Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 30 "Jesus," iPhone mutters as he stumbles back into sight. Most of NEX's outside lights have been turned off because, technically, everyone should be fucking asleep already. But it's three A.M. on a Sunday morning and half the frat house is either gathered around the beer pong table for a questionable winner-takes-all match, or squeezed into the natural stone hot tub. It's a statement about how much NEX bros like to party. And how much money flows through their bank accounts. "What?" I ask as iPhone-fucking Thaddeus-shoulders his way into the frothing water beside me.

"Spent twenty fucking minutes looking for my phone." "Found it, didn't you?" Kruger says, cupping his hand around a blunt as he takes a hit. "Dude, I was using the phone's motherfucking light to look for it!" There's a beat where everyone-even Austin-just stares at him, then we all burst out laughing. Soon as I can breathe again, I tap iPhone's shoulder with the back of my hand. "Listen, thanks for the heads up earlier." "No problem, man." iPhone shakes his head, chuckles. "That shit was wild. Her friend tried to wingman me into making out with her." "You what?" My voice is a low growl.

"Relax. She's not my type. Her friend on the other hand..." iPhone grins. "That diva's a ten." I relax a little. If it wasn't for iPhone, I wouldn't have known Haven was at the G's party last night. Honestly, I didn't think she'd leave her room after what happened Friday night, but Haven's always had a tough skin. Guess it's only gotten tougher the past few years. Kruger passes iPhone the blunt, but he waves it away. "Don't think I can get higher." "Thad, dude, you can always get higher," Kruger says. I'm definitely not high enough.

Can still remember way too much of my life, thank you very fucking much. The gun going off in Haven's hand. Rooke's groan as he came in my mouth. The jolt of pain when he twisted his hand in my hair. And that traitorous swell of pride when he called me a⁠- I reach past iPhone to take the blunt, but before I can grab it, he snatches it from Kruger and hits it hard. "Everyone knows, bro. Fucking everyone." His real name's out, which means we're treated to thirty minutes of Thaddeus Rex, Thaddy Daddy, Thaddeus Prime, or whatever the guys can come up with every time iPhone walks into a room.

"Better than iPhone, right?" "iPhone?" He rolls his eyes so hard I'm shocked they don't fall out. But when he looks around, I guess the pieces fall into place. "That's what you guys have been calling me behind my back?" "And to your face," Nolan says. "Thaddy's better, though." "That's my first name, dickhead. Everyone calls me Blake." "What, even your folks?" Kruger asks, looking quite genuine about it. Or at least, too stoned to be making a joke. iPhone-Blake-looks around the hot tub with growing disbelief. "Seriously?

I've been in this frat as long as Jordan, and none of you fuckers even know my name?" This sets us all off for another minute or two. "Don't be a Saddy Thad-" Austin shrieks when Blake beans him with a beer can. "I know you told everyone, fuck face!" Blake yells, lunging over the churning water toward Austin. I grab the blunt from him, sticking it in my mouth before me and Kruger manhandle him away from Austin. We shove him down on the seat beside us hard enough to send a surge of water over the side of the sunken hot tub.

It splashes harmlessly onto the paving, but it washes a few roaches and some beer tops back into the water, and would have submerged my phone if I hadn't snatched it off the paving just in time. Thaddy's phone isn't as lucky. "Fuck man, I just got a new one," he whines, shaking water off the phone. "Rice it," Kruger says. "Probably spend another twenty minutes looking for it," Blake mutters as he stands to go back inside. I inspect Kruger's blunt, but thank God it's still dry enough to smoke. I give it a few shallow puffs to get it glowing again, then a deep hit.

The tobacco leaf burns my throat like Jäger, but I keep it pinned inside my lungs as I hand the blunt back to Kruger. A violent and painful-but thankfully brief-coughing fit follows. "Hey, dude, you been to see Ezra yet?" Nolan asks. I'm not the only one who's surprised when they realize he's speaking to me. "What?" "Your brother." Nolan knocks Austin's arms away when the guy taps him with the back of his hand, trying to silence him. "You been to the hospital yet?" Everyone finds somewhere else to look at-the frothing water, the beer pong match, the black sky.

