Chapter 17

17

Troy

Over the next week, Atlas and I text and DM each other. We’re chattier than we were before he blew me, but it’s all the same fun ragging on each other that I enjoy:

Me: I noticed you liking shirtless pics of me on Insta. Didn’t even think you liked pics.

Atlas: Are you going through it to see which photos I liked?

Me: Reverse-stalking my stalker.

The Wednesday before the auction, Mom and Glen are in town for a fundraiser, so they meet us at a restaurant for lunch. Everything’s business as usual. Mom gives us the headlines of office drama—which I’m sure she and Glen had dominated back in the day when word got around that the marketing director was getting a little too chummy with the company’s married CFO. Glen asks about Alpha Theta Mu, so I tell him about our last meet-up to finalize plans for Greek Week. And when the subject changes to school, I tell them how much better I’m feeling about Thermo since studying with Ash, and Atlas chimes in with, “Actually, I’m also largely responsible for Troy acing that Thermo test.”

“Really?” Mom asks. “Did you help him study?” She frowns, likely realizing that can’t be right.

“We had a little wager,” Atlas says. “I think it motivated him.”

Ass. And when the lunch comes to an end, I make sure to let him know:

Me: That mouth is gonna get you into trouble.

Atlas: My mouth has been very good to you.

Atlas: Probably why you can’t stop thinking about it.

Me: Can’t stop thinking about your holes in general, really.

Why did I fucking say that?

But I know the answer: because it’s true.

He’ll read it as a joke, I assure myself, but since we’ve messed around, his mouth sure as fuck isn’t the only orifice I think about…obsess about, and chatting with him more has only encouraged wicked fantasies about what I’d do to my stepbrother—lust- and cum-filled fantasies I’ve jerked off to more than a few times. I want to mark him, claim him. I want his body in ways he’d probably be disgusted by. Or would he?

Sometimes it’s like I can read his mind, and sometimes he’s a code I can’t crack. When he didn’t want me to hang with his friends after McDonald’s, I was confused…and hurt. Was I wrong about what was going on between us? No. I couldn’t be. He’s acting the same as always, which makes me believe something else was going on that night when we reached his place. Or maybe he just doesn’t want his friends to know he’s attracted to a guy…or his stepbro. Whatever it is, as long as we’re still cool, I’m comfortable with that. Whatever’s going on between us isn’t something I’m trying to figure out or define. It’s messy and chaotic, just like we are, and frustrating as it might be, I like the idea of letting this runaway train take us wherever it will.

When the evening of the bachelor auction arrives, I’m a hot mess, rushing through a hotel hallway with my suit draped over my arm.

“Dude, there you are!” I hear before recognizing Dixon from the image in his email profile. “I thought you stood us up.” He hooks his arm around mine and escorts me down the hall.

“Sorry. There was sort of a catastrophe at work, and I didn’t have time to get into my suit. I figured there’d be somewhere I could throw it on.”

“Don’t worry. Atlas told me. And we’ve still got twenty minutes. Plenty of time. Just come with me.”

“Twenty? The auction doesn’t start until eight thirty, right?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to take photos for social media.”

I grunt. That wasn’t in the email, but I guess that’s why they needed us here at six p.m.

Dixon leads me to a room in the hotel that’s being used as a green room. There’s a mirror, counter, and bulb lights along one wall, a couple of wardrobes opposite that. I assume I’m the only one who’s late since I’m the only one in here.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dixon says as I hook my hangers on a rack in one of the wardrobes along the wall. “Thanks again for signing up, Troy. Really helps having you here. We got a ton of RSVPs on the Facebook invite after we mentioned you were coming.”

“I’m glad I can help,” I say before he heads out, leaving me to scramble into my clothes.

As I’m stripping down to my briefs, there’s a knock at the door, and it swings open. I should probably cover up, but I don’t have anything to hide, and anyone bold enough to barge in should be expecting an eyeful. I glance to see who it is and see Atlas standing inside the door. As it closes behind him, his green gaze is fixed on me, something predatory about the way he watches me from a distance, remaining silent.

“Sorry,” I say, snatching my pants out of the wardrobe and pulling them off the hanger.

“You wanna tell me what the ‘work shit’ was?” he asks.

I texted him so he could let everyone know I was running behind, but I didn’t get into it.

“We had a guy who put diesel fuel in his tank come in earlier. New employee was working on the car, and we wound up with a leak. Whole garage is still a mess, but Al and Walker are handling the rest.”

When I slide into my pants, I suddenly realize that Atlas is at my side, looking me over.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re all stressed and panicky, but you still look like you stumbled out of a Calvin Klein ad.”

