CAGED BY MY TEAMMATE

1

-NORTH-

THE COCKcage is uncomfortable. But I guess that's kinda the point.

A few days ago, if someone had told me I'd be struggling to concentrate in bio class, surrounded by my fellow students, with this thing attached to my dick, I would have laughed so hard a little bit of pee came out. Because that would never happen to me. But that was a few days ago, and now here I am, shifting in my seat, the metal bars of the cage snug around my cock, trying to follow what the professor is saying. And no one around me knows. Except for one person—the guy wearing the key on a chain around his neck.

He's sitting two rows behind me, three seats to the right, staring at the back of my neck like a hawk tracking a rabbit. I don't need to turn around to know, I can feel his eyes on me, like a laser beam. That's how intense he is. Oh, and I'm ignoring him.

Well, as much as anyone can ignore the intense energy of Malcolm Blackwood. I can practically feel his presence reaching out to me, pressing down on me from behind. I fiddle with the pen in my hands. I'm not going to look at him.

Last night, Malcolm handcuffed me and fucked my brains out. My ass is still throbbing from his "punishments." He was rough and demanding and—let's just get this straight right now; I'm not gay, never have been—but I loved every damn second of it. Like, desperate for more, eyes rolling back, "fuck me harder, daddy" loved it. So, that's new. And, as if that isn't enough to thoroughly freak me the fuck out, before my afterglow had even dimmed, he'd slammed this cold metal cage on my dick and kicked me out of his house. I get that he's not the cuddly type, and to be honest I don't really know what the protocol is when you fuck your straight teammate into oblivion, but a little bit of something would have been nice. A kiss on the cheek maybe. Or even just a goddam smile. But nada.

So, you could say I'm confused as hell. Does he like me? Does he hate me? I really have no idea. Afterward I was too tired and fucked out to process it. But now I've had the best sleep in weeks—the magic of a thorough dicking I guess—and after twelve hours of blissful shut-eye my brain is working properly again. And what it's saying is that Mal is a batshit crazy asshole. A crazy asshole with the key to my cock's freedom around his neck. Not the best situation to be in.

I'm not sure how I managed to get so deep into this mess so quickly, but I'm going to do the only reasonable thing—end it as soon as class is over. It's taken all morning to build the courage up to do it face-to-face. I could have just messaged him, but he has that key, and who knows what crazy thing he'll do with it. So, I need to do it in person. A grimace twists my lips at the thought of a confrontation like that. I hate them. But I'm getting that key and I'm taking this damn thing off. And then I'm going to ask Becki out and have nice, normal, boring sex with her. And I'm never going to fantasize about Mal tying me down and fucking me into a gibbering mess ever again.

My cock twitches inside its cage at the thought, and I shift in the hard wooden seat. My dick is an idiot, and I'm not listening to it.

Professor Halloway gestures at the wide board at the front of the room as he speaks—something about enzymes?—and I realize I haven't taken in a word of anything he's said so far. Goddam Malcolm and my dick are conspiring against me. I'm falling behind in this class, and I really need to start picking it up. I can't afford another fail; I'm on thin ice as it is.

I've managed to take in about two minutes of the lecture when my phone vibrates in my pants pocket, a small buzz that makes me sit up. Not looking around, I slip the phone out and check the message under the desk.

Psycho: Have you got it in?

Before I can stop myself, I'm looking over my shoulder. Malcolm is leaning back in his seat like a lazy storm cloud; big and dark and foreboding, and entirely unbothered with everything that's going on around him. His black shirt shows off the width of his shoulders and upper arms, and makes his skin look even paler. His hands are under his desk, holding his phone. My attention is sucked to his eyes like a black hole, shadowed under his lowered brows, and something like an electric current passes between us.

I jerk back around, stuff my phone back in my pocket, and stare straight ahead. Nope. Not today, Satan.

Instantly, the phone vibrates again, sending shivers along my leg. I ignore it. It goes off four more times in quick succession, each time making my heart do a weird little flip. I stare straight ahead, hands curled into fists on my thighs. Nope, nope, nope. Not interacting. He can wait until the end of class, and then I'll rip the Band-Aid off quickly.

The vibrating stops, and then something small hits the back of my head and I jump. A small wad of screwed up paper bounces onto my desk. He's throwing paper at me? Seriously? How old is he? I flick it off the table and keep my focus forward, even as every fiber of my being urges me to spin around, face the danger head on, keep the predator in my field of view. Another ball of paper hits my shoulder, a light tap. Another skims past my ear. It sails over the desk in front of me, and the guy sitting there turns around, frowning. I give him my usual harmless smile, shrug and roll my eyes—immature idiots, amiright?—and that seems to placate him. He pulls a face in agreement and turns back.

If Mal doesn't stop being stupid, someone is going to realize something's going on between us before I have a chance to finish it. But then he'd probably love that, it'd be one more thing to torment me with.

The balls stop flying, and for a moment I let myself believe that he's finally given up trying to get my attention, until the professor stops abruptly mid-sentence and looks up.

"Malcolm? What are you doing?"

I spin. Malcolm is up on his feet and walking toward me.

"I need to take care of something urgently," he says, and his eyes flick over me.

I start to panic. Shit! He's coming over here. Is he going to expose my dirty secret in front of everyone? I press a hand over the cage instinctively, to hide my shame. But then he passes by without even a glance my way and heads for the door. Professor Halloway doesn't know what to make of it any more than I do, and he hesitates as Malcolm pushes the door open, unsure if he should challenge him or not. All eyes are on Malcolm as he leaves the room, and I sag in my chair.

Halloway clears his throat. "Ok . . . well. Where was I?"

