Chapter Seven: Asshole

Ryan 

I didn’t want him to stop. 

But playing to Caleb’s ego wasn’t something I wanted to do either. It was true, but he didn’t get to say it…didn’t get to call me out when he was doing the same thing. 

But his fingers wrapped around my dick, his fist stroking me slowly, his eyes fixed on mine, as if he knows…

“Ryan—“

My eyes roll back and my hips jerk into his touch, despite my attempts to remain unaffected. He tilts his head, his lips brushing my ear this time. “I didn’t get to return the favor the other time.” His fist tightens and I almost gag on a gasp. On how good it feels. “Maybe I should even the stakes now. After you, you were very good…going down on your knees, taking me into your mouth, working me until I came.”

His fist strokes me up and down, his fingers working quickly from the tip of my cock, where I can already feel pre-cum dripping, to the shaft. 

“Mm…?” 

I don’t know what he’s asking anymore at this point. I’m about to explode and every muscle in my body is begging for release. 

“Please…” I hear my voice, but it feels like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

“Please, what?” He whispers roughly. “What do you want from me, Ryan?”

I want to come. 

Some part of me refuses to admit it, refuses to let that final act of surrender slip past my lips. My knees buckle, but his hand slides to my waist, gripping me firmly and forcing me to remain on my feet. His tongue slides over my ear—and a spark races down my chest, curling up in knots somewhere in my stomach. 

 I pump my hips, biting back a groan as his strokes become faster, using the pre-cum to make it wetter. 

“You don’t get to play games like that in our apartment, Ryan,” he says sharply. “Because I can see right through you.” 

Games? I wasn’t playing any games. I wanted him. So much I was willing to be for it. 

His fist tightens a little more, putting the right pressure that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. 

Fuh. 

Fuck. 

I’m going to come—

I grunt as I shut my eyes, my head tipping back as his hand slid from my waist to my neck, his fingers wrapping lightly around my throat. “You want your cum dripping all over my fingers like I had in your mouth, don’t you?” He rasps thickly. “Show me how much you want it. How much you want me.”

So bad. 

So fucking bad. 

I feel it coming, from every part of my body, racing to my cock, about to spill out—

Then he pulls away. 

I don’t register it for a moment, until he mutters something under his breath. Then I open my eyes, to find him looking at me with a dark scowl. 

“Finish it up yourself,” he grunts. “Anna’s waiting for me to come pick her up. “

What? 

I watch him walk to the door in a daze, not making sense of what just happened until it slams behind him. I glance down at my pants, my dick springing free and still very hard. 

And then his words echo through my head. 

“You don’t get to play games like that in our apartment, Ryan. Because I can see right through you.”

He was taunting me. 

Confusion quickly boils into anger in my chest. “Asshole!” I yell into the empty apartment as I zip up my pants. “You’re the one who has a girlfriend! You’re the one playing games!”

I storm into my room, slamming it so hard my ears ring for seconds after. I plop down on my bed with my arms spread wide, feeling both foolish and high-strung at the same time. 

I should’ve walked away the second my date left. He lied to her…cost me a half-good one-night stand and I still let him treat me like I was a toy. 

“Ugh.” I groan loudly, grabbing a pillow and placing it over my head, holding it down with both hands while I hold my breath. I come up for air a minute later, feeling no better. 

Why would he go to that extent? 

He could’ve used his words and gone to pick up his girlfriend. 

Instead—

I look down at my boner that’s nowhere close to going away; recalling the way his fingers slipped into my pants, his fingers curling around my cock with a smirk on his face. 

My dick strains against my pants, refusing to take into account that Caleb was being an asshole when it gave attention. I ignore it, closing my eyes and counting down backwards in my head from a hundred. 

I do it ten times. 

But it doesn’t work. 

I glance at the bathroom door, my bottom lip caught between my teeth. It takes less than ten seconds to make up my mind. 

***

I lock the door behind me and strip fast, kicking my jeans and pants aside. The shower’s already running hot by the time I step under the spray. I flinch lightly when the water hits my shoulders, my chest, and runs down the hard line of my stomach. 

I don’t even try to pretend I’m just washing. 

My hand wraps around myself, my thumb sliding over the slit, and the image of Caleb hits me full force—those sharp eyes, the lean cut of his shoulders, the toned lines of his stomach and waist.  

His cock. 

Asshole or not, my body doesn’t care. It wants him.

I stroke slowly at first, letting the water make everything slick while forcing Caleb out of my head. I’m not touching myself because of him. 

My mind disagrees as it takes over, replacing my hand with his, the way it was rough and impatient, working and pumping me.

My hips jerk and my knees almost give out. 

I brace one forearm against the wet tile and speed up, twisting my wrist on every upward pull the way I like. 

“Fuck—” 

The word slips out, soft and broken under the rush of water. I come hard, spilling over my fist while the shower washes most of it away. I keep stroking through it until the last aftershocks fade and I’m left breathing hard against the tile, forehead pressed to cool ceramic.

I stay there longer than I should until the water starts to run lukewarm, with my anger against Caleb nowhere to be found. 

Then I step out of the bathroom…just in time to hear the door open. 

“…baby…” 

The sound of them kissing—Caleb and Anna—makes my chest twist. How can he kiss her, when he looked at me like that? Like he wanted nothing but to watch me come apart in his hands? 

I grit my teeth as I march over to my closet, yanking out a simple tee and shorts. They continue kissing for a while, but at some point I hear the door to his bedroom open and close.

It should make me feel better, but my mind punishes me with imaginary thoughts of what's happening behind the door  

I force it out, getting into bed and tucking myself under the sheets. I close my eyes and remind myself of the same thing.

Anna is his girlfriend. I'm just the fake boyfriend. 

But the truth only reinforces what I already know. 

That I’m the only sore loser in this fake relationship.