What the actual fuck?
The words repeated in my head the entire drive home
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fuming with anger
no.
nope
absolutely fucking not
this wasnt happening
I was Zack Anderson.
Starting quarterback.
Football player.
a guy who had never once looked at another dude and thought anything remotely gay.
So why the fuck did I get hard?
fuckkkkkk as I slammed my hand against the steering wheel
This is ridiculous
I quickly took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
"It was nothing, bro. Don't freak out," I muttered.
People do dumb shit at parties all the time.
Besides, between football practice, classes, and everything else, when was the last time I'd gotten any action?
Exactly.
I was just sexually frustrated.
That's all this was.
A stupid kiss.
A weird moment.
Nothing more.
This shit happens.
No big deal.
I nodded to myself as if saying it enough times would make it true.
Then why the fuck did I kiss him back
Why did it feel good? Am I that pent up? I should have punched the fuck out of him
That piece of shit,
The smirk.
The kiss.
The way he'd looked at me afterward like he knew something I didn't.
"Fuck."
I slammed my hand against the dashboard.
finally pulled into the driveway,
I parked my car and headed straight to my apartment, five minutes away from campus
. I took the keys from my pocket and opened the door. then took my shoes off and closed the door behind me i quickly change my clothes and finally dragging my self to bed
i lied there for about ten minutes my mind went into a spiral before i feel asleep
Braden had me pinned again, but this time there was no party, no banging on the door, no escape. We were in my room. His body was heavy on top of mine, skin burning hot. He kissed me like he owned me, deep, filthy, tongue fucking my mouth while his hand shoved inside my boxers and wrapped around my throbbing cock.
"Still gonna pretend you don't want this?" he growled against my neck, stroking me slow and tight, thumb spreading the precum over my swollen head.
I tried to tell him to fuck off, but it came out as a moan. My hips bucked into his fist like I had no control. He laughed low in my ear, biting my collarbone as he pumped me faster, harder, whispering shit that made my face burn red
"Fuck… Braden"
As moans escape my lips, the pleasure coiled up so fast it hurts. My thighs shook, balls drawing tight, and then I was coming so hard, cum pulsing over his fingers, spilling everywhere while he kept stroking me through it, milking every last drop.
ahhh Braden stop
I woke up gasping, body jerking.
My boxers were soaked. Warm, sticky cum covered my stomach and the inside of my shorts. My dick was still twitching, half hard and oversensitive. I lay there in the dark, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like it could give me answers.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
time skip four hours
It was morning with sunlight stabbing through my blinds like it had a personal grudge against me. My head felt heavy, mouth dry as shit. For half a second, I thought yesterday was just a weird ass nightmare until I shifted and felt the cold, crusty mess in my boxers.
fuck me, I groan, sitting up fast, memories from yesterday slip into my mind over and over again, the kiss, the dream fuck as I held my head into my hands in total disbelief
What the hell is wrong with you, Zack?
I kissed a dude. Got hard as fuck. I came in my sleep thinking about him. Me. Zack Anderson. The same guy who used to laugh at those jokes in the locker room. Now I was the fucking joke.
I ripped the boxers off like they burned me and threw them in the hamper. I couldn't even look at them. After a quick shower, hot this time, because I was done punishing myself, I stood in front of the mirror, water dripping down my chest, staring at my own reflection like a dumbass.
get in together as I muttered to myself
I went back to my bedroom and took my phone from the nightstand
It was eight am
no no no no fuck
I was late for practise
Can my life get any worse