“Do you know what’s interesting?” he asks, flexing his knuckles.
When I remain silent, he levels those intoxicating eyes on me and then trails them down my body until they pause on my straining bulge.
“You claim to hate me so much, yet you’re hard as a fucking rock.” He reaches out to touch me, but I snatch his wrist, twisting it at an unnatural angle.
“Don’t you fucking dare touch me!”
“Why so rattled, little brother? Scared your secret will get back to Mom and Dad?”
I snap.
Moving forward, I press my forehead to his, realizing too late that his body is now aligned with mine, and all I can feel is him. I dig my fingers into the tiled wall as our breaths dance in the small space between our lips.
The need to grind my cock against his crotch makes my mouth go dry, but I force down the urge, whispering, “Stay the hell away from me.”
“Scared your dad will find out that you’re not so perfect, after all?”
My eyes fall shut and my chest heaves on a ragged inhale. The pull—hispull—is too strong. I don’t stand a damn chance against his current.
“Scared they’ll find out you’re dying to touch me?”
My eyes fly open.
Stumbling back, my hand shoots out, and I punch his face.
It all happens so fast.
One minute, he’s taunting me, bringing me to the brink of madness, and the next, my knuckles connect with his cheekbone.
His face whips to the side, and he bursts out laughing.
Disheveled hair shifts forward over his eyes, hiding his own descent down the rabbit hole.
I don’t think I’m ready to see the look in his eyes.
Instead, I stare at my bleeding knuckles.
Straightening up, he leans back against the wall, his hoodie creased from my grip. “Break up with her, or Mom and Dad will see the video.”
When I finally let my eyes lift from my cracked knuckles to his bruised cheek, he shrugs. “Let’s see how proud they are of you then.”
He walks out without another word.
Ilove it when a plan comes together without much effort on my part.
It all started when a gravelly voice called my name as I passed by the business building. I looked back to see Freddy, the local dealer, leaning against a tree.
Intrigued, I backpedaled.
We didn’t run in the same circles, and we’d never exchanged a single word before now, which made me more curious.
He took a drag on his cigarette, watching me through his lashes. “You party?”
When I failed to respond, he shrugged, blowing the smoke to the side. “Preppy boys like you party, too. What are you into?”
“What have you got?”
His husky chuckle rang out in the afternoon sun. “You name it, I’ve got it.”
