’s you who should let go.”
“What the fuck is your problem, man?”
“Me? I don’t have a problem. It’s you who can’t relax for a split second, Mr. Blake Uptight. Never letting himself enjoy, even for a moment.”
“I’m not enjoying this!” I say way too loud, causing heads to turn. Shit.
“Oh, really?” He takes a step forward, then another, causing me to shuffle backward, bumping against people on my way. “Cause your body says a different story. For the first time tonight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I open my mouth and close it again, not really sure how to answer. I see how he might think he has a point. But he doesn’t.
“Just tell me one thing,” he continues. My back hits the wall. There’s nowhere left to go. “Would you be equally chicken shit if it were anyone else?”
He jerks his head toward the guys we’ve been watching.
“That’s… It’s… I’m not into men.” There. That should do it.
Sawyer's mouth curls into that condescending smile I hate, and he looks at the ceiling before placing one palm on the wall next to my head, leaning in and looking me straight in the eye. “And what’s the fucking difference?”
My eyes widen, and I try to ignore the scent of his aftershave intruding on my senses. “It’s just different,” I say, my voice small.
He moves his head so that his mouth is next to my ear, his whole body dangerously close to mine. “You sure about that?”
His hot breath ghosts my earlobe, and it’s like my whole body’s on fire. I nod.
"Well, as long as you're sure."
He backs away but rests his forearm on the wall next to my head and turns his body away, taking his heat with him.
His eyes land on the guys giving a show, following every one of their movements, and when his other hand drops down to press against his zipper, I have to look away. Sometimes, he's too much to handle.
The guys are now fucking feverishly, and it's nothing how I imagined it would be. Maybe that's because I've never imagined that in the first place. It’s both intimate and raw at the same time. Primal. Nothing like anything I'd ever experienced.
I close my eyes and try to put myself in their position. Just to try it for size. I have no idea which one I'd even be. The one on the top? Or the one on the bottom, taking the other's dick like he was made to do just that?
Fuck.
My cock throbs at the thought. I guess that's my answer. And before I can get my brain to squash my twisted urges and tell them to shut the fuck up before I can make better of it, I say, "But what if I'm not?"
It comes out almost like a whisper, and it's the slight shift in front of me, the tiny movement I have no business noticing, that lets me know Sawyer heard me.
I swallow. He stares right back at me, face still close to mine.
Fire dances in his eyes as he raises one brow. I almost hate myself for noticing.
"What if I'm not sure?"
My heart is about to jump out of my chest, and it's becoming difficult to breathe. He regards me for a moment before tilting his head to the side, the hair on his forehead shifting. I hate myself for noticing that, too. "Then I guess you better figure it out."
"How?" I don't know why I'm asking him that. Of all people. It's like I got dragged into some alternative dimension since we entered the room. A dimension in which it's Sawyer's answers I'm seeking.
And then I let out a bark of a moan, a chipped sound that shouldn't come out of a human as Sawyer doesn't answer verbally, and the hot palm he's been using to massage himself lands on my rigid shaft and gives me a strong, firm stroke over my clothes.
My ass is pressed to the wall, and it’s as though I’m simultaneously trying to get away and push into his touch. And now I’m sure I’m not only in an alternate dimension—I’m in an entirely alternate universe.
My cock leaks pre-cum as Sawyer moves his palm up and down, once, twice, three times. And it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
His grip on me is firm, sure. Magnetic and infuriating all at once. And I just can’t take it.
I stop breathing and grab his wrist. But I don’t move his hand away. I keep it still, firmly close to my body, while my eyes search his, looking for answers. How the fuck did I get here?
He doesn’t move or talk. He doesn’t step back or push forward, staring at me intently, and it’s like we have some bizarre, wordless conversation, and if I were to guess, I’m sure he’s telling me, You can deny it all you want, but the way your cock twitches under my palm right now says something else altogether.
Or maybe he doesn’t think that. Maybe it’s just me, thinking the words I know to be true.
Time ceases to exist as we stay like that, trapped in this twisted status quo, with my fingers digging into his wrist and his circling my weeping cock.
And the stare. Of all the things that go on, it’s the stare I can’t handle the most.
I’m the one to break eye contact first. I’m sure he’ll interpret it as some kind of victory, but frankly? I no longer give a fuck.
My gaze lands on the guys I find all too familiar at this point. It’s a giant room, with action going on in every corner. Yet somehow, they’re the ones I’m drawn to the most.
“Fuck,” I mutter at the sight.
The guy on the bottom is reclined on his elbows, his chest covered with cum, as the other half-stands, half-kneels before him, jerking his cock feverishly, ready to blow his load onto the other’s face.
It’s too much. I close my eyes and I still see them.
And then, there’s Sawyer.
Stone statute in front of me and the only indication he’s a living creature is the heat his body emits and the gentle puffs of air on my face as he breathes.
And then I give up.
I fucking give up as I let go of his wrist, flatten my palm over his and press, urging him to move, to give me more of what I know I will never forget and always try to forget at the same time.
I shudder as his fingers curl around the head of my cock, cursing the fabric separating his skin from mine. My eyes are shut, and my head drops back, bumping against the wall behind me, my mouth ajar, my staggered breaths escaping in irregular bursts as he squeezes my cock and twists his palm.
A string of incoherent curses escapes me as my balls draw close to my body. I don’t care where I am. I don’t care who’s watching. And I don’t even care who’s doing it to me. Or maybe that’s all I care about.
Everything stops then. My eyes snap open to Sawyer standing two feet away from me, his heat gone, his touch gone, my brain empty.
Breathing heavily, I open my mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, but nothing comes up.
Sawyer stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes half a step forward, not nearly close enough, before leaning in and half-whispering into my ear. “Feel free to come back if you ever figure your shit out.”
I physically feel myself go white.
I stare at him, dumbfounded, for two seconds before launching forward and pushing him away with both my hands.
And then I run.
Through the rooms, through the crowd, through my feelings, the doors on my way suddenly no longer heavy.
Cold breeze hits my face as soon as I’m outside. I may bump into the bouncer as I run past him. I can’t be sure.
I run all the way home. There’s honking around me, some people shouting as I shoulder them on my way. But I don’t see them.
All I want to do is run. Away from that place, away from Sawyer, away from what happened.
And as my heart races and it’s becoming harder to breathe, I chant a silent prayer, wishing that maybe, maybe, if I run fast enough, far enough, long enough, I can outrun the memory of today and somehow erase it. Undo it and forget it ever happened.
Forget him.