9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Trey
The minute I walk through the suite doors, it’s like a switch inside of me is flipped. Like going from a noisy arena to a woodland retreat. Sharp, obvious.
Silence never used to bother me, not like it is at the moment, anyway.
Maybe it’s because I’d gotten used to it, being alone most of the time, that now that I’ve been around people—friends—I realize how empty the space is when it’s not filled with laughter and conversation.
Not to mention, it’s cold as a witch’s tit in here.
Seriously, what is this air set to? Arctic blast?
It’s still cold outside, for fuck’s sake.
I take a look around the room as I head to the thermostat to turn up the heat, noticing how pristine and put-together everything is. Untouched, unlived in. It’s nice. Luxurious, even.
But all I can think about is that little cozy bookstore that smelled like coffee and sugar with the too-high stacks of books and Hudson’s bright-eyes and wide grin.
I keep thinking about Mandy’s words, too. Hudson could use a friend.
He said he doesn’t talk to her much, so I’d wager he doesn’t know we know each other. Part of me wants to tell him, but there’s also a part of me that doesn’t. Not because I don’t think it matters, but because it does.
That part of me just wants to keep whatever friendship I have with Hudson free of outside interference. Stupidly, I just want my best friend to be, well, mine, I guess. Which is kind of dumb, considering we just spent the weekend with our friends.
I also can’t stop thinking about that weird exchange earlier in the bookstore with Hudson.
When my dick decided to awaken at the worst possible moment.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed by any means, I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve neglected my needs and suffered the consequences, but it’s definitely the first time I felt self-conscious about it.
Like if Hudson knew what was happening, he might get weirded out and think it was because of him, which…
It’s not.
Obviously.
I mean, if I was into guys, I think I’d know by now.
I’m twenty-nine, I’m around guys constantly—good looking athletes and corporate jocks alike, not to mention the gym is always bursting at the seams with shirtless men and gym rats in sweaty athletic wear, and not once have I ever looked at a guy and felt that .
My mind wanders back to Hudson—again—and his reaction at Austen’s opening. How he’d been freaked out over possibly hearing Alex and Mack, nearly going into a damn panic attack. But then when he looked at Austen and Cameron, when he responded to my bitterness…
He’d said it shouldn’t matter that they’re guys.
It shouldn’t, and I don’t really think it does; it’s just… surprising, I guess. You think you know someone, and then they throw a curveball you never expect. I meant what I said about them deserving happiness.
It’s just… seeing couples— happy couples—feels like a sharp stab from the universe sometimes.
All the self-help books tout happiness as a mindset; reminding me I need to choose to be happy and see the positive things, but I am starting to believe those things just aren’t meant for me, period.
Maybe I need to accept that. Accept that this is my life.
I stare at my suitcase—or more accurately my life-in-a-box.
The clothes I’d dumped on the floor previously are carefully folded and laid on my bed.
Most of the time hotel staff don’t bother with that sort of thing, but when you stay in the more expensive suites and penthouses, the service is better and plenty of staff go above and beyond hoping for a decent sized tip.
Which I’ll give, because I know firsthand how these big companies pay their employees, considering my mom’s housekeeping tips were solely responsible for helping me pay my way through college so I wouldn’t need loans.
I open my wallet and take out two hundred and fifty dollars and toss it on the night stand while I’m thinking about it.
That’s when I notice the text on my phone.
It’s Mandy. I swipe up to see a photo of her—a selfie taken at some fancy private-looking pool.
She’s smiling and her text makes me smirk.
Mandy
Got kidnapped by some hot strangers, but I’m not complaining ;)
The winking face makes me roll my eyes, and I send her back an eye-rolling emoji.
This is the glamorous part of the job. Players and clients love to wine and dine you if they think it’ll help land them a deal or even be considered for one, and I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed the same perks.
Though as much fun as it is, I can’t lie and say it’s the best thing ever.
It’s highly stressful, actually, walking that kind of fine line.
I set the phone down, shaking my head as another chime comes through. Of course, I text her and she takes hours to get back to me, but the second she texts me, if I don’t respond right away…
Except when I open my phone, I see the text isn’t from Mandy. It’s from Hudson.
