Page 27

By the twenty-minute mark, I was fully bought into the story and could see why his sister had recommended it. About forty minutes in, Mikey settled deeper against his pillows, sighing contentedly, his shoulders shifting toward me. A few minutes later, I felt the bed shift, then his head landed against my shoulder.

I stopped breathing.

Mikey’s breaths, however, were slow and even. He was asleep.

I should have woken him up the second I realized what was happening. I didn’t, though. I wish I could say I didn’t know why I didn’t, but I knew.

I fucking knew.

He shifted against me again, his head settling into the curve where my neck met my shoulder, and made a sound that wasn’t quite a snore before murmuring something into my skin that I couldn’t quite make out. My whole body broke out in goosebumps.

He said it again, burrowing even closer, his voice clear this time. “So warm.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then to twenty.

He nuzzled in closer, the bridge of his nose pressing against my collarbone.

I sat frozen as my body reacted to his weight pressed against me, his breath at my throat.

It was maybe the best moment of my life.

Eventually, the credits rolled, a loud, synth-heavy outro song coming through the speakers, and Mikey shifted, then lifted his head.

I waited for the panic to hit. The recoil. The fumbling for an explanation.

But he just looked at me, sleep-creased and rumpled, his curls pressed flat, and chuckled. “Shit. Sorry, Cal. Did I drool on you?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, and dropped my hands to rest over my lap.

Do not look down. Please don’t fucking look down, I silently implored him.

He cracked his neck side to side and stretched his arms over his head, his t-shirt riding up over his stomach to reveal a trail of sandy hair leading down into his waistband. “You make a pretty good pillow, man.”

I needed to get the fuck out of this room. I swung my legs off the bed and said something about practice.

He yawned and agreed and said something else I didn’t catch through the blood whirring between my ears.

I did manage to hear him call out my name, though.

“Cal.”

I stopped, my hand on the door handle, my head hung forward in shame. Slowly, I turned to face him. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For … yeah. Just thanks.”

I cleared my throat. “Anytime.”

In the hall, I pushed through the stairwell door and took the three flights up to my floor two at a time, rushing into my room like the hounds of hell were chasing after me. I slammed the door shut behind me, set the chain, and went straight to the bathroom, where I stripped without looking at myself in the mirror. I turned the water on and stepped under the spray before it was hot, barely noticing the cold.

This time, I didn’t try to pretend this wasn’t exactly what it was.

I gripped myself tight and stroked fast. Heat gathered at the base of my spine, my breath sawing out of me as I thought about his weight pressed against me, the drag of his breath on my throat, sleepy words whispered into my skin.

My stomach drew tight, and my rhythm faltered. I came hard with Mikey’s name on my lips as cum spattered the tile and swirled down the drain.

I leaned my forehead against the wall and waited for the shame to hit. For the urge to scrub my body clean. For the spiral of self-disgust and the promise that I wouldn’t do this again.

What came instead was an almost detached recognition that I wasn’t going to stop. I wanted Mikey Porter so bad I could no longer think straight. And I could no longer tell myself this was only physical.