"Why?" I ask, as flippantly as possible. Might even have pulled it off, if my throat hadn't suddenly been so tight. Even the chuckle I let out is more pathetic than smug. "So I can kick him when he's down?" Nolan laughs, shaking his head. "Jesus, you two are something else." "I gotta question," Kruger says, raising a finger. "Why's Ezra still in charge? Like, since when do grads run things? The math just isn't mathing." Austin sounds aggressively defensive. "His dad founded this frat back when he was a freshman.

That makes Ezra an honorary member." I'm staring at nothing, willing the conversation to die a horrific death before I say something I regret. Because Kruger's right-Ezra graduated last year but he never gave up his seat. And no one's questioned it-at least, not out loud. Until now. Kruger sits with the info for a beat, then clears his throat. "I hear you, man, but isn't Kai⁠-" "You want a say on NEX matters, dude?" Nolan cuts in. "Try rushing first." "Yo, man, I wasn't trying to be⁠-" Thank God my phone vibrates in my hand, giving me an excuse to fade out of the argument starting up.

I turned off the sound after Haven sent me that nasty fucking message earlier. Not sure why I bothered. Not like she'll ever message me again. But it's not a message. It's a new follower notification from some dude on my VibeFeed app. @inherentvice I tap on the profile and open the pic. It's a selfie of a guy wearing a black hoodie with the hood up. He's pulling the fabric over his face, obscuring everything but a sliver of his chin and mouth. Dark blue veins stand proud on the back of his large, slim hand where the sleeve has been pushed up to mid-arm.

Vain fucker probably chose the blue tint on his Patek Phillippe watch face to highlight those veins. I don't recognize the watch, the clothing, or what little of the guy I can see peeking out behind the hoodie. No other jewelry, no tattoos, no background visible. His account is private, he has no followers, and he's only following one person. Me. What the fuck? I don't go in here often since Haven arrived back in Agony Hollow, and even less since I stopped going to the gym. I'm already following everyone in the frat, and I added Kruger the other day.

I'm about to exit the app when I get a new notification. I open my DMs, frowning at the message. @inherentvice There is pleasure in the pathless woods. I glance around at the guys in the hot tub. Austin and Nolan are talking, Kruger and the rest are zoning out to the drum and bass blaring from the bluetooth speaker. My eyes slide back to my phone. To the tiny profile pic visible in the DM screen. From the random message and anonymous profile pic, my first thought is a bot. Until I turn the message over in my blazed mind a few times. It sounds...literary.

And sure enough, when I Google it, a poem by Lord Byron comes up as the first result. So I have my suspicions, which may or may not be directed by the severe paranoia of the weed I just smoked...but I do my due diligence anyway. @wanderkind who is this @inherentvice I am nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? My jaw clenches. There's only one fucker I know who could be this annoyingly condescending in a fucking text message. Anonymous profile. Follows me so he'll know when I come online. DMs ready to go. This was planned. I try to take a screenshot of the app, but it gives me an error.

Right, VibeFeed was developed with privacy in mind. Only way I can get evidence of this is with another phone. And I'm not like Blake, with two phones on standby in case one of them dies while I'm doing a trade. Concerns for later. These messages he's sending me aren't the 'burn after reading' kind. @wanderkind Rooke? @inherentvice Would you like it to be? @wanderkind BLOCKING But before I can hit the block button, a new message comes through, and fuck my slow response time because I can't help but read it.

@inherentvice One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light but by making the darkness conscious I scoff, my lip curling into a sneer. @wanderkind JUNG AT 3AM? How sober do u think I am @inherentvice I'd love to find out. Something hot and electric and wrong shoots through me. I sit up so fast, water laps around my chest. "You a'right, bro?" Kruger croaks. I mutter a vague, "Yeah," his way. But I'm not. Rooke has no fucking right saying shit like this to me. Private DMs or not, anyone could see this shit and⁠- Well, it's not blatant, I guess, but still.

