Chapter 14
TYLER
Things are weird—in fact, weirder than before. And not in the way I’d expected.
After Jamie all but fled to his room, leaving me on the couch with my wet dick still hanging out, I was bracing myself for a very tense, very awkward few days.
I had a whole speech prepared, ready to reassure Jamie that there was nothing to feel ashamed of, that he did me a favor and it’s good that he enjoyed himself too.
And I was also ready to address his feelings towards me.
So imagine my surprise when Jamie strolled out barely an hour later, looking way more composed than I felt, gave me a cute, sheepish smile, and said, “I’m sorry for running away like that.
I was just embarrassed and had no idea how you’d react after, you know, the heat of the moment was over.
I hope you don’t regret it, but I understand if you do.
I promise I won’t propose anything silly like that again. ”
I don’t know what was more shocking; the way he brought it up first, and with such level-headedness, or the feeling of disappointment that struck me when he said it wouldn’t happen again.
I shook off the weird feeling, reassured him we were okay and that I definitely didn’t regret it. He smiled, but it wasn’t a relieved smile. It seemed empty, forced. Before I could say anything, he announced he was taking a shower and disappeared into the bathroom.
And that was that.
That’s not the only reason why things are weird now.
The weirdest part is…Jamie stopped acting weird.
Mostly. At least on the surface. He’s started spending time with me again.
He’s no longer holed up in his room all the time.
He’s back to watching movies with me after dinner, laughing at my annoying commentary and arguing with me about being Team Peeta or Team Gale (if you’re not Team Peeta, you’re wrong, by the way).
On the surface, things are back to how they used to be.
Under the surface? Something doesn’t add up. Sometimes he’s almost too cheerful, or laughs too loud at my jokes (frankly, I’m not that funny).
He’s also been staring at his phone a lot. Not just staring—typing. A good amount. Not quick messages either, but those you keep writing and deleting, mulling over what you want to say. Anyways, it’s sus, and I don’t like it.
Jamie’s confusing behavior is the main reason why I still haven’t brought up the conversation about, well, feelings. Because I’m low-key starting to question not only my sanity, but also whether Seth was right after all.
There’s a good chance I’m imagining all this weirdness around us.
Probably projecting my own feelings about what happened last week, trying to find a problem where there’s none.
It’s perfectly possible that Jamie’s feelings about me didn’t run any deeper than a simple case of attraction.
He knows I’m straight, so he might’ve viewed me as a kind of forbidden fruit?
Something he couldn’t have? And now that he got a taste (ha!), the intensity of that attraction has faded and he’s moved on.
My chest constricts, an ugly sensation expanding between my ribs.
I wince and dial the treadmill speed down to an eight, breathing through the sudden not-quite-pain.
I hate cardio, but I’ve been so fucking distracted lately, I don’t trust myself around heavy weights without a spotter.
Blake’s and my schedules no longer align, which is entirely on me.
For the past week, I’ve been hitting the gym in the evenings instead of mornings.
I hate it, and it makes it difficult to go to sleep, but it’s preferable to the alternative.
The alternative would be bumping into Seth.
Or, more accurately, Seth seeking me out.
And I know, with a hundred percent certainty, that he’d take one look at my pathetic, guilty face and know that instead of talking to Jamie like I promised, I shoved my dick in his mouth. And he’d give me a piece of his mind.
Yeah, so it turns out I’m a fucking coward. And I guess I’m also afraid of a gay twink with black eyeliner and pierced nipples. I mean, makes sense, that shit must have hurt. Mad respect.
My chest still has that niggly feeling, so I stop the treadmill and hop off. To be honest, I don’t feel like exercising at all, which is something I never thought would happen. I’m having many new discoveries lately.
I head towards the free-weights section, purposefully picking up lighter dumbbells before settling down on a bench.
It doesn’t matter if I feel like working out or not—I have to.
I haven’t been with anyone else since Jamie dropped to his knees in front of me.
Not because there hasn’t been a need—the exact opposite.
The mere memory of shooting my load in Jamie’s mouth and him swallowing every drop has me ready to go five rounds, no matter where I am.