Hudson
Sorry if I’m being weird.
The light from the phone reflects onto me, and I let out a sigh. It’s like all the stress I’ve been chewing on leaves my damn body.
My fingers hover over the text thread and a strange sense of melancholy hits me.
I want to tell him it’s okay, that he’s not being weird.
We’re different people now, clearly, and it’s normal to feel out of place when you see a bunch of people you haven’t seen in years.
But something tells me it’s more than that.
It’s not just an apology; it’s an admission.
A confession of some sort, though I’m not quite sure to what.
I stare at the text. I am sure he’s in bed, if not already asleep, and I should head to bed soon.
But before I do, I need to take care of myself, like I’d promised.
Maybe I’ve spent so much time on display, worrying about the guys and my image and enjoying this respite of a vacation, that I haven’t really spent much time unwinding and being myself. Not unless you count the other night with Hudson or earlier tonight, when we were hanging out in the bookstore.
I sigh as I set the phone down and undress myself, the cool air kissing my skin.
I suppose now is as good a time as ever, and once I come I’ll be too tired to fight sleep, so I unzip the front pocket of my suitcase to grab my travel-size lube.
I toss it on the bed and make my way over, sliding off my briefs just before I settle on top of the covers.
I stare at the ceiling, a mixture of guilt and sadness hitting me, as it always does when I do this.
Because the scenery might change, but the truth never does.
The truth that even in the moments I’ve been lucky enough to have someone else touch my dick, it never lasts. It always disappears, slipping through my fingers like sand in an hourglass. The momentary bliss of ecstasy is short-lived and has been for too long now.
This… this is the only sure way I will be satisfied and I hate that truth.
It makes me feel broken. Like something inside of me doesn’t work right anymore because I used to enjoy sex with other people, but nowadays, it feels like I’m trying to fill a void, and no matter how many women I sleep with—not that there have been a lot, but enough to know—the void just gets bigger.
Normally, I’d order room service, put on porn, and go to town, but I don’t know if it’s this weekend, or this weird melancholy bug that’s got me out of sorts, but I decide to focus on the moment itself.
I grab my lube and work to slather it into my hands, taking slow breaths as I do so.
In the absence of company, it helps me ground myself to the moment so I can focus on the buildup rather than the pay off.
It’s the little things I try to pay attention to—the way the liquid warms in my hand, the beat of my heart.
The first touch as I wrap my hand around my dick. The relief.
I settle into the soft pillows and let out a long breath.
I close my eyes and start to slowly tug and pull my dick, letting my muscles relax.
I don’t do this sort of thing often because the more noise, the more color, the more I can focus on something —or someone—else, the less I have to think about things.
But tonight, I want to focus. I want to feel it.
I want to enjoy it, even if it is just a ploy to get me to go to sleep.
So that’s exactly what I do. I build my rhythm slowly but surely and focus on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
It doesn’t take long for my dick to get hard as my pace quickens. I let my mind wander. With my eyes closed, I can pretend the hand around my dick isn’t mine. That it belongs to someone else, someone who knows just how to touch me in all the right places, make me feel all the right things.
My thumb runs over my weeping slit, gathering the precum that’s collected there, and I can’t help but groan. I spread it along my head and thrust my hips upward. I squeeze my cock while stroking, rocking my hips until my heart starts to quicken its pace.
I keep my eyes closed, fucking my fist as I chase the pleasure that is on the horizon. My mind eases, knowing the relief that awaits.
My grip is harsh, and the closer I get, the rougher my movements. I chase and chase and chase my impending orgasm, grasping at it as it eludes me.
But I won’t let it get away. Not tonight, not now. I’ll take my pleasure because it’s mine to take.
My mind wanders down unfamiliar roads as I try to focus on my pleasure and not this crazy whirlwind of a weekend.
But the thought of cozy bookstores and warm bodies in my space and rainwater fills my psyche and my dick jumps a little, so I don’t fight it.
I let myself imagine the idea of myself being in that bookstore again, being touched behind those stacks.
My thumb falls over my slit again, and a fresh bout of precum spills to the top.