Chapter 18
Wyatt
I’m fucked.
Royally, totally, fucked.
This place has broken my head, and my dick.
It’s been days since I partook in the best threesome I’ve ever had. And there wasn’t even any penetrative sex.
Who the fuck knew that could rank in the top ten, let alone come out with gold.
But whilst it may have been incredible, it’s left me broken. I swear my dick cannot get hard unless I’m replaying it in my mind. It will only spring to life if I’m pretending I’m frotting against Milo’s dick whilst Tacita jacks us both.
Trust me I’ve tried all sorts. Well, I’ve tried to pick up other contestants of all genders.
They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, so when Tacita basically ignored me the next day, I took the message for what it was–that our time together was a hook up and nothing more–and I tried moving on.
Only, when I finally got somewhere with one of the other contestants, some dude from the other residential building whose number I can’t even remember, I couldn’t get into it.
We didn’t even get past taking our tops off.
I’d shoved him up against the back of his bedroom door and pressed against him and all my brain could fire at me was how Milo reacted when I touched him.
I tried kissing the dude and all my body pined for was to taste Tacita. I still haven’t tasted her mouth and that might be the thing driving me insane the most.
Knowing I wasn’t going to get it up, I’d hightailed it outta there and now I’m stewing. Sitting on one of the outside benches in the late afternoon heat, I’m staring at them both like some lovesick teenager.
The weather feels like it's trying to cook us. Even though the sun has started dropping, and will soon disappear behind the mountains we’re sheltered by, the temperature is beyond reasonable. It’s muggy as fuck and these cheap scrubs are sticking to my oversensitive skin.
Milo is sitting on another bench across the courtyard, he’s under the shade of one of the few trees we have in the compound, books strewn over the tabletop as he draws up more notes. Seffy is sitting opposite him, although she’s lounging, her legs stretching the length of the bench seat.
Tacita, on the other hand, lays in the sun just beyond them.
She’s on her stomach, leaning on her elbows, her hair down and cascading around her shoulders, the colours underneath vibrant against the sun’s rays.
Her skin too, seems to glow. She’s rolled up her trousers to her thighs, kicked off her shoes and taken off the top completely, only her sports bra covering those perfect tits.
Her and Seffy are laughing and joking, their conversation flowing animatedly.
I can’t hear what they’re saying but I wish I was over there with them.
A few days ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated.
But the truth is I’m scared of her rejection.
I know I won’t be able to resist asking her for a third round in the sheets but I also know that she would turn it down.
We’d exchanged a few short sentences yesterday but as soon as we came to the end of the corridor where I’d cornered her, she ran.
And Milo is always at her side. Although, I’ve caught him looking at me more than once.
I almost feel that he wants to seek me out, but it’s hard to have any privacy around here and with how shy he is I know he won’t make the first move.
Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, seeing as he shares a room with Tacita, I haven’t pressed anything with him either.
Have they fucked again? They spend each night alone together and could be doing anything. Everything. It sends jealousy burning through my veins.
See? I’m fucked. Totally broken.
This isn’t me. I don’t linger, I don’t give my hookups a second thought. So what if they’re banging every night?
Practically roaring, I launch from the bench and go in search of some of the other guys I’ve made sort of friends with in this torture chamber and force them to come work out with me. I need some way to expend this energy.
“Fuck me, Toby. That’s impressive, lad” I yell across the gym at number Fifty-Two.
He lowers the weight, having deadlifted over three hundred and fifty pounds.
Releasing the bar I was using on one of the machines, I bounce across the space to where a group has gathered to have a competition of sorts.
It’s been a couple of hours and I’m feeling much better having exerted myself to near exhaustion.
“Anyone up for another round?” I look around at the six men, hoping one of them will take me on.
“I’ll go again,” Toby pitches in, grabbing his towel to wipe the sweat off his brow. “I have gone higher in the past.”
“I’m game,” Rio says. Joon and Cameron join in as well.
We start off with a hundred pounds, which we all lift without any effort, although from the fanfare we get from Laz and Aria you’d think we were breaking records.
