Getting Railed by my Best Friend's Boyfriend. 1

Out of all the place on earth to think of getting fucked by him was while I was close to the pool in my swimming trunk.

Adrian's huge length pulled out and plunged back in mercilessly.

"Fuck!"

"Take it all you sneaky little fuck."

"Ahhhh. Yes."

My ass was up in the air in his bedroom. I arched my back so hard it might not straighten out again.

My dick was leaking so much precum and I was so damn close.

He flipped me around, my back now on the bed. Without wasting time he thrust back inside me again with his thick veiny mouth watering cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck. Ahhh..."

"Fucking slut." He grunts as he pounds into me. "You can't get enough of this dick."

"Yes...fuck yes I can't."

"Good."

"Ahhhh...mmmm..."

My hands tightened around the sheets.

I was so close to going over the edge.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled my ears plus the sound of my screams.

Heat curled up low in my stomach.

"Ahhhhhhhh..."

"Tom! Tom!" I heard someone yell my name and it yanked me back from my...whatever that was.

I raised my head and it was Adrian MacDonald. His pretty blue eyes stared back at me, sharp and unamused.

It wasn't the first time I'd zoned out thinking about sex.

Visualising Adrian fucking me senseless had become some kind of sick hobby at this point. My dirty mind kept wandering exactly where it wasn't supposed to. Because Adrian was Cole's boyfriend. My best friend's boyfriend. The guy I shared a dorm wall with. The guy whose laugh I heard through that same wall some nights and had to shove a pillow over my face just to cope.

Cole and I had been friends since high school. He was the kind of person who made everything feel steady — brown hair always slightly messy, green eyes always buried behind some thick rimmed glasses, nose always in a textbook. Cole was the kind of brilliant that made ordinary people feel like decorative furniture. I loved him like a brother.

Which made the fact that I was mentally getting railed by his boyfriend a particularly special kind of problem.

Adrian had come out of nowhere eight months ago. Transferred in from some university up north, joined the swim team like he owned the water, and within three weeks had been named captain.

My captain spot. The one I'd been working toward since freshman year. Two years of 5am practices, of pushing my body past everything it had, of being the guy the coach called on when it mattered — and then Adrian MacDonald walked in with his broad shoulders and his stupid blue eyes and his effortless authority and just... took it.

My dick, apparently, had decided that it was hot instead of infuriating.

Traitor.

"Are you going to keep staring at the ceiling or are you actually going to get in the water today?" Adrian's voice cut across the pool deck, flat and unbothered.

The rest of the team was already in the water. I was the only one still standing at the edge like an idiot, goggles pushed up on my forehead, apparently having a full cinematic fantasy in the middle of practice.

Cool. Great. Very normal.

"I'm warming up." I said.

"You've been warming up for ten minutes."

"How long I warm up is my damn problem."

He looked at me like I was something he wanted bash against the wall. His arms were crossed over his bare chest and I absolutely did not let my eyes drag down the line of his stomach to where his swim trunks sat low on his hips.

I did not.

"Get in the water, rookie."

I hated that word from his mouth specifically. Everyone else on the team called me Tommy. Adrian called me rookie like it was a reminder. Like he needed me to remember exactly where I stood.

I pulled my goggles down and dove in before he could say anything else ignoring the slight discomfort in my swim trunk.

The water swallowed everything. The noise, the tension, the image of his hands that my brain refused to delete. Under the surface it was just me and the lane and the burn in my shoulders and for approximately forty five seconds I was completely normal. A person who was not losing his mind over someone else's man.

After practice came to an end, we were all crowded in the narrow space near the equipment lockers, the guys were either with towels going to shower or just lazing around while waiting for their turn to shower. I had my back to the room pulling my swim cap off when I felt someone stop beside me.

I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Adrian had some kind of presence. That was the only word for it. The presence that introduced itself without him saying a word. I'd noticed it the first day he arrived and spent every day since trying to unnotice it.

"Your turns are sloppy." He said.

"My turns are fine."

"You need to put in more work. Your turns are obviously sloppy." He repeated, completely unbothered by my disagreement. "You're losing half a second on every flip. Over a full race, that's not nothing."

I turned to look at him then because ignoring him while he was directly beside me felt more obvious than just looking. That was a mistake. He'd pushed his goggles up and his hair was wet and pushed back from his face and there was a water droplet making its way down the side of his neck and I needed to be a different person immediately.

"I'll work on it." I said.

He looked at me for a moment longer than necessary. Something unreadable moved through his expression and then it was gone, replaced with the usual cool neutrality he wore like a second skin.

I thought my answer would send him away , but unfortunately it didn't.

"Cole said you've been stressed." He said.

That surprised me enough that I actually blinked. "He told you that?"

"He mentioned it." Adrian shrugged one shoulder. "He said you were having trouble sleeping."

The fact that Cole had talked to Adrian about me did something complicated to my chest. Cole noticed things more than people gave him credit for, buried in his books or not.

"I'm fine." I said.

"You don't look fine. You looked half dead in the water today."

"Thanks. Really."

The corner of his mouth moved as if he was about to smile but stopped it.

He looked so pretty. I wonder how one could stay angry at him for so long.

Well , I could, because he's such an annoying prick.

"Cole's staying late in the library tonight." He said, reaching past me for his bag. His arm brushed mine and I forgot how breathing worked for a second. "He said not to wait up."

He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked away and I stood there with my swim cap in my hand and the ghost of his arm against mine and the full certainty that I was in a very specific kind of trouble that I had absolutely no idea how to get out of.

I wanted my best friend's boyfriend to fuck me.

I stood there for a long time after everyone else had cleared out, listening to nothing in particular, talking myself very firmly out of every single thought in my head.

It didn't work.

It never worked. I was screwed.