“A few of the Ice House freshmen wanted to see how the other half lives,” Aleksey said, his tone flat. “So, I figured I’d make sure they don’t do anything stupid and piss off your McRichy-Rich friends.”
“Elliot already knows guys are sneaking around out back. He is literally looking for an excuse to call security.” I glanced nervously down the hallway behind me. “If you’re just making sure your guys are okay, why are you waiting inside the door?”
Aleksey took a step forward, forcing me to back up until my shoulder blades hit the plaster wall. “You think I’m waiting for you?”
My palms pressed flat against the cold wall behind me. “I think you hate everything about this house,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I think you hate everyone in it. But you are still standing right here.”
“Fuck off,” he snapped.
Loud voices echoed down the hall.
“Check the back door,” Trenton yelled from the kitchen. “I swear I saw someone out there.”
Aleksey tensed, grabbing the front of my jacket to shove me backward into the tiny nearby coat closet to hide us. We tripped over a pile of boots in the pitch-black space as a large parka slid off a hanger and landed awkwardly on my head.
Thick, muscular forearms pinned me against the racks, a sharp ache flaring in my still-bruised ribs as Aleksey half-clamped his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
“So, did you see any of your guys sneaking around out there?” I whispered against his palm. “Or was that just a convenient excuse?”
“Still talking,” he muttered, his breath hot against my temple. “That’s your problem.”
“And yours is standing in a coat closet at a frat house you hate.”
His hand pressed down harder, cutting off whatever smart remark I had lined up next.
“You’re breathing too loud,” he muttered against my ear.
I nodded against his palm, trying to steady my breathing. The voices from the hallway were getting closer, Trenton’s loud bark mixing with the others. Aleksey pressed in tighter, pinning me flush against the back of the closet.
For a few long moments, neither of us moved. I looked up, locking eyes with him in the tight space.
He stared right back.
The tension hanging between us felt thick and suffocating. My heart hammered, but as we stood frozen together, I noticed a slow, undeniable shift lower down. Pressed against my hip, I felt his cock right through the fabric of his pants.
Aleksey knew precisely when I felt it. His jaw clenched. Instead of backing off, he shifted his weight forward and wedged his thick thigh between my legs. He ground his hips against mine in a messy, hard rhythm that made my breath hitch against his palm.
“Stay quiet,” he whispered, but his free hand slid down to grip my waist, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. His leg pressed firm against my inner thigh, propping my legs open as I rocked myself against the solid muscle there.
My dick was growing hard, aching from the pressure and the risk. “Aleksey,” I whispered when his hand shifted just enough to let me speak.
“Shut up.” He ducked his head and bit my earlobe hard enough to sting, then sucked on the spot to take the edge off. Themix of pain and relief made me arch into him, my hands finding his shoulders for balance.
His grinding picked up, like he was working off his own frustration from the party. I matched his rhythm without thinking, rocking back against him in the dark, my hips riding the length of his thigh.
The closet was too small for anything more, what with the coats brushing our sides. Still, his breath came out hot against my neck, and his dick was hard too—I could feel his erection pressing against my hip through our pants as his leg stayed locked between mine.
“Do you want this?” he said, more statement than question. His hand moved from my mouth to the back of my neck, holding me still while he rolled his hips again, slower this time, dragging it out. His thigh flexed under me, adding to the friction but keeping me pinned in place.
“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice hardly there. I was angry at the party, and at myself for hiding, but right then it all narrowed down to him and the frustrating friction he was making against the front of my pants.
He bit my neck lightly, then harder, marking the spot just above my shirt collar. I groaned, but he covered my mouth again, muffling the sound while he kept grinding.
I shifted my hips, pressing harder against him to chase my orgasm, my dick straining against my jeans. The ache sharpened with every roll, but the layers of fabric dulled it just enough and kept me right on the edge without tipping over.
I needed his bare hand on me, or I needed to touch myself. The friction of our pants wasn’t enough to make me cum. Still, I shifted my hips, trying to angle myself directly against his hard length.
But Aleksey didn’t let me.