I chuckle, my cheeks warming. I don’t know why, since I’m usually good with compliments. Maybe I’m just getting used to my stepbro being so generous with them.

“And here I thought you were gonna get onto me for being late.”

As I fasten my fly, he shrugs. “I appreciate your doing it. You didn’t have to, and shit happens.”

“I was happy to do this. I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t be.”

“All I know is that if Ash wins you tonight, he’s gonna need to join the witness protection program.”

I laugh, but he looks deadly serious. Has to be a joke, though. He can’t really have an issue with Ash crushing on me. Can he? It’s a thought I entertain briefly before remembering: “Oh, I took a shower, but do I smell like the garage?”

He leans close, near my cheek, and takes a whiff. His lips twist into a mischievous smirk. “Nah, just like Troy.”

The way he says it draws my gaze to his, and we look into each other’s eyes.

He’s close enough for me to detect a hint of the scent that comes off the shirt I still haven’t given back—maybe stolen at this point. Between that smell, the look, and the new feelings that have been roused around Atlas, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir something in me. Something feral. Something dark.

“You just gonna watch, or could you grab my button-up?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” He pulls my shirt off the rack, and as he approaches, says, “Okay, okay, breathe, Troy. Breathe.”

It’s only then that I realize how fast my heart is pumping, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My nerves are on edge just from the go-go-go I needed to get here, and my body apparently hasn’t caught on that we’re here and everything’s okay.

I focus on my breathing as Atlas helps me into the sleeves of the shirt. I button my cuff links first, probably because Atlas is ogling the open part of my shirt, and I’m not inclined to make him stop.

“So…you still thinking about my holes in general?”

I can’t believe he’s referencing that text.

I huff out a nervous laugh. “That was a joke.”

“Be honest, Troy.”

“I’m always honest with you…within reason.”

He snickers, but his eyes narrow. “I don’t know about that. Ever since I went down on you, you’ve been holding something back.”

Again, my eyes search the room, like I’m waiting for Mom or Glen to spring out and gaze at us in shock and horror.

“We both have a lot we hold back,” I say. “Like, I don’t know why you were so eager for me not to hang with your friends the other night.”

“What did you mean when you texted me that?” he asks, avoiding my question.

“We’ve been texting stuff like that for a while. What does that one dumb text matter?”

Why is he so hung up on this?

“Because I don’t think it was a joke, and that’s why you keep changing the subject.” He folds his arms and leans against the wall adjacent to the wardrobe.

This is I-Won’t-Be-Satisfied-Until-I-Have-An-Answer Atlas.

“Just be honest, Troy.”

It reminds me of what he told me when he was blowing me, leaving me filled with pressure, torturing me for release. It was one thing to tell him what I wanted in the moment. It’s another to say some of the things that have crossed my mind since.

“Wanna know what I think?” I grab my blazer and toss it on. “I think you’re asking me because you want something from me, so why don’t you just say what that is?”

“Because I think my way’s more fun.”

I laugh. “Of course you do.”

“Now answer me. What do you want to do to my holes?”

“You’re being weird.”

“Good. I like weird, and you clearly do too.”

“Just drop it.”

Atlas rolls his eyes. “Come on, T. You’re being ridiculous. After what we’ve done together already, how bad could it possibly be?”

He has no idea what he’s inviting, but I’m tempted to take him up on it, if only to see where he’s going with this. “You want to play this stupid game? Fine. You asked for it.” Just spit it out. “You mentioned pegging. Did you ever do that with any of your girlfriends?”

He shakes his head.

“Good. ’Cause I want that ass to myself.” My voice is a low growl; I don’t know where this is coming from. “I want to be the one to introduce you to your prostate. Very slowly. Not just to let you know how good it can feel to have something rubbing against it—that’s easy—but to introduce you to every crevice, so you’ll always know the difference every centimeter makes.”

He’s not cringing or freaking out. Does that mean he wants that?

Or do I just wish he wanted that?

“And that’s all before I fuck you, Atlas. Watching your face as I open you up, molding your ass to my cock. Studying your expressions to know exactly what movements hit you just right. And then riding your ass, not letting up until you come without even touching yourself, making the pleasure so intense and excruciating for you that by the time I’m finished, I’ll know every possible way you could say my name.”

His Adam’s apple shifts as he gulps.

Maybe I actually made Atlas McCallister uncomfortable.

Whatever. He asked for this.

“So you’d just want my ass?”

I’m surprised by the question, but I go along with it. “I said your holes. And I meant your holes.”