Kruger's hand appears, and this time there's a joint in it. I grab it on instinct, cup it, and take a few hits as I try to figure out how to get Rooke off my case. "I hate texting," Kruger says. "Voice notes are my jam." My eyes dart sideways, but he's watching the beer pong match through red, slitted eyes. Fuck that. I shift anyway, angling so my phone screen is not in his line of sight. "Voice notes are fine, but you've got two minutes max, then fuck you," Nolan says.

"Gonna be more than two minutes, then call me." "Maybe," Myles says in a sing-song voice, giggling as he plucks at his pedo-looking mustache. Jesus. There's a harsh buzz in my ears, and I realize I've smoking the joint like a fucking cigarette. "Fuck, take this," I tell Kruger. "Don't give me more." "Good shit, huh?" I lift my eyebrows, opening my eyelids as wide as possible to focus on my phone screen. ...love to find out... I consider a few responses. Fuck off and die. Burn in hell. That last one is courtesy of Haven. But none seem harsh enough.

"What's the worst way to tell someone to fuck off?" I ask Kruger. Kruger. But I get like a hundred replies. "Kindly vacate my vibe," Kruger says. "Weak." Nolan coughs on the joint, and as if inspired, says, "Tell 'em to choke on a Lego." "Unsubscribe me," Blake says behind me, giving me a fucking heart attack. He taps me with his foot. "Dude, make room." I shift over reluctantly, angling even more so he can't see my phone screen. I should get out and have this fucking duel with Rooke where no one can eye spy my screen, but I'm getting some good feedback here.

"Nastier," I say, shaking my head. "I need ruthless, not funny." "Delete yourself." When the fuck did Dahmer climb into the hot tub? I press my lips together. "Could work." "You're not worth the battery I'm wasting," Austin says. "Forget it," I mutter, waving away their suggestions. @wanderkind Keep texting. The more evidence the better @inherentvice Evidence of what? I bite the inside of my lip. This fucking guy. I close my eyes against a sharp sting, but they fly open a second later when something bumps against my hand. Blake is holding out a bottle of eyedrops.

"Dude, yes." I dose myself and pass the bottle on to Dahmer. Need to get my vision checked, because I still don't know how I didn't notice him getting in the hot tub. He takes the drops but passes it onto Austin without using them. Guess he likes pain, the sick fuck. As I'm trying to figure out what to reply, Kruger leans in. "Yo, man, gotta question..." I like Kruger, but damn, the guy's nosy as fuck. "What?" "What happened after we dropped you off at that house?" Everyone goes silent. There's even a snatch of silence from the boombox before it shuffles to the next song on Blake's playlist.

"Who's house?" Nolan asks. I clear my throat, not looking at him. "Nothing," I mutter. Kruger's not picking up my vibe. "'Cos you said you'd call if you needed us to⁠-" "Yeah, but I didn't," I cut in. His mouth opens again, but I don't let him speak. "She wasn't there. He'd dropped her off at a friend's house." "Ah, shit, really?" Kruger chuckles. "And here we were⁠-" "Yeah, big waste of time," I cut in again, because it seems Kruger's too fucking stoned to realize everyone's listening, trying to piece together what he's talking about.

I think Blake figures it out, because he says, "Dude, we were so faded. We shouldn't even have been driving." I'd have thanked him, but I'm too high, and still reeling from Rooke's messages, never mind Kruger's guerrilla attack. "Yeah, fucking tell me about it." Kruger laughs. "Felt like we were in a fucking action movie, giving chase like that." He mimics driving a car, tires squealing, and everyone bursts out laughing. Action movie? More like a low-budget porno. "Dude, thank you!" Myles says, pointing at Kruger. "I keep forgetting to tell you guys.

