But I couldn’t stop. The muffled sounds from Aleksey’s room pushed me further. I started stroking again, slower this time, syncing with the rhythm on the other side of the wall.
Shame twisted with arousal, making every sensation sharper. My grip tightened around my cock, and I thrust into my hand, picturing Aleksey’s shoulders flexing as he mirrored me. Desperate sounds broke from my throat with each pump of my cock, louder than I meant, the buildup too much to hold back.
When I finally came, it hit fast.
I gasped one last time, muffling it against my arm as I finally let go, my cum spilling over my hand in waves that left me shaking.
The rush hadn’t even faded before a loud, metallic scrape at the door froze the blood in my veins. Someone was fumbling with a key in the lock.
Nausea punched me in the gut. I jerked my hand down, wiping it quickly on the hem of my shirt, and yanked my sweatpants up. The thick cotton fabric scraped like abrasive sandpaper against the highly sensitized tip of my dick.
Then I threw myself onto the edge of the mattress, sitting up with my back to the door just a split second before it swung open.
Matt shuffled inside, bringing with him a blast of freezing winter air that seemed to roll off his coat.
“Hey,” Matt croaked. He didn’t even glance in my direction. The usual upbeat rhythm of his voice was completely gone, replaced by a groggy slur. “You still awake, bro? Damn. Do you ever sleep?”
My fists gripped the edge of my bed as Matt dropped his gym bag on the floor with a thud. I forced my body to relax, desperately trying to project the innocent posture of a guy who had just been zoning out. But beneath the facade, I was paranoid with fear that the smell of cum was hanging thick in our cramped room.
I just had to pray the blast of cold air he’d let in from the hallway was enough to mask it.
“Nah,” I said, glancing over at the thin wall separating me from Aleksey. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Chapter 6 - Aleksey
The absolute last thing I needed at eleven at night was a legacy kid pushing my buttons.
A few nights ago I’d let Karter Johnston press gauze to my bare skin in the communal bathroom, and now I couldn’t look at him without the memory kicking up, making everything worse.
I let my backpack slide off my aching shoulder; the canvas hitting the floor with a dull thud. And somewhere in the dim maze of shelves, a librarian’s cart squealed on a bad wheel, the sound grating against the quiet.
Every muscle in my body ached. A long, four-hour morning shift stocking shelves at the Food Mart, stacked right on top of a long afternoon drill session on the ice, had left me drained.
Karter sat at our usual table, looking out of place in the grim basement. Even down here in the shadows, those natural blonde streaks in his messy hair managed to stand out.
Scraping the wooden chair back, I collapsed into my seat.
“Chapter four, page twenty-two,” Karter said, nodding at the chemistry textbook without looking up.
I didn’t open it. Five minutes crawled by.
Karter’s thumb traced the edge of the page, his knee bouncing under the table. His phone buzzed against the tabletop, and his whole body seemed to twitch in response. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stared at the screen as if it might bite him, then shoved the phone into his pocket and crossed his arms.
“Who is it?”
“Nobody.” He tapped the textbook page, his gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. “Read the problem.”
“You’ve checked your phone four times in three minutes.”
“So you’re counting now,” he said, voice tight. “That’s cute.”
“And you’re a terrible liar. It’s obviously somebody.”
Karter gave me a cutting look. “Read the chapter, Aleksey.”
“Back to full names now? Must have touched a nerve.” I leaned back, crossing my arms. “And I’m not reading shit until you actually pay attention,” I snapped. “You’re supposed to be the one who knows this stuff.”
“I do know it.” He finally met my eyes. “Which is why I’m telling you to start on page twenty-two.”
