The morning light streaming through the window woke me up, the soft glow warming my skin. My body was aching in all the right ways, but it wasn’t just the lazy soreness of a good night’s sleep—it was the lingering effects of last night with Dylan.

I woke up with a raging hard-on, my mind still hazy from the events that had unfolded in the hours before. The warmth of the blankets felt a little too much, like I couldn’t escape the memories of Dylan’s touch, his breath on my neck, his hands on my skin. My heart was still racing from everything that had happened.

I turned to my left.

Dylan was gone.

The space next to me was empty—still faintly warm, but definitely absent. No arm slung over me, no steady breath at my side. Just quiet.

He’d said something last night about how he liked to start his Saturdays with a lift—“Got to hit legs on Saturday, bro”—like it was some kind of ritual.

I rubbed my face and sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the pullout. My body ached in the best way—lazy, sore, spent. Maybe it was me being slutty and trying to arch my back the whole night, but I didn’t care.

I made my way upstairs, padding into the bright morning light of the kitchen. Jake was already standing there, shirtless in his sweats, pouring cereal into a bowl like it was a sport. Jake was skinny, like me, but I didn’t see him the way I saw his brother. His brother did things to me—figuratively and quite literally last night.

I spotted the note on the counter:

Jake & Dylan—there’s food in the fridge. Don’t burn the house down. We’ll be back Monday. Love you! P.S. Dylan—don’t annoy Troy too much.

I smirked.

I turned to Jake. “Where’s your annoying big brother?”

He barely looked up from his cereal. “Gym. He’s hitting legs, like he always does on Saturdays.”

Jake and I got freshened up, grabbed our things, and left to have brunch. We spent a couple of hours out, the whole time Dylan still nowhere to be found. Jake mentioned that Dylan had a spare key to the house, so we locked up and headed out.

The morning passed easily enough, just like old times. We went to the movies, had lunch, wandered around for a bit. But when the evening came, something started to shift.

As we came out of the movies, I made a quick detour to the bathroom. When I came back, I saw Jake talking to a cute girl, both of them laughing and giggling as they stood by the theater exit. It was around 8 PM, and the energy between them was unmistakable. She was leaning in a little closer, hanging on every word he said.

I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider for a moment, watching them together. It wasn’t like I was jealous, but the way they clicked… it reminded me of how easy it used to be for Jake with girls. His charm was effortless, and I couldn’t deny how good he was at it.

“Jake, man, ready to go?” I called out, feeling awkward all of a sudden.

Sophie glanced up and smiled, waving me over. “Hey, come join us!” she called with a warm, inviting tone.

I hesitated for a moment, but I didn’t want to be the third wheel, so I walked over, joining them for a couple of minutes. The conversation flowed easily, but I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. It was obvious they were really hitting it off, laughing, exchanging stories, both of them completely in sync with each other. It was almost like I wasn’t even there.

After a few more minutes, Sophie flashed me a bright smile and then turned to Jake. “How about we grab a drink? I’ve been dying for some Starbucks.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jake agreed, still clearly in the conversation. “You want anything, man?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “Uh, sure. I’ll just have a pink lemonade.”

So, the three of us headed over to the nearby Starbucks. The atmosphere was light and casual, with Sophie and Jake chatting away like they’d known each other for ages. I sat quietly, taking in the warmth of the coffee shop, but still feeling a bit out of place. Sophie’s laughter filled the air, and Jake was his usual charming self, clearly hitting it off with her.

We lingered for a short while before they finally wrapped up their conversation, and we made our way out. I was holding my pink lemonade, sipping it as we walked back down the sidewalk.

Suddenly, Jake pulled me aside, his tone a little apologetic. "So, while you were grabbing the drinks, Sophie asked me to come over to her place. I’m really sorry to do this to you, man."

I raised an eyebrow, feeling the hint of awkwardness. "Hey, man, it's chill. No problem. I’ll go to the house and hang out with your annoying brother."

Jake gave me a sheepish grin. "Don't worry, I’ll text him to behave. You guys can order pizza or something. Sorry, man. Love you."

I nodded, my stomach feeling weirdly light. "No worries. Go have fun," I said, watching him start to walk back toward Sophie with a wave.

I walked slowly, barely sipping the lemonade, not even halfway through it. My mind was consumed with thoughts of Dylan—last night, what happened between us, how it felt so surreal. It was like a dream come true, but also like I was stepping into something I wasn’t quite prepared for.

As I continued walking toward Jake’s house, the realization hit me hard. Jake was going over to Sophie’s. That meant Dylan and I would be home alone together. His parents weren’t coming back until Monday, just like the note had said.

I felt a rush of nerves but also a strange sense of excitement. What would it be like, just the two of us? The air between us had already been so charged, so thick with unsaid things. Was I really ready to face him again, after everything?

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the butterflies in my stomach. The walk felt longer than usual as I made my way to the house, my thoughts running wild.

When I finally reached the door, I rang the bell and stood there for a moment, trying to steady my racing heart. The door swung open, and there he was—Dylan. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a black compression t-shirt that hugged his muscular frame, a stark contrast to the comfortable, easygoing guy I’d known for years. His eyes flicked over me, his lips curving into a small, knowing smirk.

Hey, cutie," Dylan said, stepping aside to let me in. "Jake's not here, huh?"

"Nah, he's on a date with some girl," I replied with a laugh. "He might or might not come back tonight, depending on how his night goes." I chuckled, trying to ease the tension in the air.

I stepped inside, only a bit of the lemonade left in my hand, my fingers wrapped loosely around the cup.

Without missing a beat, Dylan reached over and grabbed the drink from my hand. “What are you drinking?” he asked playfully, his eyes twinkling as he looked down at the pink lemonade.

“Pink lemonade,” I said, barely able to keep my voice steady.