“So more BJs?”

“Yeah, but I don’t just want it for that. You’d have to kiss me too.”

“You like kissing?”

“I love kissing. Happy now?”

I can’t believe I fucking said all that, how easily it came out, but there it is. And there’s something empowering about owning the words, refusing to be shamed. He can mock me or use it against me all he wants, but I don’t give a fuck. This is all his fault for making that stupid bet.

“Pretty happy,” he says. “Now do you feel better?”

“What?”

Suddenly I realize this was all an attempt to distract me from my stress. “Yeah, I feel better.” I straighten out my blazer. “That’s so fucked up, A.”

He’s just staring at me, taking pride in knowing what’s been consuming my thoughts lately. It should feel humiliating, but it’s freeing. Like I just confessed my sins, and they aren’t only in my head anymore.

I open the front pocket of my blazer and pull out my tie.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Meant to grab a clip-on.”

“Here,” he says, and he takes it and wraps it around my collar.

He’s right in front of me now, his lips close enough that I could just lean forward and take them like he knows I want to.

“All those formals you have to do, I can’t believe you don’t know how to do this,” he observes.

“What you’re doing now, some guy would usually do it, so I’ve never had to learn. And…” I hesitate. I think about what he said about being honest. “When I was a kid, Brandon would always handle my ties. Dad taught him, and he was proud that he could do it for me.”

I barely bring up Brandon with my therapist, let alone Atlas. But something about Atlas’s fucked-up honesty game pulls it from me, and just like with the sexual stuff, I’m not mad about it. I’m relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

Our gazes lock. The playful Atlas is gone, and I feel like I see him. The real him. And I know from his own bullshit that he gets what this feels like.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about it,” I say, “but when Dad disappeared on us, Brandon went to California to track him down. When he found the house Dad was living in, he figured he’d find him with a secret family, or that he’d moved on to some amazing life, but he was just by himself. Told his own son he’d decided he’d changed, and he would rather not stay in touch with any of us. His fucking kids.” Even after all these years, I still choke up trying to get those words out. “When Brandon came back home and told me, it broke my heart, but he said, ‘It’s just you and me, right?’ And I remember thinking that was enough. That everything would be okay as long as I had my big brother with me.”

Maybe everything would have been okay if he’d stayed, but he hadn’t.

“Losing people is hard,” Atlas says, a far-off look in his eyes.

He must be thinking about his mom, missing her the way I miss those I’ve lost, but in a very different way. I know our pain isn’t the same, but we both know some wounds don’t just scar; they continue to burn.

I reach out and place my hand on his chin, run my thumb over his bottom lip.

Why am I doing this?

It’s just what my body wants to do. My way of being honest with Atlas.

I trace his lips, like I’ve done with his picture too many times to count, and a calming sensation travels from my fingertips, through me, extinguishing the sting of that deep wound in me.

Maybe I just want the pain to go away. Or maybe I just want those lips.

It’s hard to know which of us initiated it, but suddenly our lips mash together, so fast that my thumbnail jams into my lip.

I can hardly think straight as I reposition my hands on either side of his face. We’re all lips, tongues, teeth, a torrent of fury, like all this pent-up shit we’ve been dancing around is gone. It’s like I black out in the frenzy because all of a sudden he’s got his legs wrapped around my waist, and I’ve pinned him to the wall. I must’ve forgotten to breathe because I have to pull away, gasping for air, then kiss along his cheek, unleashing all those fantasies I’ve had about him on his precious face, feeling his facial hair against my cheek. I push my hip against him, the subtle movement soothing my rock-hard dick.

“I want you, A,” I confess as I kiss down to his neck. “I want every fucking part of you.”

It’s like Atlas broke the dam, flooding my senses, and I can’t hold anything back anymore.

“Let me show you,” I whisper into his flesh. “Please let me show you.”

I’m begging again.

Fuck, I should have some self-restraint.

I wonder if he even knows I’m referring to those things I told him I wanted to do to him, until he whispers, “Show me, Troy.”

All the confirmation I need.

Relief ripples through me before a sound catches our attention.

Nearly as fast as we began kissing, Atlas drops from my waist, and before I know it, Dixon is in the doorway.

“Come on! Five minutes! I need you ready!”

“Just tying his damn bow tie,” Atlas says, sounding unfazed by everything that just happened.

I notice he’s finishing my tie. I don’t know how he managed to think that fast when my head’s still spinning from how his tongue was fucking my mouth. And my dick is suddenly pissed about having to keep my hands off him until this auction’s over.