I watched the most kick ass fucking reel the other day. This guy gets in his Bugatti, and he..." I don't give a fuck about said dude or his car. I'm just fucking glad the attention's off me and Kruger's questions. My thumbs tap furiously on my phone screen. @wanderkind U know what I'm talking about asshole @inherentvice It's 3am. Seriously think I'm sober enough to remember? Fuck, he's toying with me. Not sure why the hell I'm surprised. I tap the sides of my phones, lips rolled together as I try to figure out what to say. I should just fucking block him.

It's obvious he's just trolling me because he's bored or something. And definitely not sober. Just booze, or some more coke? @wanderkind Say it straight or I'm blocking u @inherentvice Straight is boring. Unlike you and my gun this morning. I get another jolt hardwired to the base of my fucking spine. My hand shakes, and if I wasn't this fucking lit, I'd be throwing my phone. @wanderkind U want to get caught? @inherentvice Both my firearms are legal. As is the girl we had over for brunch.

I laugh despite myself, because how the fuck is he still this sharp when my autocorrect keeps noping out on me because it doesn't have a fucking clue what I'm trying to say? @wanderkind Stand the fuck down @inherentvice Why? You on your knees again? My nostrils flare as I swipe a hand through my hair. This fucking motherfucker. I'm still thinking of some vicious reply when another message comes through. @inherentvice Bet you didn't notice she came first. Too busy choking on cock. @wanderkind Keep her out of this! @inherentvice Or what? You'll fuck me into submission? I'm not a bottom, boy.

But she sure is. I know I shouldn't be instigating, but I can't fucking help myself. @wanderkind Unless she has a gun @inherentvice I'm so shocked at getting a fucking emoji from Rooke, I nearly drop my phone in the hot tub. @inherentvice Come over, boy. I have candy. @wanderkind Fuck you @inherentvice That's the plan. I've had her, now I want you. Possessive rage tightens the grip on my phone until I can feel the case creaking. @inherentvice I wasn't joking about the candy. There's enough for me and you. Her, too.

@wanderkind Stop messaging and leave us alone or everyone will know what you've done. @inherentvice Come and play, or everyone will know what YOU'VE done. @wanderkind You think you scare me? @inherentvice No, Kai. I think I own you. He's got nothing. I mean, what the fuck could he have? My mind scrambles for anything I might have said, some sliver of info I could have dropped while⁠- -while we were busy. Ezra? My dad? Newsworthy, sure, but not a direct threat to me. Right? Right? Jesus, Kruger's weed has made me so fucking paranoid⁠- Rooke sends me an image.

I lock my phone with trembling hands, nearly fumbling it. Heart pounding, I glance around to see if anyone saw my screen. Only Nolan's looking my way, but his eyes are glazed and unfocused. Blake and Kruger are talking, Dahmer is busy on his phone, and Austin's head is back, shoulders bopping along to the music. I feel like I've just woken from a nightmare, body still in shock from the jumpscare that dragged me out. "Yo, guys, I'm...I'm fading," I mumble, standing. "Dude, no!" Blake grabs my knee. "That track I was telling you about is coming up⁠-" I pull him off.

"Tomorrow, bro." I give Kruger a chin bob, ignoring the rest of the guys that greet me. I don't make it inside the house. The half-dying shrub closest to the deck of the NEX frat house gets a dose of puke-possibly not the first tonight. This is where everyone either vomits or pisses if they can't make it inside. Highly discouraged, of course, but preferable to the hardwood floors. My shoulder scrapes along the wall as I drag myself upstairs to my room, using the railing to haul myself along.

I collapse onto my bed, and should have passed out from the sheer amount of weed and booze circulating my veins, but I have to check my phone. Because it can't be real. I was fucking hallucinating. Except...it is. And I wasn't. There's a new message beneath the picture. @inherentvice Appears non-consensual, doesn't it? My lips part, an incredulous huff leaving my mouth. @inherentvice Who should I send this to first? The dean? Your parents? ...her? All I can manage in my near catatonic state is one desperate word. @wanderkind Don't @inherentvice You'll have to beg me in person.

