Page 13 of The Jock Next Door

He pulls back, eyebrows furrowed. “Listened to me? What do you mean?”

“You woke me up. The moaning. The bed hitting the wall. And I…”

Understanding crosses his face, followed by a dangerous smile. “You listened to me jack off?”

My face is on fire. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I thought you said the walls weren’t that thin.” He’s enjoying this. I can see it in the glint in his eyes. Did he know I was lying? Did he do it on purpose?

“They are. I hear everything, Trey. Every single sound. I’m sorry.”

“Everything?” His hands move back to my head, fingers threading through my hair. “So you heard me say your name?”

My heart stops, then starts again, pounding double-time. “What?”

“That night. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Those big eyes. That cute little ass. How you got all flustered when you saw me in my underwear. You had me so worked up, Nico.” He grinds against my palm. “Had to take care of it. And when I came, your name was on my lips.”

I don’t think. I lunge forward and press my mouth against his. His stubble scrapes my chin, his tongue finds mine, and for the first time in my life, I understand. I understand what makes people crazy. What makes them write poetry and start wars and burn cities to the ground.

It’s this. The softness of his lips. The scrape of his teeth on my bottom lip. How he pulls me in, one hand gripping my head, the other grabbing my ass and squeezing hard. It’s better than any fantasy. Fumbling with girls, the half-hearted attempt with Gemma, none of it prepared me for this. This voracious, all-consuming hunger. This feeling of wanting to climb inside someone and live there.

I pour everything into it. Every mumbled apology, every shy glance, every hour spent bent over my sketchbook trying to capture a fraction of what he’s making me feel right now. And he’s kissing me back just as hard, breath mingling, spit slicking our lips, teeth clicking together. It’s nothing like the movies. It’s messy and desperate and urgent, like this is our last night on earth.

And for all I care, it could be. I’d die happy like this. In Trey’s arms, his cock hard against my stomach, his tongue in my mouth.

“Knew you’d be a good kisser,” he murmurs against my lips. “So eager.”

I don’t want to stop, but he pulls back, panting. His lips are swollen and slick.

“Get up,” he says.

“But I⁠—”

“Get up.”

I scramble to my feet, knees protesting. I’m wobbly, a little dizzy from the intensity of it. Trey rises with me, his body pressing close, heat radiating off his skin. He turns me around and guides me forward until I’m standing in front of the easel with the rough outline of his portrait.

“Keep drawing,” he says, hands on my waist, holding me in place.

“You... what?”

“Draw me. While I do this.” He drops to his knees behind me. I don’t have time to process it before his hands are on my ass, spreading me open.

Then his tongue is there.

A warm, wet stripe over my hole.

9

My ass has never been something I’ve thought about. It’s there. For sitting on. For holding up my jeans. Two pale globes that never struck me as anything worth noticing. I’ve certainly never considered it a source of pleasure.

Until now.

Trey’s tongue, which was in my mouth a minute ago, is now lapping at the most private part of my body. A place no one has ever seen like this, let alone touched. The sensation is beyond anything I’ve ever felt. Dirty, intimate, shockingly good. My knees buckle, and I have to grip the easel to stay upright.

Trey only pulls his tongue out long enough to growl, “Keep drawing,” before diving back in.

But how? How am I supposed to focus when he’s doing that? His tongue swirls around the rim, then presses inside, just the tip, then deeper. A wet, probing heat that makes my whole body clench. My cock is leaking nonstop, a puddle forming on the linoleum beneath me.