The two women are both ones I slept with early on when I got incarcerated. Whilst I swing in any direction, I was overjoyed to find out I was getting sent to a mixed gender prison. I like men, love them in fact but variety is the spice of life as they say.
Looking them both over as I wait for my second turn, it’s like I’ve suddenly developed some kind of sainthood. I wouldn’t sleep with either of them again anyway, they weren’t all that memorable, but I don’t even get a semi as I stare at their tits, or follow the lines of their waists with my eyes.
What is wrong with my dick?
I practically throw the weight above my head this time and let it slam down, not caring about my form at all. It’s still not in the range where I’m having to put in effort, so I don’t give a fuck.
My bad mood is back and I hate it.
Who haven’t I slept with in here? Rio is definitely a friend, I wouldn’t go there.
Toby is chronically straight, I tried him already.
Cameron, however, I have spoken to less.
He is a little bit of a recluse. I don’t think he’s even told me where he’s from.
He hangs around with us sometimes but not all the time.
Watching on as he takes his turn, he lifts the weight with ease, his biceps flexing invitingly.
Clapping with the others when he lowers the bar, I wait until the second round finishes and the others are switching out the weight disks before strolling across the mats to the water station.
Grabbing a bottle, I move towards Cameron as he stands off to the side.
“Hey,” I say, giving him an up nod and exaggeratedly dragging my eyes over his torso. He’s wearing one of the standard issue t-shirts instead of the tighter gym wear. It still clings to his muscular pecs, the number sixty-two–his prison number–stitched on the left side.
“What’s up?” he asks in response.
“Pretty easy so far.” I turn to stand so we’re shoulder to shoulder and use my water bottle to point at the weight.
“Yeah.” His response doesn’t give me much to work with.
“Your room is in the first block right? The one furthest away.” I already know who is in each room, I had that shit memorised on the first day, but asking him makes conversation.
“Yeah, why?” He twists so he’s facing me a bit more. I note how his arms fold across his body.
“Just wondering how easy it would be to pay you a visit. You know, if we wanted to meet up one night.” I have no idea if this dude is into guys but if he is, he’ll catch my drift.
“I don’t sleep with whores.”
Woah. That comment takes me by surprise. This recluse has teeth, and apparently a dickish attitude.
“Your loss.” I plaster on a smile, not letting him see the comment has woken my angry side. “We tend to have the most fun ideas.”
I slam a palm down on his shoulder, giving him a harder than friendly pat before moving to take my turn to lift the next weight in our little competition.
Being shot down by Cameron reminds me of Tacita, of how she refused my first attempts. Only she never shamed me. This asshole clearly has a problem with those that enjoy sex.
It's sad really.
And I’m back to thinking about the rainbow haired treasure that’s fucking with my head.
Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Maybe, I need to kill someone instead. If I can’t sleep with anyone else, getting murdery should help clear my head.
The next game is coming up and I haven’t really given it much thought. The rules change when the play starts. The rule about us not killing each other goes out the window, any bonds or comrades we’ve built with our fellow contestants ceases. We become competition.
This is what I should be focusing on. I think it will be cool as fuck to work for the Lord of the Underworld, as little as we know about the actual job.
We’ve been given no information about what the next task will be but I have plans to ace it no matter what it is. Perhaps I should be determining who my biggest risks are depending on the type of challenge we get given.
My brain sharpens, my mind finding focus. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a job and I realise I’ve missed this. Missed the hyperfocus, having a goal to reach, a target to eliminate.
We go through a few more rounds on the weights, a couple of the guys dropping out as we climb through the plates, well above three hundred pounds now.
But I’m not seeing this as something fun to do to pass the time now.
No, I’m assessing each of the guys, spotting their weaknesses, which side they prefer, which leg is stronger, which is their dominant hand.
I’m logging each titbit and calculating the easiest ways in which I could take them out. It’s harder because we don’t have any guns or knives in here, but I am still skilled in killing with my hands, or improvising weapons. I didn’t get my reputation and my high payment fees through being average.
I’d earnt enough money that I could've retired before I was thirty and lived on the interest with ease. The number of zeros on my bank balance was obscene, and I gave a significant amount of it to various charities.