Kota lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling after the whirlwind of lies and negotiations with Beckett. The phone—his dad's old iPhone 19—felt heavy in his hand, the cracked screen a reminder of the fragile balance he was trying to maintain. The bite mark on his neck still pulsed faintly, and the exhaustion from the day clung to him like a second skin. He'd barely caught his breath when the device buzzed again. Another unknown number. He frowned, opening the message.
Unknown: Hey, stud. It's Elliot. Miss me already? 😘
Kota's stomach flipped. How did he get this number? Probably from Theo. He saved it quickly, debating whether to respond. But curiosity—and maybe a lingering buzz from the chaos—won out.
Kota: How'd you get this?
Elliot: Secrets, secrets. Theo might've slipped it to me while you were napping. Or maybe I just have ways. Anyway... last night? Holy fuck. You wrecked me so rough—mating press? Pounding me silly? I came untouched, you beast. My ass is still sore, but in the best way. Been thinking about it all day. When can I get more? I'm needy as hell for that monster cock.
Kota shifted on the bed, a reluctant heat stirring despite his fatigue. The memory flashed: Grayson's taunts, his own anger-fueled dominance, the way Grayson had moaned and convulsed under him. But he shut it down quick. This was getting too complicated—the Hawthornes were a vortex of weirdness and lust he needed distance from.
Kota: Not happening. That was a one-time thing.
Elliot: Aww, come on. One-time? You say that now, but I bet you're hard just thinking about it. I can still feel you stretching me—thick, veiny, pounding so deep I saw stars. Admit it, you loved making me scream. Let's do it again. Tonight? I'll sneak over. Or you come here. Dad's out till late.
Kota: No. Seriously. I'm done.
Elliot: Fine. Guess I'll have to find someone else then. Plenty of guys who'd kill to rail this ass. But none with your... equipment. Shame.
A pause. Then an image attachment loaded. Kota tapped it hesitantly. The photo showed Elliot and Grayson on the bed—naked, tangled together in a lazy post-coital sprawl. Elliot's arm draped over Grayson's chest, their freckled skin flushed, massive asses prominent in the frame, twin cocks soft but visible. It was intimate, teasing—clearly staged for effect, but the sight stirred something in Kota anyway.
Kota: What the hell?
Elliot: Just a little something to tempt you. Me and Gray keeping each other company since you're playing hard to get. Hot, right? Imagine joining us next time.
Kota: Not interested.
Another attachment. This one was a video: Grayson in the shower, steam rising around his lean body, water cascading over his flared hips and shelf-like ass. The angle was sneaky—shot from outside the glass door, Grayson unaware, soaping up slowly, hands roaming over himself. Elliot's pervy intent was obvious: a voyeuristic peek meant to entice.
Elliot: Oops, caught Gray in the shower. He's so clueless. But look at that body—wet, slippery. Bet you'd love to pin him against the tiles and fuck him senseless. Turned on yet?
Kota denied it to himself first—typing quickly even as his cock throbbed traitorously in his pants, the video's steam and Grayson's oblivious movements hitting a nerve he didn't want to admit.
Kota: No. Stop sending this shit.
Elliot: Bullshit. I can practically hear you stroking from here. Send a pic—prove you're not hard.
Kota: Refuse. Not happening.
Elliot: Liar. Here's more proof you're missing out.
The next attachment: another video, this one of a very sloppy makeout session between Elliot and Grayson. It was intense—tongues tangling visibly, lips swollen and shiny, hands gripping hair and necks as they devoured each other. Moans muffled through the audio, bodies grinding together, the camera angled to capture every wet smack and gasp. It was so hot—raw, incestuous passion that made Kota's breath hitch, his dick straining harder against his jeans despite his resolve.
Kota: Change the subject. This isn't cool.
Elliot: Oh? Not into watching us? Fine. What's your favorite sport? Mine's tennis—love the back-and-forth, the grunts, the balls flying everywhere. 😏
Kota: Tennis? Cool. I used to play basketball in school.
Elliot: Basketball? Hot. All that sweating, jumping, handling balls. Bet you're great at it—strong hands, quick moves. Speaking of, I want those hands on me again. Choke me with them while you fuck me rough. Come on, Kota—admit you want more.
Kota: Nah. What's your favorite movie or something?
Elliot: Movie? "Call Me By Your Name"—all that forbidden desire, summer heat, peaches. Reminds me of us. You pounding me like that? Forbidden and hot. When are you coming back? I'm wet just thinking about it.
Kota: Not my type of movie. Read any good books lately?
Elliot: Books? "Delta of Venus"—erotica at its finest. Steamy scenes that make me think of you stretching me open. God, I need that again. My hole's twitching for you. Send a dick pic? Or better—come over.
Kota: Pass. What's your hobby besides... this?
Elliot: Hobby? Photography. Love capturing... intimate moments. Like that shower vid. Imagine me photographing you—naked, hard, ready to fuck. Or us together. Hot, right? Let's make some memories tonight.
Kota: Not into photos. Favorite food?
Elliot: Oysters. Slippery, salty—reminds me of swallowing your load. Mmm, I crave that taste again. Come feed me, Daddy. I'm on my knees already.
Kota: Gross. Favorite color?
Elliot: Red—like the marks you left on my ass. Bruises still there. Want to add more? I'll beg if you want. Please, Kota—fuck me senseless again.
Kota: No. Music taste?
Elliot: R&B—slow, sensual beats. Perfect for riding you all night. Imagine it: me bouncing to the rhythm, moaning your name. When?
Kota: Not happening. TV shows?
Elliot: "Euphoria"—all that raw sex and drama. Like our little family fun. You dominated so well. Do it again? I'll be your good boy.
Kota: Change the subject. Video games?
Elliot: "The Last of Us"—intense, survival. But I'd rather survive your pounding. God, I'm hard now. Pic for pic?
Kota: No.
Elliot: Stubborn. Fine, back to tennis—my fave sport. The balls are so... bouncy. Like mine when you slap them. But seriously, I want to choke on your tennis balls. Swallow them whole. Aha, get it? 😜
Kota stared at the message, unamused. The pun was forced, the flirting relentless, and after the day's chaos, it just landed flat.