Chapter 8
Kent
Isomehow managed to stumble my way home after the whiskey, more irritated than ever and now drunk on top of it all.
My vision was blurry, it had begun to rain, and I kept stumbling over the fucking cracks in the sidewalk.
Everyone else gave me a wide berth, their smiling faces faltering for a moment when they saw me.
Fuck ‘em.
I reached the building and fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to get the door open. The stairwell spun slightly as I climbed, and I had to grip the railing to keep myself steady. By the time I reached the third floor, sweat was beading on my forehead despite the cold.
The apartment was dark when I pushed through the door. For a moment, relief washed over me. James wasn’t back yet. I wouldn’t have to see him, wouldn’t have to see him freshly fucked by some other man.
I kicked off my boots and stumbled toward the couch, but my foot caught on something and I went down hard, my knee cracking against the floor.
“Fuck!” The pain shot up my leg, sharp and sobering. I looked down to see what I’d tripped over. It was James’s laptop charger, stretched across the walkway.
The anger that had been simmering all night boiled over. I grabbed the charger and yanked it, hearing something crack. Good. Maybe he’d finally learn to pick up his shit.
I pulled myself onto the couch, my knee throbbing. The whiskey was wearing off just enough to let reality creep back in, and with it came all the thoughts I’d been trying to drown.
James was out there right now. With that guy. Probably in his apartment, doing exactly what I’d been fantasizing about for days.
My hand drifted to my crotch without thinking, palming my cock through my jeans. I was half-hard already, had been since he’d walked out the door. The image of him on his knees filled my mind, those amber eyes looking up at me while he…
The door opened.
I jerked my hand away like I’d been burned, my heart leaping into my throat. James stood in the doorway, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. He looked at me for a long moment, taking in my sprawled position on the couch, my obvious intoxication.
“You’re drunk,” he said flatly.
“So what?” The words came out slurred. “Not like you care.”
He closed the door behind him and moved into the apartment, shrugging off his hoodie. I watched him, hating how my eyes tracked every movement, how my body responded to his presence.
“How was your date?” I asked, the bitterness dripping from every word.
James turned to look at me, and something flickered across his face. “It was fine.”
“Fine.” I let out a harsh laugh. “That’s it? Just fine?”
“Why do you care, Kent?”
“I don’t.”
“Right.” He moved toward his bed, and I saw him wince slightly as he walked. My stomach dropped.
“Did he hurt you?” I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved, the room tilting dangerously. “Did that fucker—”
“No.” James held up a hand. “Jesus, Kent. I’m just sore from sitting weird. Calm down.”
But I couldn’t calm down. The thought of someone touching him, hurting him, using him—it made something primal surge inside me.
“You shouldn’t be fucking random guys,” I said, taking a step toward him. “You don’t know what kind of—”
“Stop.” His voice was sharp. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you have any say in my life.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, his face contorted in sudden fury. “I don’t want to hear anything from you!”
James stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The air between us felt charged, dangerous. Like he was daring me to make a move. To lay all my cards on the table at last.
“You’re drunk,” he said again, but softer this time. “You should sleep it off.”
“I can’t sleep.” My voice came out petulant as I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Fine,” he shrugged. “Then fucking sit there and be pissy. I’m taking a shower.”
I sat there on the couch, my head spinning from the whiskey and the confrontation. The bathroom door closed with a sharp click, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Like he needed to lock me out. Like I was some kind of predator who couldn’t be trusted.
Maybe I was.
I heard the shower turn on, the water hitting the tiles in a steady rhythm. My imagination immediately conjured images I had no business thinking about. I could see James stripping off his clothes, stepping under the spray, and water running down that toned body I’d seen.
My cock twitched in my jeans, and I pressed the heel of my hand against it, trying to will it down. This was sick. This was wrong. He was my stepbrother, for fuck’s sake. And a guy. I wasn’t into guys.
Except I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop wanting him in ways that made my skin crawl with self-loathing.
I pulled out my phone, desperate for a distraction. Maybe I should text Brittany. Beg her to take me back. Anything to escape this nightmare I’d created for myself.
But when I opened my messages, I found myself scrolling to James’s contact instead. Looking at our sparse conversation history. The grocery list. The brief updates about work schedules. Nothing personal. Nothing real.
I dropped the phone on the coffee table and leaned back, closing my eyes. The room was still spinning slightly, but the alcohol was wearing off enough that I couldn’t hide behind it anymore. I was just drunk enough to be honest with myself but not drunk enough to pass out and forget.
Then I heard a buzz from behind me. Sitting up I glanced over at the bed and saw James’s phone screen lit up from the pouch of his hoodie. I looked at the bathroom door then back to the phone. He’d only been in there for a couple of minutes. I had time.
Springing up from the couch, I reached into the hoodie pouch and pulled out his phone. To my surprise, it opened right up when I swiped the screen. He didn’t have a lock on it.
A message notification popped up from an app I didn’t recognize. When I hit the preview, it pulled up the app that had been running in the background. It was a response from a profile whose photo was nothing but abs.
Him: I had a good time tonight. We’ll have to do that again sometime. You suck cock like a pro.
