Chapter 7
Trey’s cock rests against his thigh, thick and perfect, draped over the heavy swell of his balls.
In the shower, I already had trouble keeping my eyes off it. But here, with him reclining on my bed like a Roman statue and the soft light of my desk lamp casting shadows across his skin, it’s impossible. I can’t look away. I’m not sure I’m even breathing.
“Well? This work for you?”
“It’s…” I swallow. “Yeah. If you’re comfortable.”
“Comfortable’s my middle name. Now draw me, Picasso.”
I drag my eyes to the paper. Take a deep breath, like I always do before I start a new piece, but this time it doesn’t steady me.
The image in front of me is too vivid. The scent of him too strong.
It’s in my sheets now. I’m going to be smelling him all night.
And I already know I’ll be doing more than just smelling when he’s gone.
I start with a loose sketch, blocking out the shape of him.
The broad shoulders. The long lines of his torso.
How he’s propped up on his elbows, chest lifted, stomach pulled taut.
My pencil moves fast, eyes flicking between him and the paper.
I can’t let myself linger on any one part.
Not the dark circles of his nipples, the solid curve of his pecs, and definitely not the thick slab of flesh between his legs.
If I do, I’ll lose the little focus I have.
It’s agony and ecstasy in equal measure. The thing I’ve been dreaming about for days. Trey, here, with me. Letting me look. Letting me study him. He said he’s flattered. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? That I’m barely holding it together?
“You look intense when you draw,” he says.
“I get focused.”
“It’s hot.”
My pencil skids, leaving a dark streak across the paper. “What?”
“The focus. How you get in the zone. Like nothing else exists.”
I feel the blush crawling up my neck. Did he just call me hot? I must be hearing things.
“Same way I get before a game,” he says. “Tunnel vision. Everything else just fades out.”
I try to erase the streak without making it worse.
Why is he talking like this? I don’t understand the game he’s playing.
It feels like he’s circling me, prodding, looking for a crack.
Is he teasing me? Trying to get a reaction?
No. I’m being paranoid. This is how normal people talk.
People who aren’t me. They say things without replaying them in their heads for days afterward.
“Something wrong? You seem tense.”
“I’m fine. Just warm.” The robe is becoming a problem. I’m sweating under it, the heavy terrycloth clinging to my skin.
“Then take it off. It feels freeing, man. I promise.”
That’s not an option. My cock is still hard, trapped against my hip, and it’s not going down. Not while he’s lying there like that, gloriously naked.
“I’m good,” I say, and go back to the drawing.
“Nico.” His voice drops. “I’m butt-ass naked on your bed. I think we’re past being shy.”
I keep my eyes on the paper. “I’m not built like you.”
Trey scoffs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I think you look good as you are. You got a nice body, man. I could see that much in the shower when you weren’t trying to hide from me.”
I don’t respond. I focus on the paper, shading the line of his collarbone. Each compliment chips away at me a little more. He has to know what he’s doing. He’s seen the drawings. He’s put it together. He knows I’m into him. And now he’s turning the dial, notch by notch, waiting to see when I snap.
“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”
“What?” My eyes flick to his. He’s smiling.
“Compliments. You can give them. ‘Good bone structure.’ ‘Great face for drawing.’ But the second one comes your way, you shut down.”
“I’m not used to it.”
“No kidding.” He shakes his head. “We gotta work on that.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” It comes out louder than I mean it to.
“I covered my wall with drawings of you. In your underwear. Without asking. Most people would’ve called campus security.
Or told me to fuck off. But you’re lying naked on my bed.
Posing for me. Telling me I look good. I don’t understand what’s happening right now. ”
“Because I like you, Nico. Isn’t that obvious? You’re interesting. You’re not like everyone else.” He props himself up further, the movement shifting the muscles in his torso. “And I like how you look at me.”
My chest locks up. “How do I look at you?”
“Like you’re starving. And I’m the biggest motherfucking steak you’ve ever seen.”
I put the pencil down. My hands are shaking too bad to hold it. “I don’t… I’m sorry…”
“Stop apologizing. Start owning it. You know what you want. You’ve known since you knocked on my door.”
My robe feels like a straitjacket. The room is too small. The air too thick. I want to run, but where to? I’m already in my own room. All I can do is stand here, pinned by his gaze, while he lays out all the secrets I thought I was hiding.
“Take it off,” he says. More of a demand this time.
“Trey—”
“Take the robe off, Nico. Let me see you.”