12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

MILO

There are a lot of things to like about living with Piston, but the acoustics in the bathroom are definitely near the top of the list. Hot water beats down on me and the clean, artificial smoke scent of the bodywash I keep borrowing from Piston fills the steamy air all around me while I belt out "Dance the Night Away" by Dua Lipa. It's Jag's fault it's stuck in my head, but damn is it a bop.

I shake my hips and use my shampoo bottle like a microphone. I'm putting on quite an entertaining show for the audience in my head, if I do say so myself. They're chanting my name, pleading for an encore. Some of them even think I should win a Grammy, and who am I to argue with that?

Just when I'm hitting my stride in the second verse, I'm interrupted by a loud pounding at the bathroom door.

"For the love of god, I'm begging you to sing any other song in the world." Piston's voice is muffled through the door, but he sounds truly desperate. I giggle and sing even louder.

Confession: One of the reasons I'm still hanging on to my V-card at twenty-eight is because I've always been better at annoying people than flirting. Oops?

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over the shower," I pause my singing to shout, then start right back up again, back at the beginning of the song obviously , since he messed up my flow.

The door rattles, then creaks open.

"It's bad enough that we can't get Jag to stop playing that damn song on repeat, I can't take hearing it at home too." He's loud and clear this time, the deep timbre of his voice adding weight to the already heavy, humid air around me.

I push open the shower curtain, unbothered by the way water droplets patter against the tile floor and not doing anything to hide the fact that his voice alone has my dick starting to chub. It's been five damn days since that kiss, and I swear I'm about to lose my mind with how polite and distant he's been ever since. There's an extra few inches of space between us every night on the couch and it makes me want to scream.

His eyes drop to my cock immediately and it swells a little more under the brief attention. Unlike getting caught naked in the laundry room, there's nothing embarrassing about this. Piston is the one who just barged into the bathroom while I'm clearly showering. Even if I did goad him, it's still on him.

I wrap my sudsy hand around my cock and give myself a slow tug, leaving soap bubbles clinging to my pubes and running down my shaft.

Piston draws in a sharp breath and an obvious bulge swells in his jeans.

"Gotta make sure I'm squeaky clean before I hit the club with Jag tonight," I say innocently. "Now, what was it you were saying before?"

His eyes darken the same way they did right before he kissed me behind Ink Slingers, and his jaw ticks just like it has all week, every time going out tonight has come up.

"This is really how you want to spend your Saturday night? With sweaty strangers pawing at you in a dark club?" he asks in a deep growl.

Goose bumps pebble on my skin in spite of the hot water raining down on me. I hold his gaze for a few beats, then shrug.

"Why not? Unless you'd rather I hang around here instead." All he has to do is ask and I'll text Jag so damn fast my phone will smoke.

Piston stares right back at me, his jaw working and his eyebrows twitching, clearly fighting with himself. I turn around, leaving the shower curtain hanging open as I set down the shampoo and pick the bodywash back up. I pour some into my palm, even though I already washed thoroughly before he barged in with that flimsy excuse of not wanting to hear me sing Dua Lipa. I lather it up between my hands, still waiting for Piston's answer.

Just tell me to stay home .

He doesn't say a word, but I can tell he's still here. I can hear his tightly controlled breathing and feel the cool air coming in from the hallway, letting all the steam out of the bathroom.

Once my hands are nice and sudsy again, I spread my legs and lean forward, bracing one hand against the slippery, tiled wall and sliding the other over my ass cheek and into my crease. Piston's breath catches audibly again. It's the horny, nearly stifled growl at the end that gives me the confidence boost I need to keep tempting him. I don't care how many feet he puts between us on the couch, he wants me.

I use two fingers to soap up my hole, looking at him over my shoulder at the same time. His pupils are wide, and his eyes are fixed on my fingers, moving in circles around my rim. He's still as a statue, not even breathing as far as I can tell.

Just say it, Piston. Tell me to stay home .

He drags his eyes away from my soapy ass, his nostrils flaring with a breath, and then he steps out of the bathroom without another word. The door swings closed behind him, and I sag against the shower wall.

Fuck. I pushed too hard.

I bang my forehead lightly against the wall, then turn my back to the shower spray to rinse all the soap off. When I'm done, I shut the water off and step out carefully so I don't slip on the drenched floor and crack my head open. What an embarrassing way to die that would be: naked, bleeding out from a head wound in the bathroom, and still a virgin .

I shudder at the thought. It's horrifying, but definitely not scary enough to consider actually hooking up with anyone at the club tonight. That doesn't mean I can't go and enjoy a couple of drinks, dance with some of the sweaty strangers Piston is so opposed to, and let loose a little.

I look around the steamy bathroom in search of the towel I could have sworn I brought in with me. There's nothing but a hand towel hanging from the hook next to the sink though. Oh well, not the first time I've had to traipse through somewhere wet and naked after forgetting a towel.

I shake my head like a shaggy dog drying off, wet strands of my hair whipping at my face. Once I'm satisfied, I cross the bathroom— again, very carefully —and fling the door open. I assumed that when Piston stormed out, he did it properly. I grin when I see him leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, still rocking an impressive bulge in his button fly jeans. His eyes widen when he sees me.

"Milo." God, he's so fucking good at rasping my name like it's the filthiest word he knows. It makes me wish it were illegal for anyone else to say it at all.

"I forgot my towel." I stand there dripping on the wood floor.

Piston lets out a rough laugh and then pushes off the wall. He opens the linen closet and pulls out a towel. I reach for it, but instead of handing it to me, he drapes it over my head and tousles my hair with it.

I laugh and playfully shove him away, pulling the towel off of my head and wrapping it around my waist.

