We stumbled into his bedroom, clothes hitting the floor in pieces. My shirt over a lamp. His tank on the rug. He shoved my jeans down and stopped to look. Most guys stopped to look. The PA caught the lamplight, the small steel beads bright against the slick at my tip already beading there, and his eyes went wide the way eyes always went wide.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “That’s pretty.”
He shoved me down onto the mattress. Crawled over me. Bit the softspot under my ear. His own cock was hard against my thigh, long and warm through his briefs, the wet patch already growing at the head. My hand found the back of his neck on autopilot.
I closed my eyes.
Big mistake.
The second I did, I saw someone else. Taller. Leaner. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and that hesitant smile, the one that made me want to know what he was thinking. The barbells under his shirt I’d clocked at the gym without meaning to. The geometric sleeve. How carefully he’d handed me his coffee and asked if I needed a ride home.
Fingers snapped in front of my face. “Hey. You still with me?”
I blinked. I didn’t even remember his name. Marcos. Carlos. Something with an o. He hovered over me, eyebrows raised, his cock bumping mine through the cotton of his briefs without producing any of the friction it should have.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just.” I pulled him down. Kissed him harder. Tried to make this be the thing it was supposed to be. Slide of skin, press of muscle. The choreography I’d done in too many bedrooms to admit.
It worked for maybe thirty seconds.
There was Ellis again. In my head. Wondering what he was doing right now. Whether he’d thought about texting me back. Whether that careful smile meant anything or if I’d imagined the whole connection. Whetherthe barbells under his shirt were as warm as I’d imagined them being.
“Okay, stop.” He sat back on his heels. His own cock, still hard against the front of his briefs, pinker than mine, flushed the way pale cocks went flushed. “You’re clearly not into this.”
“I am.”
“Dude.” He climbed off me, reaching for his jeans. “You’re like a thousand miles away. It’s cool. Happens.”
“I’m sorry.” And I meant it. This guy deserved better than someone using him to forget someone else. “You’re great. I’m just…”
“In your head about someone else.” He pulled on his shirt. “I get it. Been there.”
Heat crept up my neck, shame sharp and immediate. I sat up, grabbed my clothes. “I should go.”
“Probably.” But he didn’t sound angry. Just resigned. “For what it’s worth, whoever’s got you this twisted up must be pretty special.”
I didn’t answer. Just got dressed, mumbled another apology, and left.
The subway ride back to Bushwick stretched longer than usual. My reflection stared at me from the dark window, stations blurring past. I had no idea what the hell had just happened.
I’d gone out to prove I didn’t need Ellis. That he meant nothing, that I could move on without a second thought.
I’d proven the opposite.
My phone buzzed as I climbed the stairs to my apartment.
Ellis:Hey, I’m so sorry for going radio silent. Family emergency with my dad. Had to stay out on Long Island longer than expected. Just got back to the city. Hope you had a good weekend.
I stopped on the landing, staring at the screen.
He hadn’t ghosted me.
He’d had a reason.
And I’d just tried to sleep with someone else because I couldn’t handle three days of silence.
Jett:No worries. Hope everything’s okay with your dad.
Ellis:He’s fine. Just a scare. Thanks for asking. I know it’s late, but I wanted to let you know I wasn’t ignoring you.