I type the word 'pls' before my tanked brain understands his last text. I won't do it. I can't. If I go to his house, I'll do something I regret. It won't be sucking his dick like he expects. It'll be far worse. I might just leave him in the same condition I left Ezra. Because Rooke also touched what's mine...and he's threatening to do it again. My phone rings, and ends up across the room as I hurl it away from me in shock. It carries on ringing, slightly muffled where it landed on top of Rooke's hoodie. Only when the ringing stops do I dare retrieve my phone.

The app is still open, no new messages. But as I shuffle back to my bed, a new one appears. Another picture. "Jesus." I clap a hand over my eyes, shaking my head. Compared to the previous image, it's practically SFW. But it's not, because it's Rooke, and it does shit to me. A shot of his hip, a thumb dragging down the side of his gray sweatpants just low enough to expose the V in his muscles and a trail of dark pubic hair. I swallow down bitter saliva, eyes still closed as I try to figure out if I'm going to puke again. But it's not nausea. The picture of Haven he sent gave my dick ideas.

It's already hard when I crawl onto my mattress and fall down on my back. And it only gets harder when I scroll up, obscuring the last photo in favor of Haven's. I didn't realize Rooke had his phone with him on Friday night. He had the perfect view of a collared Haven from his armchair at the foot of the bed. Her legs spread, pussy on full display. In the photo, I'm scowling as I finger her. With her hands bound to the headboard, the fearful expression on her blindfolded face, and the way I'm pushing down on her stomach to pin her to the bed... He's right. It doesn't look consensual.

And of course the part of me that should be doing five to ten in a state facility can't get over how fucking hot she looks, all tied up like that. The part that takes out my dick. That strokes it until my eyes close, and all I can see is Haven squirming and writhing under me as I take what I've wanted for so many years. I buck into my fist, wishing it was her tight cunt. But the weed's fucking with my mind, because the image keeps changing, flickering between what I want, and the sinister seed Rooke planted there. Haven, then him.

Her writhing and whimpering in pain as I take what I want in brutal thrusts. Him taking what he wants, viciously stroking my cock. As I'm on the edge of coming, my phone rings again, knocking me all the way down. I answer with a frustrated growl. "Lose my fucking number, you psycho!" Rooke chuckles in my ear. "You sound out of breath, boy. Am I interrupting?" I go to end the call, but a rush of blood has my dick hardening in my hand. I fight back a groan, my back arching as I fumble with my phone using my non-dominant hand. Thank fuck Rooke ends the call.

I give my cock a few slow strokes, but I'm so fucking close I can't bear to⁠- My phone rings. I fumble to silence it, but instead of declining, my stupid dumb hand slides over the screen and accepts. The screen goes dark as I enter a video chat with Rooke. With my phone lying on the bed, all it's showing on my side of the video feed is a pixelated shot of my ceiling. I quickly switch to the rear facing camera. Pitch black replaces noisy gray, and I can safely peer into the screen without Rooke seeing my face.

His feed is just as dark, but there's the hint of a silhouette before I guess he changes his video to the rear-facing camera. A smear of orange enters then leaves the shot. Briefly, I think I make out Rooke's sliding door, but the image glitches or something because it almost looks like it's webbed with cracks. Wasn't like that when me and Haven left yesterday morning. His fireplace comes into view again, and the camera pauses. Rooke doesn't speak, but I hear fabric rustle. My paranoid mind comes up with the worst thing first. Haven is with him, isn't she?