My hands shook as I stared at the message.
I now had all the confirmation I needed that James was sleeping with the neighbor downstairs.
Not only that, but the guy was clearly just using him for sex.
I wasn’t sure which irritated me more. However, that didn’t stop the image of James on his knees filling my mind again.
My cock throbbed against my jeans, and I let out a small groan.
For a moment I almost put the phone back, not wanting to hear any more details about what this stranger did to my stepbrother. But that’s when my curiosity got the better of me. I turned one ear toward the bathroom. The shower was still running.
I had time.
I scrolled up through the messages, my heart pounding harder with each swipe. The conversation went back several days, starting from that first night I’d arrived. The first message was a picture of the guy’s cock.
Him: You looking?
James: If you can host, I’m down.
Him: Come over. First floor, 1A.
My jaw clenched. That was the night I’d first come to stay. The night I’d forced my way into James’s life without so much as an apology. And while I was sleeping on that godforsaken couch, James was sneaking out to get fucked by that asshole.
I scrolled down further, skimming through messages. There were at least three more pictures of the stranger’s cock before I found something that nearly made me drop the phone.
It was James, naked, standing in front of his bathroom mirror. His cock was hard in the photo, long and thick, one hand wrapped around it. His face was visible and his eyes were hooded with lust. The caption underneath read: “What do you think?”
I knew what I thought. Goddamn.
The next photo was him in the same mirror, but turned around this time, his perfect ass on full display. My mouth hung open as I stared. Before I could help myself, I scrolled to the next message. It was a video from James. When I clicked the play button, all I could do was stare.
It was James, lying on his back in bed. He had his legs pulled up against his chest, the most intimate parts of his body out for all to see.
His cock was hard and leaking against his belly as he fucked himself with a clear silicone dildo.
Each thrust of the dildo drew a moan from his lips.
It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
My hand was down my pants before I knew what was happening. I stroked myself inside my jeans, my eyes glued to the screen as I watched James pleasure himself. The sounds he made, those breathy moans and gasps, went straight to my cock. I’d never been so hard in my life.
The video was only thirty seconds long, but I replayed it three times, memorizing every detail as I stroked myself. The way his hole stretched around the toy. The way his cock twitched and leaked. The way his back arched off the bed when he hit the right spot.
I was breathing hard now, my hand working faster. This was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I was violating his privacy, jerking off to private photos he’d sent to someone else. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.
I scrolled further, finding more photos. James in different positions, different angles. One had him on his hands and knees, looking back over his shoulder at the camera. Another showed him with his legs spread wide, two fingers buried inside himself.
My balls tightened. I was close, so fucking close. I fumbled with my zipper, freeing my cock just as the shower shut off. But I couldn’t stop myself. A stifled grunt escaped my lips as I came, painting the edge of James’s bed with cum.
Panic flooded through me. I shoved my cock back in my pants and dropped the phone on the bed, stumbling backward toward the couch.
I grabbed a spare shirt, running back to his bed to wipe the evidence away.
I had barely enough time to do that and cover the wet spot with a blanket.
I threw myself onto the cushions, trying to look casual, trying to ignore my still pulsing cock leaking cum against my thigh.
The bathroom door opened and steam billowed out. James emerged wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping wet. He glanced at me, then at his bed where his phone lay face-up on the hoodie.
His eyes narrowed.
“Were you going through my phone?” His voice was dangerously quiet.
“What? No.” The lie came out too quick, too defensive.
He walked over to the bed and picked up his phone, checking the screen. I watched his face change as he realized what I’d been looking at. His cheeks flushed red, but not with embarrassment. With rage.
“You fucking asshole.” He turned to face me, gripping the phone so hard his knuckles went white. “You went through my private messages?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Bullshit!” He crossed the room in three strides, standing over me. “My phone was in my hoodie. You had to actively go looking for it.”
I couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t explain it without admitting things I wasn’t ready to admit.
“I just wanted to see who you were talking to,” I said lamely.
“Why?” He leaned down, getting in my face. “Why the fuck do you care who I talk to?”
“Because—” The words stuck in my throat.
Because I can’t stop thinking about you.
Because the idea of someone else touching you makes me want to commit violence.
Because I want to be the one making you moan like that.
“Because he could be a criminal, James,” I managed to say at last, spinning up a lie as fast as I could.
“This part of town is full of weirdos and now he knows where we live. What if he tries to break in or murders you? Dad would never forgive me.”
“Kent,” James said through gritted teeth, clearly not believing a single word I said. “If you ever touch my phone again, you’re out. Got it?”
“Look, I said I was sorry—”
“Understood?!”
There was no fighting him on this one. I’d really put my foot in it this time. I let out a long sigh. “Fine.”
“I mean it, Kent,” he growled. “That’s your last strike.”
“I said fine!” I barked back, turning away from him on the couch. “Just… go to bed.”
He huffed, but he didn’t say another word. Within a matter of minutes he was in bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. Meanwhile I didn’t move. I just laid there, staring at the wall, shame, self-loathing, and jealousy filling me from head to toe.