After a few seconds, he looked away but left his arm where it was.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had too,” I said, unsure of what had just happened. Had he expected me to do something?
My phone buzzed, bringing me back to the present. Maybe Packy had arrived. I glanced at the screen long enough to see it was only a reminder to charge my earbuds.Shit.
Rolling onto my back, I let out a long breath. The vivid memory had me hard, and though I tried to let the thoughts go, tension hummed beneath my skin. I couldn’t forget Packy’s gentle laughter and soft words, the ghost of his arm around me. My dick was heavy, throbbing against the worn fabric of my sweatpants.
I shoved them down and over my feet, then lay back and spread my legs. My cock stood straight, the flushed head already slick. I teased myself, dragging a fingertip from the base to the tip. As I circled the crown, a tiny bead of precum oozed from the slit. I swiped the warm, silky fluid away with my thumb and wrapped my hand around my shaft. The pleasure made me gasp.
The first few strokes were slow and loose, making me even harder. The wet slide of my hand seemed loud in the quiet room, and I jerked faster as I tried to remember the face of the bartender I’d picked up in Chicago the week before. Blond hair,blue eyes, hung like a horse. I groaned when I remembered his hands on me, how he’d licked my abs before venturing lower. He’d taken me all in, his mouth warm and wet. His ass was perfect too, squeezing me as I sank into him. Holy fuck, it was so good.
Suddenly, I was no longer in the Four Seasons.
The air is thick with a musky smell, half sweat, half hormones. I’m in bed, pressed against the cinderblock wall while I jerk off. All at once, the door bangs open as Pack runs in from the shower, dressed only in a towel slung so low his pubes are on display.
He stops in his tracks as soon as he sees what I’m doing. “Fuck, dude, I’m sorry. Forgot my…” In one quick motion, he swipes his deodorant off a shelf and heads back to the door.
He glances back before he leaves. Although I’ve pulled the sheet over myself, the outline of my hard dick is still visible. While he stares and licks his lips, it starts throbbing.
“Shit,” he says. “I’m really sorry. Be back in ten.”
The dorm room dissolved around me, and I was back in Atlanta. Letting my cock go, I banged my fist against the bed. “Goddamn fucking shit. That guy is poison.”
Despite the hate trying to take over my mind, my dick wouldn’t go down. I reached for it again and squeezed, summoning the bartender up from my memory. He’d been loud, yelling while I fucked him, begging me to go faster, give it to him harder.
“God, yes,” he’d yelled. “Love the way a jock fucks me.”
The memory of him faded, but I was still jerking off. I squeezed my balls with my free hand. A jolt of pleasure-pain shot up my spine as more precum leaked out.
“Fuck yes,” I whispered. “So good.”
The bartender was back, but he’d changed. Now his hair was brown, his eyes gray with a flash of amber. He was fucking me, which hadn’t happened, and I was moaning like I loved taking a dick.
I stroked faster. Letting my balls go, I moved my fingers over the sensitive skin behind my sac to my hole. Circling the rim made me gasp. As I pressed a finger inside, I grunted, slowing my jerking hand until the initial sting gave way to a deep, spreading pleasure. I crooked my finger and found it, a hard little ball. My vision blurred.
“You’re gonna make me come,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”
The tingling started deep inside, then coiled in my balls before I gave a raw, helpless cry. My back arched, and I grunted harshly with each heavy spurt of cum. The first one striped my cheek, but the rest landed in hot, thick ropes on my stomach and chest.
When the shooting stopped, I collapsed back onto the mattress, totally spent. The air was cool against my sweat-slicked skin, and I gasped for air. His name escaped before I realized what I was saying.
“Pack.”
I closed my eyes and whimpered.
What the fuck just happened?
Sometime later, my phone buzzed, dragging me out of sleep. I blinked at the screen and almost fell off the bed. It was eight-thirty. I’d been dead to the world for three hours, and Packy had been busy.
PACKY: I’m finally here. Plane trouble. Sat in Charlotte for four damn hours.
He’d sent that an hour ago. Then, thirty minutes later:
PACKY: Earth to Nico. I know you’re dumb, but you know how to look at your screen, right?
And now:
PACKY: We have to communicate, Nico. If not, we may as well go home and tell Marissa we really can’t do this.
