Prologue

-Malcolm-

I PUSHmyself hard. The cold night air bites at my bare chest, but my skin burns hot as a fever. Sweat shears off my chin, sticks my hair to my face, and makes my straining limbs slick. My muscles bunch and shift as my long legs consume the ground. My breath rips in and out of me in ragged bursts.

But it isn't enough. These midnight runs are getting less and less effective. The churning inside me won't clear, no matter how many laps I do, no matter how relentlessly I push myself. The buzz of adrenaline just isn't enough anymore.

The small voice at the back of my head tells me what I already know: Only one thing will do.

I clench my jaw, but as my feet pound the turf, my rock-hard discipline starts to crack as the need becomes overbearing, the churning in my head like a hurricane.

"Fuck," I spit in frustration.

I hate giving in, it feels like losing a battle to myself. But I already know I'm going to do it, and I growl as I stagger to a stop and drop heavily to my knees. As I gulp in great ragged lungfuls of air, with my blood fizzing through me, I tear my loose shorts down around my aching thighs and take my heavy dick in my hand.

It's already half-hard and filling out fast. I groan, close my eyes, and think about the one person that I told myself I wouldn't think about; his dirty blond hair, his lean body, that ridiculously bright smile, and his puppy dog eyes. North Nolan. The popular, cheerful, and very straight, star player of our team. Golden boy of the college.

He swims into my vision, and my mind finally clears, taken up entirely by thoughts of him, my guilty pleasure. My dick is still filling as I jerk it furiously, bracing myself with one fist on the ground.

The things I would do to him. I'd make that dopey grin twist into a cry of agonizing pleasure. I'd make his bright blue eyes roll back in his head. I'd coat that tan skin in a slick layer of sweat and cum, until it was pink and flushed.

These thoughts are forbidden; I'm not allowed to dream about things I'll never have, I don't have time for flights of fancy—they are for weak-minded people—and he is most definitely off-limits to someone like me. Only last week I saw him ducking into the closet with Becki, in her push-up bra and short skirt. It had taken me far too long to cool down from a thundercloud that I didn't want to admit was caused by jealousy. I don't need that mess in my life. If he knew I thought about him like this, his pretty head would probably explode.

I curl over myself, eyes screwed shut, furious grunts falling from my mouth. The tension inside me twists tighter and tighter.

"Ngh, fuck." My head flops down, sweaty hair clinging to my forehead. I'm almost there—

Thud.

My head snaps up as the noise echoes around the wide-open space of the sports field, jerking me out of my fantasy. What was that? I pant as I search the stands, my heart hammering in my ears, but I don't see anyone in the deep shadows.

"Is someone there?" I bark, and my empty words echo back to me.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch the slightest glint of light, a flash of the moon reflecting off something shiny, and then there's the pounding of feet on the bleachers, receding into the night. Someone saw me.

I bare my teeth.

"Shit."