He gets the class back on track, but now I'm far too distracted to take any of it in. Malcolm didn't expose me, but my heart is still in my mouth. Where's he going? What's he up to? Why am I more nervous now that he's not in the room, than when he was? I know it has something to do with me.

My phone goes off again, making me jump, and I fumble it out of my pocket and steal a glance at it under the table. The list of unread messages pops up.

Psycho: Answer my question, Nolan.

Psycho: Are you ignoring me?

Psycho: Turn around.

Psycho: You're starting to piss me off.

Psycho: I'm going to fuck your tight little asshole so hard you won't be able to walk for a fucking week.

Jesus. Why does that make my balls ache? There's something very wrong with me. At the bottom, I read his most recent message:

Psycho: Make an excuse to leave and meet me in the restroom. Now.

I lick my lips and glance around to make sure no one's looking, then type a speedy reply.

Me: no leave me alone

That's really going to piss him off. Malcolm isn't the kind of person who likes being told no. He starts to type something, and I hold my breath, expecting an angry reply; maybe another threat of a hard fucking—my face burns at the thought. But then it vanishes. I stare at the screen, but no new message comes through.

Ok. So, what does this mean then?

Has he got the hint?

Am I off the hook?

. . . Is he going to follow me home and murder me and hide my body under the bleachers?

My mind is still whirring a minute later when the sound of the door swinging open makes me look up. Mal strides back into the room like he owns it, cool and unfazed. Instead of taking his seat, he approaches Professor Halloway at the front, who frowns at the disruption and speaks quietly to him. I watch, literally on the edge of my seat. What the hell is he saying? The professor nods at whatever it is and looks at me.

"North, Coach Nelson wants to see you in his office."

Like hell he does. Mal watches me, eyes narrow. We both know he's lying, and he's waiting to see what I'll do. I could refuse to go, but that would probably look even weirder to everyone else here who has no idea what's going on. So, I stand slowly, reluctantly, and sling my bag over my shoulder. I march out of the room stiffly, with Mal hot on my heels. He waits just long enough for the door to swing shut behind us, so we're blocked from view, before he grabs me by the shoulder.

"Hey!" I say and try to jerk away. But he grips on hard and hustles me down the hall without speaking. I'm pretty well-built, you have to be as the star player of the football team, but he pushes me along with ease. I stumble, my feet tangling under me. Then he swivels and propels me through a door.

As soon as we're in the restroom he jerks me around to face him. I slap his hands off me. He lets go of my shoulders and takes my jaw in his hand, pressing my back against the closed door.

"Why are you ignoring me?" he hisses, his eyes burning.

"Do you want a list?" I hiss right back at him. "You're crazy. You're an asshole. There's something seriously wrong with you."

His jaw tightens. "You didn't already know that?"

I open my mouth and stop. Yeah, I guess I did. I just didn't realize how true it was.

He looks absolutely manic, and even though warning bells are going off in my head like crazy, it makes certain parts of me heat up. I have to fight the urge to push forward into his hand to increase the pressure on my jaw. What kind of reaction is that? I shake my head and knock his hands away again.

"I can't do this anymore. I don't know why I agreed to go along with it to start with, morbid curiosity, I guess. But whatever this is, I want out. I'm not into it."

It's true, or at least it should be. Until now I've been exclusively into women, and zero kinky shit. Hell, before last night I'd never even kissed a guy . . . which, actually, come to think of it, I still haven't. Which just confirms his epic level of crazy. He'll stick his whole dick in my mouth, but the thought of kissing me is too repulsive?

He's briefly taken aback, like the idea that I wouldn't enjoy being tormented by him is incomprehensible, and then his face darkens. "You seemed very into it last night," he says.

I choke. "Yeah, well, I guess there's something wrong with me too. But I'm fixing it right now."

He smells annoyingly good this up close and personal, and it's throwing me off. I go to push past him, but he shoves me back against the door and snarls into my face. "If you want to stop, say the safeword."

"No." I scoff and roll my eyes. I want to stop. Of course I do. But I'm not saying his dumb safeword, it's stupid.

"Are you wearing the plug?" he asks out of nowhere.

"No, of course not!" I say.

"Why not?"

Because you didn't tell me to put it back in yet. I squash the thought frantically.

"Because I want out. I mean it."

His face tightens. "Is this because of last night? If you require more aftercare, that is something I can accommodate in our sessions." The oddly formal words are forced out through gritted teeth. "I didn't follow my usual process last night. If that's what has put you off."

I stare at him. Of all the things I'm expecting him to say, this isn't one of them. Is he apologizing to me? No, that can't be right, he doesn't know the meaning of the word.

"Do you like me or not?" The question slips out without thinking.

He blinks, caught off guard. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Because you fucked my brains out and then kicked me out of the house!"

"I didn't kick you out."

"You made it pretty fucking obvious you wanted me to leave. I might not be a mastermind academic genius like you, but I'm not fucking dense. Unlike you I know how to interact with other humans. What is wrong with you?" I say. "I have no idea what your issue is with me."

He stiffens again, his face darkening.

"Of course you don't, you're just a dumb jock. Does it upset you that not everyone here is completely in love with you? Get over yourself."

"Me get over myself? You get over yourself!" I snap back. "Just because you're big and dark and brooding, you think that makes you cool? Think it makes you better than me? Because you've got a huge fucking mansion and a rich dad? It just makes you weird."

"You have no fucking idea what you're talking about. Just like you have no idea about anything."

I shove him and he stumbles back a step. I take the chance to get a deep breath in that doesn't smell like him.

His face settles into a cold mask. Then, without a word, he pushes me against the wall again. I'm about to push him back when he drops to his knees in front of me and tears my pants open.

I freeze.