8. Miller

Ryan comes thundering out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist. His head jerks when he sees me, and he takes a sudden step back as if he’s walked straight into a sliding glass door. His hair is wet, almost black, pushed back off his face, highlighting his angular features. Aquiline and angry. Flashes of green and gold throwing daggers at me.

Goddamn, I have a thing for men with big noses.

He reaches down and grips the towel tightly. My cock tingles, swelling and starting to throb. His body is even better than I thought it would be. Lean and defined. Taut. Tense from an excess of nervous energy. Articulated joints that bend in a way that gives him a graceful, almost sculptural quality.

God, I want to touch him. I want to stroke him and lick him and see how far he can bend till he breaks.

I want him.

I want him so much I almost don’t care if it means staving off blows to get close to him.

Shoulders tense. Thick-palmed hands wave at his sides. He blinks in annoyance. “What?”

“You seem in an even worse mood than usual. What’s wrong?”

He yanks his top drawer open and riffles through it, looking for the underwear he must have forgotten to take into the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” he mutters. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I just spent over a hundred dollars to tow a truck that needs almost a thousand dollars in repairs. That’s what’s wrong. I have a psych paper due next week, and I just called my boss and begged for more shifts at Pepe’s. Begged. Thing is though, if I’m at work, I can’t write the paper, and if I’m not at work, I can’t, you know…eat!” His voice starts out strained but quiet, but the volume cranks up with each passing word. “I’m racking up tens of thousands in student loan debt for a degree I don’t know if I’ll ever use, and on top of all that, I just found my piece-of-shit truck covered in fucking tickets.” He spins around to his desk, grabs three little slips of thin paper, and flaps them around in my face. “Two hundred and ten dollars. Two hundred and ten dollars.”

He crumples the paper in his fist and throws it onto his desk halfheartedly, dejected and rapidly running out of steam.

I don’t like seeing him like this. Despite what he thinks of me, I do know I’m privileged. Sometimes I even feel bad about it. Not very, but a little, if I think about it for too long. I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, peel off four fifties and a twenty, and hold it out to him.

His chin draws down and his eyes go blank with rage.

Ooh, shit. I’ve done it now.

I should step back, but I don’t. I kind of can’t wait to find out if it’s going to be a slap or a punch coming my way. Though, looking at him now, eyes glinting, fists clenching, I realize a slap might be the more sensible option to hope for. I turn my cheek ever so slightly on the off chance offering him an easy target might make it more enticing.

“What did I say about charity?” Each word is expelled on the back of a slow, cutting flick of his tongue. He’s so angry he’s almost vibrating.

And God help me, I love it.

I feel alive. Living large and hard. Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping.

The stakes are high, but I’m all in.

“It’s not charity.” I smile. “Told you. You have something I want.”

He looks around his side of the room, waving one hand like he’s dealing with a complete idiot. “I know you’re out of touch, but what the hell do you think I have to sell? A piece-of-shit truck? An iPhone with a cracked screen? No offense, Miller, but the phone’s not worth shit, and you wouldn’t be seen dead driving my truck. What do you want? The clothes off my back?”

I crowd him, dropping my gaze to his groin and flicking it back up again. Then I put the money down on his desk.

“Oh, you definitely have something I want. Something I’ll pay for.” He steps back, bumping into the desk in an effort to keep a wide berth between us. He looks at the stack of bills, eyes widening slightly as things start falling into place. He looks away quickly, but it’s all the invitation I need. “Two minutes,” I say lightly. “That’s all I need. I won’t even touch you. Just drop your towel for two minutes and let me look at you.” His eyes dart left and right, and his tongue peeks out, moistening his lips. A thousand emotions flicker across his face. Rage, humiliation, indignation, insult, and, yeah, something else: temptation. A dark shadow. An almost imperceptible tug. I see the cogs of his brain frantically spinning as he tries to talk himself out of it. “Two minutes, and the money’s yours. It’s not charity. You’ll have earned it.”

Relax. He won’t do it.

There’s no way he’ll do it. He isn’t the type, but holy shit, I’m living my best life right now.

“I’m not gay,” he says with meaning.

I can’t help it. A massive smile spreads across my face. I love it when curious guys spout this kind of shit like there’s no option but gay or straight. “Neither am I.”

He changes from angry to uncertain. “I-I only need two hundred and ten dollars.”

“It’s fine, keep the change. Consider it a tip.”

The tension between us is a big, visceral thing. It’s thick and heavy, firing sparks into the space between us every time he breathes in my direction, shooting pulses through the tip of my dick, into my balls, and up my spine.

“Drop the towel,” I whisper. “Two minutes. That’s all.” He glares at me, eyes blazing. Chin raised in defiance now. I take a step closer and speak softer. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

I don’t see his hand move. I’m too busy looking into his fury. It’s glinting and black. Simmering deeper and darker than the deepest reaches of hell, threatening to burn me, threatening to hurt me, but there’s more. There’s something else there. It calls to me. Some deep, dark part of me recognizes what he’s showing me. And it likes it.

One second, everything is normal. The curtains are drawn and the door to our room is closed. There’s music playing on Ryan’s scratchy phone speaker. Something electric and grungy, but other than that, everything’s normal. Ryan’s angry, and he hates me. He’s looking up at me, and one side of his top lip is pulled into a sneer, as usual. His towel is wrapped around his waist where it belongs.

Like I said, everything’s normal.

The next second, the towel’s on the floor.