Page 18 of The Villain We Tempt

I seriously have no idea how other MaskTok content creators do it. Let alone the guys in those metal bands who wear the things for like four hours a night.

I mean, fuckthat.

I’m still shirtless, having left my hoodie back in the library, so I peek around the corner, make sure the coast is clear, then bolt for the stairs to the third floor.

Me walking around Kingsward Hall without a shirt on is hardly a rare occurrence. But people might have questions about the dozen extra tattoos on my body that aren’t usually there.

Thankfully, I get to my room without issue. But just before I walk in, I pause, and not just because my bedroom door isclosed.

…it’s because I can hear some girl whimpering and moaning on theothersideof that closed door.

Huh. I don’tlovethat someone else is fucking around in my bedroom. But I know no one in the world is dumb enough to be hooking up in there except my brother Ronan or one of my closest friends—Achilles, maybe Drago.

So whoever it is, they get a pass.

This time.

My little brother’s bedroom door is similarly locked,alsowith muffled moaning and groaning on the other side of it.

Jesus.

Is fuckingeveryonein this house but me getting laid right now?

Thankfully, Achilles’ bedroom is unoccupied. He and I are about the same size, so I grab a white t-shirt and a hoodie from his closet and throw them on. I’ll remove the fake tats later with the alcohol-based cleaner in my bathroom. For now, covering them is fine.

I stash my mask behind the tv in the private third floor lounge and make a mental note to grab it and the tripod and ring light I left behind the chair in the library downstairs later.

Then I’m officially on theprowl,because my dick is still rock fucking hard, my balls are starting to ache, and I need to fix that,immediately.

Getting laid right now, or any time I want, isnotgoing to be a problem. I mean, I’mme: six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds of lean muscle, and, frankly, outrageously unfair genetics. I’m also heir to the most powerful Irish mafia family in New York, a top rank in Para Bellum, the star wide receiver of the Privateers, and second in my class only to Achilles—and that’s just because Ilet himbe number one. Basically, I'm agodon the Knightsblood campus.

Case in point, I’m back downstairs at the main party for a grand total of eleven seconds before some blonde junior named Carrie attaches herself to my side. Her hands snake under my shirt andover my abs as she looks up at me with flushed cheeks, a coy smile, and "rail me" star-fucker eyes.

My aching balls cheer.

We make a pit stop in the kitchen so I can check in on my younger brother—guess thatwasn’thim upstairs—who’s currently higher than a giraffe’s balls and giggling like a fucking cartoon character with Akira Mori and Asher Volkov as they share a giant Snoop Dogg-sized joint. Then, I’m practically dragging Carrie upstairs with the intention of banging her against the first even semi-private flat surface I can find.

But you know what they say about the bestlaid…lol…plans.

My bedroom is still occupied. So is Ronan’sandDrago’s. And fucking in my cousin Achilles’ bed seems weird, so I skip his room and haul Carrie into the lounge instead.

But the second the door closes behind us, and she shoves me against it and tries to ram her tongue down my throat?

Houston, we have a fucking problem.

Specifically, a problem I haveneverexperienced before.

What the fuck.

My dick has gone to sleep.

Carrie’s kinda annoying, to be honest. We’ve hooked up before and she does this baby-doll porn-voice that’s like nails on a goddamn chalkboard. Butstill… She's writhing against me and grinding her pelvis into mine as she tries to apparentlybiteher way through my hoodie. I’m straight, twenty-two years old, in peak physical condition, andhorny.

…And I cannot for the fucking life of me get hard.

At all.

I shove her down on the couch behind us, thinking that taking charge, which is more my speed, will remind Mr. Happy that it’s time to rise and fucking shine.