Hard Only for Him (First Time MM Short Stories #1)

1. Chapter 1

This cannot be happening to me.

I blame it on exhaustion, indigestion, lack of sleep, too much sleep, even the Earth’s electromagnetic field, but it still stares back at me with what would surely be a placid expression if it could grimace.

I’m being betrayed in my prime by my adventuring partner, who suddenly decided he prefers to nap whenever a big pair appears before us.

“Just wait until you get to college, Ray, they said. You’re gonna get it on so often you’ll be swimming in it, they said,” I mumble as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m a stud, if I’m being modest. Six foot four, built like a wall of bricks, lifting one girl on each arm as both a party and a get-them-in-bed trick.

First two years, it worked like a charm.

But the little jerk in my pants didn’t get the back to classes memo at the same time I did.

Or I tired him out so badly last year that he went on strike.

Either way, he’s putting me in a bad spot.

The first time I saw a pout on a chick’s face because he didn’t want to wake up from his nap, I figured maybe I just wasn’t into her.

Then it happened again. And again. By now I know that if I don’t feel any twitch when they run their nails down my arm, I might as well go back to the dorms and nap myself because it’s a lost battle.

The last thing I want is to start hearing locker room jokes about how I couldn’t get it up.

I splash more cold water on my face.

Even my favorite—bookmarked for crying out loud — videos didn’t work that well anymore. Last weekend, I had to actually rewind ‘cause they cut to some lame interviews after the credits I didn’t even know were there.

A knock on the bathroom door rudely interrupts my pity party.

“Are you done moping? We’re going to be late.” The deep, nonchalant voice on the other side makes my hairs stand on end.

“You can’t be late to a college party, Connor!” I snap back before catching myself. “And maybe I was busy in here.”

“You haven’t made a sound in ten minutes.”

Smartass.

“Maybe I was enjoying some me-time.” I reply smugly. Connor was allergic to anything that had to do with other people’s private lives. Once, during a lunch break, he simply stood up and left, no explanation, only a bored sigh, when one of my teammates started giving details about his newest hookup.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are during those times.”

Did he really just say that? After a year together, I was mostly used to him saying the most blunt and out of left field stuff, but this was new.

“Were you listening to me, man?” I ask in jest, hoping to settle my own nerves.

I can picture him lying on the bed, one arm under his head and with that icy, judgmental look that somehow makes chicks melt.

The idea of Connor not only being aware but listening to me jerk off was…

No. I definitely did not feel anything happening in my shorts at that mental image just now.

“There’s only so many trips to the vending machine I can make.”

God, why didn’t you bless me with a normal roommate for once? Why not one of my friends on the team?

Freshman year, I had that paranoid slob who believed showers were optional, that I was giving him weird looks and stealing his energy drinks when he wasn’t here.

At the end of the year he made a show of announcing that I’m the one impossible to live with and that he will be asking for a room change.

Good riddance. I actually had to call in favors from some of my teammates to help me deep clean the place after he left.

The first half of the second year was some exchange student from Europe who I believed didn’t speak very good English, only to tell me before winter break that he simply didn’t want to talk to me because I talked enough for the both of us. Great. No love lost.

Me and Connor are both business majors. We weren’t friends, and honestly, the guy was quite unnerving by attitude alone, but we were partners on a project.

He listened to me spout hopeful bullshit about how maybe they won’t room me with anyone for the rest of the year and I could have the whole place to myself.

Then he looked right into my enthusiastic eyes and said that he would move in with me.

I felt exactly like that guy when the anvil fell on his head in cartoons.

Connor is loaded. Old money loaded. He has button-up shirts with brand names even I recognize.

I heard him talk about his parents having a winter cabin somewhere fancy in Colorado.

He didn’t need to stay in a dorm. And maybe it was rude of me to say that out loud, but a guy dreaming of jerking off whenever he wants is a vicious beast. He simply looked at me like a museum exhibit, one dark eyebrow quirked, and said he thought it would be a good life experience.

Good life experience at my expense. I told him hell no, and he said it wasn’t my decision, and that was that. New roomie.

The most annoying thing is that, in spite of his ice king persona, he is a great roommate.

We have movie nights; his dry humor is hilarious when he wants to; he took one unimpressed look at my clothes before going out one night and took me shopping, and for a moment I fully understood the appeal of the sugar baby life; he listened to me babble about a sport he had no interest in, and I suspect he researched it just so he could tell me what I did wrong during games.

But I would rather have my pants rip in the middle of a game than admit that to him.

Because we also fight a lot. And I actually tried to put him in his place last spring when he physically dragged me out of bed so I wouldn’t be late to class.

Nobody told me the guy had a black belt.

My pride and I had to find that out on our own.

“I’m leaving without you.”

I walk out of from the bathroom to find him standing in front of the door, already dressed and ready to go. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, athletic and lean, but even when he tilts his chin to look up it feels like he’s looking down on me.

He makes a show of looking at his phone.

“Five minutes.”

“I hate you.”

He shrugs and leans against the wall next to my bed, watching me with those light blue eyes. It was irritating as hell at first, but I got used to it after a couple of months, about at the same time I came to the conclusion that deep inside he wasn’t a bad guy at all.

I look around to see which shirt to wear.

“We both know you’ll go for the black tank top. Stop trying to fry your brain by thinking.”

I mimic him, which earns me a slap right between my shoulder blades. The force of the hit makes my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I catch myself on my hands before fully falling over.

“What the hell, man?”

Any other retort I have dies on my tongue when I see the intense look in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, lips slightly parted, before shaking his head and leaving the room.

Only when the door slams do I realize that I was basically bent over on my hands and knees in front of him.

And that for the first time in months my cock seemed interested in something.