“Jackson? You still there?”
I realize I’ve been staring at the screen, at his long…thick…finger in complete silence for way too long. “I’m—yeah. I’m here.”
“I know it’s weird?—”
“It’s for charity,” I say, my voice coming out strangled because my dick is throbbing in my boxers. “That’s…that’s good. Charity is good.”
Drew’s studying me through the screen, and I wonder if he can see right through me. If he knows that my brain is currently short-circuiting over the thought of what sensual things we could get up to together in public.
“You okay with this?” he asks softly. “I mean, with the whole fake boyfriend thing, you might feel like you have to participate, but you don’t. I can always find a rugby player to get sensual with.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.Do not think about Drew and a rugby player. Do not think about it, Jackson.“Why wouldn’t I participate?”
Drew blinks. “What?”
“Your boyfriendnotdoing an art performance with you would look suspicious.”
“I guess.” He’s chewing his bottom lip now, a nervous habit that makes me want to reach through the screen and chew it for him. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
Obligated.My dick is so hard it hurts. The thought of being up close and personal with his beefy body…there’s no obligation to be had here. Iwantto do this with Drew.
“I should let you sleep,” I say, because if this conversation continues, I’m going to do something stupid. Likeshow him my erection and confess that I spent my afternoon preparing for the possibility of him.
He grins. “Night, Jacky.”
“Night.”
The screen goes dark, and I immediately shove my hand into my boxers. I’m leaking so much precome, it’s obscene. I close my eyes and let myself imagine it. The weight of his cock in my hand. The size, the shape, every ridge and vein. The juiciness of his ass. The hidden wonder between his cheeks.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily.
I can’t do this. Can’t lie here torturing myself with possibilities. But I also can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About the moment when I’ll have to decide how much I want to keep pretending that Drew isn’t turning me into a complete and horny mess.
A vision of his large hands caressing my body is all it takes for me to shoot my load for the second time today. My eyes roll back, and I gasp for air as my body burns. A tingling sensation that starts in my toes, making them curl, zigzags its way up to my brain.
When it reaches, I black out.
I drift back to awareness,each thought struggling to break free from a thick mental fog. The first thing I register is the scratchy texture of wool against my body. Then comes the uncomfortable realization that my right hand is stuck to something. No, not stuck to—stuckin. My boxers.
“Finally awake, I see.”
I jolt upright fast enough that my vision swims. Ryan is at his desk, typing away on his laptop, and acting as though finding his roommate passed out with his hand down his pants is just another night at BSU.
“Ryan, how—” My voice comes out as a croak. I clear my throat and try again. “How long have you been back?”
“A couple of hours.” He doesn’t look up from his screen. “Found you sprawled across your bed like a crime scene victim. Hand shoved down your boxers, phone on the floor, looking thoroughly relieved.”
Heat floods my face as I carefully extract my hand from my underwear. It’s crusted with dried semen, and I want to sink through the floor and disappear forever. “I can explain.”
“Please don’t.” Ryan turns to face me, adjusting his glasses with that precise movement he does when he’s about to deliver uncomfortable truths. “Though I did take the liberty of covering you with a throw blanket. You’re welcome.”
I glance down at the unfamiliar blanket. It’s Ryan’s, from his meticulously organized closet.
“Thanks,” I mutter, unable to meet his eyes. My brain is still foggy, but fragments of memory filter through—Drew onFaceTime, his confession about the charity event, my complete loss of control afterward.
“Drew called after you passed out. Something about a sensual art performance?”
My stomach drops. “He called back?”