But—and this is very worrying—I haven’t been able to bring myself to call anyone.
I’ll be the first to admit that Jamie’s cock-sucking skills are unmatched, but this isn’t about skill. It’s about everything.
I’m unable to get what happened between us out of my head.
Is it because I’ve never been with someone who was so into it?
Into…me? Don’t get me wrong, all the people I get with are very willing participants, but Jamie…
Jamie is a whole other level. He was so beautifully desperate, so eager to please, reacting to every word of praise as if I was handing him the moon.
He was so hungry for me too. It didn’t feel like a regular blowjob, a way to get me off.
It felt almost like…worship. Like kneeling on the floor between my legs was the only place he ever wanted to be.
And then there was the other thing.
Most people start throwing their clothes on the moment orgasms are exchanged and over. They got what they wanted and are moving on.
But clearly not Jamie, who refused to let go of my cock even after I’d finished, as if…as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from me. As if he didn’t want it to end. As if he wanted to keep me inside him forever.
“Dude,” a male voice says.
I’ve lost count of my reps, so I just bring the dumbbells to my chest and sit up, looking at the guy in front of me who must have spoken. His expression is distinctly grossed out.
“No one needs to see that shit. Maybe take care of it first?”
I frown, confused as to what he’s talking about. Then he shakes his head and leaves, and I spot my reflection in the mirror. I also spot the massive boner that’s tenting my shorts like it’s trying to rip a hole through them.
Fuck.
I got hard. Because I’ve been thinking about Jamie. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, really.
I get up with a curse and drop the weights. I can’t even be bothered to wipe the bench because I’m too busy trying to sneak into the showers without flashing anyone else. Given some of the looks I receive on my way there, I don’t think I’ve succeeded.
One of the showers is running, but at least no one is outside the stalls.
I strip out of my sweaty clothes, the shorts catching on my dick, mockingly.
I hop in the stall furthest away from the occupied one and set the water temperature to the coldest possible.
I gasp as it hits me, letting it run over my dick while gritting my teeth.
It does absolutely nothing, the blood refusing to change direction.
Tired and resigned, I do the only thing I can; I jerk off. I don’t ease into it. I grab my dick and start stroking it roughly, like a punishment for refusing to cooperate.
I’m determined not to think about big blue eyes gazing up at me with wonder. Nor about a small, soft-looking mouth that can stretch surprisingly wide. I refuse to replay the loud, needy moans that spilled out of that same mouth when my dick was sliding in and out of it.
I’m most definitely not thinking of the blissed out, dreamy expression that followed, when I flooded that skillful mouth with my cum.
My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek as my balls pull up, almost violently, and I shoot white ropes over the tiles.
Fuck.
I stand outside the apartment for a long time, working up the nerve to say what I’ve been rehearsing for almost an hour.
After getting some unsatisfying release in the shower, I stayed under the cold spray for a good while.
I refused to leave before I came up with a feasible solution to this mess.
The shower has always been a good place to think.
And somehow the first idea that popped into my head was to suggest that we have sex again.
Or, more precisely, that we continue having sex.
It’s kind of insane, but it also makes sense if you look at the facts.
One: Jamie is attracted to me and doesn’t like me sleeping with other people.
Two: I need sex to function, and I clearly enjoyed what I did with him.
Three: If we keep this going, my body won’t feel like it’s starving, and there will be no need for me to call other people.
Conclusion: Problem solved.
Jamie’s drive is unlikely to be anywhere near mine, so I’d still need to rub one out regularly, but I’m used to that. As long as we communicate and are both happy with the arrangement, this might just work out perfectly.
The only thing is…I haven’t been able to explain why the idea made me feel so damn excited.
Is still making me excited. My heart is beating a little faster as I unlock the door with my free hand, the other clutching a takeaway bag, since it’s about time I organize dinner.
Can’t have Jamie cooking for us every night, no matter how much I love what he makes.
“I’m home!” I call out as I shut the door with my foot. There’s no response, but the lights are on in the living room and the sound of a hairdryer is coming from the bathroom.
I make my way to the kitchen. Might as well plate up while Jamie is wrapping up his shower.