“Tate,” he whispered, hurling me into action. I leapt on the bed, straddling him as he thrashed. I had to tighten my thighs on his hips to keep him from rolling as I grabbed his duvet and tore it from his face.
He inhaled sharply, his gray eyes popping open. He was still caught half-awake, fighting someone from his dreams. He punched me in my side roughly, and I gave a grunt. He pulled back as if to do it again and I grabbed his wrists quickly. I was stronger than him but he had adrenaline coursing through his veins. Even half asleep he was putting up a good fight.
It was hard not to imagine this as something else—as me fighting for control in bed, not because of dreams, but unrestrained desire. I’d push him down into the mattress before flipping him over, exposing his pale ass to my wanton gaze.
Instead, I pinned his arms above his head–my hands tight cuffs on his wrists. His body squirmed beneath mine and I ignored how hard my cock was.
He stopped struggling, finally coming to. His blonde hair was a disheveled mess and his pink lips parted in surprise. He blinked up at me a few times, his long eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks before he looked around the room in confusion. My breath left me at the sight of him.
In another life, this role he donned the past few years would have really been him—a rich boy going to a fancy European school. Maybe in another life, I really could be his jock best friend, here on scholarship… pining after him in the shadows. Instead, we were both orphans and trained killers of monsters. The world was far too complicated to let me have an easy life. Far too complex to let me be anything but an obsessed stalker.
His eyes moved down my bare chest with me still on top of him, pinning him down, my fat erection obvious in my shorts. I could feel my face heating. Tate Sinclair—stalker, vampire hunter, and a blusher. This entire situation felt ridiculous now. Why did I jump on his bed and wrestle him? I could have shaken him a little, called his name.
“There a reason your cock is attempting to puncture my hip?” He asked in amusement. I sucked in a sharp breath and rolled off him, covering my face and groaning. My entire body felt on fire and my cock twitched when he talked about it, happy to be brought into the conversation.
I wondered if he could see into my thoughts since they were so fucking loud. I kept my hands on my face because at least the only thing my hard cock admitted to was morning wood. I didn’t need him to look in my eyes and realize the full depth of what was brewing there.
“Thank you,” he finally said.
“Same dream?” I asked and he sighed, pushing his long fingers through his hair before nodding. I looked at the bags under his eyes and the sallow color of his skin. My eyes trailed down his body and I realized he looked thinner than he had just a month ago. It was my job to make sure he was in shape and healthy.
“Is something going on?” I asked.
“Just dreams,” he sighed. He smiled, his eyes dipping to my body. My muscles tensed as if preening for him.
“There a reason you’re still in my bed?” He asked. This man drove me insane. I shot up.
“Nope. Sorry. I’m going to go…” I trailed off, thinking about the persistent erection in my shorts. I didn’t think telling him I was going to go jerk off would be ideal. “Kitchen. Coffee,” I grunted before darting from his room.
I moved back into my room, slammed the door, and dropped into bed. When my hand wrapped around my cock and started to pump I kept remembering the sensation of our bodies together in his bed—pressing his hands above his head, the confusion on his face, his eyes dragging over my chest. My mind replayed the way his mouth formed the word “cock” over and over—the warmth of his body, the softness of his sheets. His rumpled hair, his moans.
I wanted to fuck him into the mattress while gripping handfuls of his ass.
My balls drew up.Don’t come thinking of him, I growled a few times in my head as I crawled closer to release.Don’t…images of his body when I first walked in—stretched, tense muscles, sweat glistening—flashed through my head like I was frantically rifling through secret polaroids I’d taken.
“Shit,” I hissed as ropes of hot cum gushed from my throbbing cock. I grabbed the pillow and shoved it over my face trying hard to muffle the groans I couldn’t control as my orgasm stretched out. A pool of cum collected on my belly and once again, I’d jerked off to Sebastian. A daily occurrence I pretended didn’t happen.
I threw the pillow at the window, causing the blinds to shake.
“Fuck,” I snapped. I looked at the puddle of my own cum on my stomach. I groaned in despair, closing my eyes for a moment to pity myself. Finally, I crawled from bed, found a towel to clean up with, and pulled a shirt on. I flew down the stairs, trying to make it to the kitchen I claimed I was going to. I needed to tell him about the phone call from Hackmann.
I brewed a pot of coffee and then splashed some into a mug filled with flavored creamer. I sipped it slowly, thinking over the conversation I knew wouldn’t make Sebastian happy.
Sebastian glided into the kitchen looking like death. Tired, pale, purple under his eyes. My eyes dragged over him. He looked like shit and at the most inopportune time. I felt like this was my failure. Had I not paid close enough attention to his body? That hardly felt likely but here he was, sick for the past week and trying to pretend he wasn’t.
He came over to me and grabbed the coffee pot, pouring himself a full cup in the mug I’d gotten down for him. My neck felt hot, thinking about my groans, wondering if he heard them through the thin wall we shared.
He leaned against the counter in front of me, his muscles bunching under his dark, tight shirt. Gray eyes looked at me over the rim of his cup as he sipped from it. The apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed black coffee down.
Of course, he heard me jerk off. How could he not have? My heart rate kicked up a little as we stood there in silence. His body was honed for fighting, lithe and muscled. He was thinner than me, even at his best. A little shorter too. Was I looking too much? My eyes snapped back to his but he was turning away.
“Let’s spar at the gym,” he said, dropping his mug in the sink. I let out a relieved breath.
3
“You look like shit,” I said, prowling in a circle around him. This early on a Sunday, no one was here. It was a good space for us to practice. I always played the aggressor–the one who charged in to attack. I was trying to keep Sebastian ready for anything going sideways and me not being close enough to help.
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, watching me move. I lunged forward, swiping at his legs. He jumped up but too slowly. I hooked his legs and his eyes widened as he went down, his back hitting the mat. I stepped over him and sat down on his gut, making him groan.