"I can dry my own hair." My tone comes out more defiant than I mean it to. I just don't want him to see me as a little kid. I'm sure our age difference is half the problem, and the fact that he's friends with my dad just keeps reminding him how much younger I am.

He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, making his jeans sag just enough to show off a strip of skin along his waistline.

"Did Jag say where we're going tonight?"

My eyebrows jump up.

" We're ?"

PISTON

No, I wasn't planning to go out with them tonight. Mainly because playing into Jag's evil plans never ends well for anyone but Jag. But also because I spent all week trying to imagine a scenario where I'm able to watch some asshole paw at Milo without losing my shit.

I'm not a guy who loses my shit. I've spent forty-six years learning how to keep my shit in an orderly and well-maintained fashion. Less than two weeks of knowing Milo and the shit organizational system has completely broken down.

I'm out of ideas though. If he's determined to go, I'm not about to sit around and spend the night wondering if he's getting a sloppy blowjob from some guy whose name he doesn't even know in the bathroom of some skeevy club. If anyone is going to give him a sloppy blowjob—

No .

I grind my teeth together so hard pain shoots straight up the back of my neck to form a tension headache.

"Some place called The Grind." His answer solidifies my decision.

"Of fucking course," I grumble. "Why am I not surprised that Jag would pick the only club in the state with actual glory holes in the bathroom that are still in use?"

Milo's eyebrows jump up and his voice dips low. "Wait, seriously?"

A possessive, frustrated sound swells in my throat again, but I manage to swallow it down this time.

"Don't leave without me. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes." My voice sounds hoarse as I bark the request—demand?—at him, but at least I don't growl this time. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I strip my shirt over my head on my way into the bathroom. It's still humid, with the mirror fogged and every surface damp. I flip the switch to turn on the overhead fan, not that it will help a whole hell of a lot, then crank the shower on. I don't have to wait for it to warm up, so I finish undressing in a hurry and hop under the warm spray.

Images of Milo teasingly stroking himself, of his cute, perky ass cheeks as he bent over to flash me his hole, flood my mind and thicken my cock. Shouldn't a virgin be a hell of a lot more shy? Shouldn't he blush and awkwardly hurry to hide himself instead of purposefully teasing me with all of his delicious, untouchable nakedness? But, fuck, it's so much hotter this way. Which is bad. Very bad. If he was a shy, timid virgin it would be easy to remember that I can't defile him with my filthy hands and greedy mouth.

I groan and the sound bounces off the shower walls the same way Milo's singing did a few minutes ago. I want to wrap my hand around my cock and chase a quick release with thoughts of his tight, soapy hole right at the forefront. I'm not about to reward my traitorous cock like that though. Of course, that means that by the time I shut off the water and step out of the shower, I'm still rock hard, my cock pointing upward, my balls tight and aching.

It's going to be a long fucking night.

I glance around the bathroom and realize I made the same mistake Milo did. No towel. I glance down at my erection and then at the door. It's not going anywhere anytime soon, so I snag the hand towel off of the hook and do my best to hide the situation. Not that I expect to fool Milo if I run into him in the hallway.

I open the bathroom door and Milo isn't waiting there, but his bedroom door across the hall is wide open. He's strutting around inside half-dressed, wearing the white t-shirt I've seen on him a few times now and a jockstrap I definitely haven't seen him wearing before. With his back to me, the straps of it frame his ass like a piece of fine art. Except I've never wanted to tongue fuck the Mona Lisa .

He looks over his shoulder and grins at me, and the dimple popping on his cheek is added to the list of places I want to put my tongue. His eyes drop to the hand towel barely concealing my throbbing cock and his dimple deepens. He pulls his gaze away after half a second though, like he's barely interested.

He's holding something between his fingers that he waves at me over his shoulder. It takes me a few seconds to realize it's a condom. My pulse thunders and precum drools down my shaft.

"Do you think one is enough?"

I can't keep my feet from moving, pulling me into the open doorway to his bedroom. I clutch the doorframe with my free hand though, desperate to keep myself from crossing the threshold. If I step inside, there's no turning back.

"Enough for what, Puppy?" I ask in a low, deep voice.

"For the club, silly," he scoffs.

It's like a bucket of ice water dousing the heat in my veins. Right. The club. I'm going to find some way to get Jag back for this. I don't know how, but it's going to hurt.

Without waiting for an answer, Milo sticks the edge of the foil square between his teeth and bends over to pull his jeans on, wiggling his ass in my direction a hell of a lot more than necessary. Once he finally has them up and buttoned, he shoves the condom into his back pocket. The sound of a crack alerts me to how hard I'm gripping the doorframe.

I know Milo wouldn't object if I let go, strode into his room, and tossed him onto the bed. Hell, he's practically begging for it. And I'm having a hard time remembering why I'm not supposed to.

The doorbell rings. I'm not sure if I should add his timing to the list of reasons to hurt Jag or thank him.

"You'd better get dressed," Milo says. "Unless you're planning to go like that." He looks down at the skimpy rag barely covering my cock again and smirks. "You wouldn't hear me complaining."

I chuckle and the doorbell rings again in rapid-fire succession this time. I roll my eyes and mutter, "Pain in the ass," under my breath while Milo laughs.

He gives my bare, damp shoulder a little shove.

"Go," he says again. "I'll let Jag in."

I sigh and release my grip on his doorframe.

"And hurry." Milo brushes his fingers over my belly, making my muscles quiver and my cock jerk. "Tonight is going to be fun. Can't you feel it?"

The excitement dancing in his eyes is like an adrenaline shot straight into my veins. I swallow and nod. Tonight is going to be something, that's for sure. I think I'm afraid to find out exactly what though.