That's why he wanted me to come over. He's turning the phone to her, so I can see her naked on his couch in his fucking living room. Maybe he's even going to force me to watch him fuck her again, recording the exact moment his cock pushes inside her wet cunt, just how I want to⁠- The phone lowers. A coffee table comes into view, then Rooke's bare feet and the bottom of his gray sweatpants. The same ones from the photo he sent. Still not a sound. Just a faint crackle from the fire. Clothing rustling. And⁠- Skin on skin.

It's unmistakable, because that's what I'm hearing from my own crotch right now as I work my cock. It almost makes me stop, because... That means we're both jerking off. Right now. But I keep thinking about that photo of Haven, legs spread and my fingers deep inside her cunt, and I can't make my hand stop. Can't turn off my phone. Can't. Stop. Watching. The camera pans up, revealing Rooke's knees, then his thighs. When I see the bunched up fabric of his sweatpants, my throat tightens and my chest closes up. But I can't look away.

My entire body starts buzzing as his cock comes into view and he gives himself a long, slow stroke. It's the first time I've seen him wear a watch, and even though I can only see the strap, I know it's the same one as his profile photo. His top is a thick, dark fabric that looks identical to the black hoodie. Did he set up a fake account just to fuck with me? Who does that? He still says nothing. The only sound is that faint, slick rhythm. My own matching it. His cock glistens like he used lube...or spat on it. I don't have lube handy.

Spit I've got a lot of...and unless I stop jerking off, I'm going to need something wet on my dick. I try not to make a sound as I spit onto my hand, but I nearly groan out loud as I wrap my wet fingers around my shaft, the difference immediate and fucking insane. "There's my boy," Rooke rumbles in a low voice. I freeze. "What would be the point of stopping now? You've already crossed the line." My jaw clenches so hard, I hear my enamel squeak. Rooke strokes his cock with the same slow, steady rhythm as before, each vulgar pull up his shaft dragging over rock hard flesh.

"Be a good boy, and see if you can keep up." I want to let go. I want to end the video call. But I also need to come more than I've ever wanted to in my entire fucking life. No stimdick from the molly this time. Not enough booze to affect the blood supply. More than enough weed to amplify the forbidden craving flooding me to new, stratospheric heights. Biting down on my lower lip, I tighten the grip on my cock and try to match Rooke's strokes. "That's it. Nice and slow. I want you to feel every inch, boy." I hate that my eyes are locked on his hand like it owns the fucking world.

I hate that I'm following his instruction like we're back in class. I hate that it feels so fucking good. It's taking everything in me not to nut straight away. "Good boy." He drawls out the praise like he's tasting it. Tasting me. For a second, I think about shoving my dick into his mouth. Forcing him to suck me. He'd be good at it, I know he would. My face goes hot, my body cold, and I shove out the thought as quickly as it arrived. "She looked good in those ropes, but I think you'll look better." Like he has direct access to my mind, I get an image of him lashing my wrists to his bed.

It's gone as quickly as the previous thought, but my cock caught every second. I desperately fight back my orgasm, but I'm seconds away. And as if he knows it, as if he's testing my restraint, he brings the camera closer to his crotch. His fist slides slow, deliberate, skin catching under his white-knuckled grip in a filthy, obscene drag. The veins on the back of his hand are dark against his pale skin, his arm trembling ever so slightly, as if he's holding himself back too. The only sound is that slick friction and my own breathing, because I can't hold back the panting anymore.

"You thinking about her? Wet, tied up, begging? Bleeding?" His breath shudders out. "Or is it me?" I don't answer. Can't. I grit my teeth, my hand shaking as I struggle for control. His hand just keeps stroking-slow on the down, twisting on the up. Showing off. A long pause, but his hand never stops. Mine does. It's that or come. "Don't stop, boy. I want you to fuck your fist like it's my mouth," he says, voice as steady as the grip he has on his cock. "No one else. Just me...taking you all the way down 'til you see stars." But I can't make myself move, I'm too close.

"Show me," he whispers, his hand stopping. "I want to see how good you're being for me, boy." He's got me under some kind of spell, I swear, because there's no fucking logic to why I pick up the phone. Why I point it at my dick. Why I nearly come when Rooke exhales a slow, shivery breath that I swear I feel against my face. "You've got such a beautiful cock," he murmurs. "Show me how you work it when you're thinking of me." My back arches, my grip slick with spit and precum. I tug at my cock, but my movements are sporadic compared to his precise, measured strokes.

"Fuck," I mutter through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna come." "Not yet. Not...yet." Low, sharp. The camera wobbles, catching the flex of his abs under that hoodie as hissed breaths slip out of him. He pauses to spit on his cock, and I mirror him. "That's it...a little faster now. Faster." He's stroking his cock again, speeding up. "Keep up, boy." There's the wet sound again, echoed by my own. This update is available on Find[ɴ]ovel.net "Next time you swallow me down, I'll hold you there," Rooke croons. "Feel your throat fight me.

I'll fill you so deep, you'll be tasting me for days." A groan rips out before I can swallow it. "There's my good boy," he says, almost laughing at my slip. "Nearly there, aren't you?" I try to will myself back from the edge, but his words keep shoving me closer. It feels like I'm in a Mission Impossible movie, trying to point the phone at my cock and keep up a steady pace with the other hand. "When you come, it'll be with my name on your lips. Not hers. Mine.

And you'll mean it." The slick tempo on his end climbs-matched to my thundering pulse, my bucking hips, that perfect unbearable friction. Rooke's voice becomes darker, even filthier. "Gonna fuck you-" his voice tightens "-the way you fucked her that night. Tie you to the bed, spread you." He groans again, sucking a breath through his teeth. "Fuck you 'til you're weeping." My thighs tremble, my balls drawn up tight. "Come for me, Kai...now." My name, Rooke's entire humiliating command, hits like a hand on my throat. His hand. And Christ, I want it. I need it.

"Come now, or the first person I send that picture to is her." Shame and fury and pure crackling heat crash through me. My orgasm rips through me in silent convulsions-my back bowed, cock throbbing in my clenched fist. Rooke laughs as cum flows over my fingers, and the sound makes my eyes flutter open just in time to hear him groan as he breaks. I watch him come as the last few spurts of my seed ooze out of my dick. The sound of depraved pleasure he makes is so raw, it feels like nails down my back. I've seen guys come in porn videos. Always fast-forwarded.

My eyes were for tits, pussy, the arch of the girl's back. Even with two men and a girl, they blurred into background noise. Just hands, just props. But now? I can't tear my gaze off him. Rooke's jaw goes tight, tendons cording as his orgasm rips through him. His abs seize like his body's trying to break free of him. I watch how his cock jerks in his fist, fat spurts of cum striping his stomach while his fingers squeeze merciless. And then he does this thing-grinding his thumb hard over his cock's swollen head like he's pinning the aftershocks in place.

His whole body shudders, teeth bared, as if the touch is almost too much and not enough at the same time. My cock twitches at the sight. At the sound of his shattered groan. Jesus. What the fuck does that feel like? Watching him lose his breath under his own hand, I want to know. God help me, I want to know. I want his hand on me like that-brutal, merciless. His voice rips me from whatever fucked up place I went to, drags me straight back to reality. "Fuck yes," he exhales in a rough voice as he gives his cock another few languid strokes. "You've been such a good boy for me, Kai.

Now, clean yourself up, and get over to my house so we can⁠-" I hang up. My hand's sticky. My throat's tight. I want a shower. I want bleach. I want to fucking disappear. Mouth open, I drag in lungfuls of air, trying to get my breath back. But it's a losing battle, because as I'm trying to find something to wipe myself off with, tightness grips my head, my throat, my chest. I curl into a ball, nails digging into my scalp. Trying to keep it together. But failing. Always fucking failing. I sob like the weak, needy little pussy he called his boy, hating him for it. Hating myself.

But, most of all, hating her. Because none of this would have happened if Haven fucking Lee had stayed gone.