He took a sip through the straw, and my heart skipped a beat as he looked at me with that half-smirk of his. He finished the drink in one go, pulling the straw out and licking the last bit of lemonade that had pooled inside. A few drops dripped from the straw as he sucked on it, his gaze still locked with mine.

I couldn’t look away. The way he licked that last drop—slow, deliberate—made everything between us feel even more charged than it already was.

“Oops, sorry. Finished it,” Dylan said, wiping his lips and giving me a teasing grin, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

Dylan kept the empty cup on the counter, his eyes still locked on me, that same smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He didn’t rush to break the silence, letting the moment hang in the air, thick with tension.

"So," he said, stepping back casually, his hands in his pockets, "I was watching football. You wanna join?" His voice was low, a hint of something teasing in his tone. "Basement’s free. Couch is all yours. Unless you don’t want to sit near me."

There it was. The challenge. The invitation. His words were innocent enough, but his body language told a different story. He turned, making his way toward the basement, but not before letting his leg brush against mine as he passed, the subtle touch igniting something deep inside me.

I followed him down the stairs, my mind racing, but my body acting on its own accord. I tried to focus on the dull hum of the TV in the background, trying to calm my nerves, but the energy between us felt like it was pressing in from all sides.

Dylan flopped down onto the couch, leaning back with his legs spread comfortably, his hands resting on his thighs. He glanced up at me, his gaze dark and knowing. “C’mon, man. Sit.” He patted the spot next to him, like it was no big deal. Like we weren’t about to dive into territory neither of us had expected.

I sank down next to him, the couch creaking slightly under the shift in weight. The space between us was close—too close—and I could feel the heat radiating off him. His leg brushed against mine again, this time harder, more deliberate.

He broke the silence first, his voice dropping into a teasing tone. "So, spaghetti noodle," he said, eyes glinting with something dangerous, "what was that last night? You stopped jerking me off when I was close. My cock was throbbing, man. Kinda fucked up, don’t you think?"

I froze for a second, my heart slamming against my ribs. The words hit me like a shock to the system, but I couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t tear my gaze from the way his eyes bored into mine. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but it wasn’t working.

"You’re the one who wanted to take it slow," I shot back, my voice coming out a little rougher than I intended. My eyes dropped to his lips for a moment, and I could feel the heat building between us again, something primal stirring in my chest.

Dylan’s smirk widened, and he shifted closer, his leg brushing mine casually, making it impossible to ignore the tension swirling between us. "I didn’t say slow," he said, his voice dropping lower, almost like he was daring me. "I said I wanted you to finish what you started. So what was that?"

"A little game to tease me?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

I leaned back into the couch, trying to sound casual, but I couldn’t ignore the heat building in my chest. "Well, you started it," I said, my voice low but teasing. "That grinding had me... well, you know." I paused, watching his expression shift for a moment. "And then you stop. Payback's a bitch."

I couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped me, the tension between us crackling even more now. It felt like we were both on the edge, like any second, one of us would break.

Dylan gave me a look, his grin widening. "Oh, I started it, huh?" he said, leaning in a little closer, just enough for me to feel the warmth of his body. "Funny, I don’t remember you complaining last night when I had you exactly where I wanted you." His voice dropped an octave, making my stomach tighten.

I swallowed, trying to keep my cool, but the memory of last night hit me again, and I could feel my pulse quicken. "I wasn’t complaining," I shot back, voice a little rougher than I intended. "Just thought I’d turn the tables for once."

Dylan’s eyes flashed with something dark and knowing. "Turn the tables, huh?" he repeated slowly, like he was tasting the words. "You sure you can handle that, spaghetti noodle?"

Dylan leaned back on the couch, his eyes locking onto mine. “Alright, spaghetti noodle,” he murmured, his grin widening. “I’m gonna take my shirt off. But here’s the catch—you can’t touch. I’ll let you look, but that’s it. Let’s see who turns the tables then.”

My breath caught in my throat as he slowly pulled the shirt over his head, revealing the hard, smooth planes of his chest. He caught me staring, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"You like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and sultry.

I swallowed, trying to stay calm. "You think you can get me to beg just by showing off?"

Dylan stretched out, his body flexing effortlessly. He leaned back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he crossed them over his chest. “Oh, I know what you want. You’re already hard for me. But I’m not giving you that easy.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “You can look all you want, but if you touch, I’ll make you regret it.”

The heat in the room was unbearable. My pulse quickened, my body aching to reach out and touch him, but the challenge was clear. He knew exactly how to push my buttons.

I tried to hold my ground, but the longer I stared at his body, the more I realized how badly I wanted him. “You really think I’m gonna sit here and watch?” I murmured, voice thick with need.

He gave a slow, mocking shrug. "You don’t have a choice. You want me to keep going, don't you?" His hand slid down his abs, teasingly close to where I wanted it most, but he stopped, smirking. “I’m in control now.”

Dylan’s smirk widened, the playful edge in his eyes turning darker. I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Fuck you. You win,” I muttered, my hands trembling slightly as I placed both on his chest, feeling the hard, defined muscles beneath my fingers. My touch was almost reverent as I ran my hands over his pecs, my voice dropping to a low, heated whisper. “God, your body’s fucking perfect. You’ve been working hard, huh?”

Dylan let out a low, rich laugh, his chest rumbling under my palms. “Well, I knew you’d give it up, Troy.” His voice was thick with satisfaction, knowing he’d broken me.

The air between us shifted, the playful tension from before melting into something much more possessive. “A challenge has been lost,” he said, voice dropping to a low, almost predatory tone. “Told you you’d regret it.”

Before I could respond, Dylan’s voice turned even sharper, more commanding. “Get down on your knees, spaghetti boy. I’ll teach you what happens when you leave me hangin’ like last night.”

My stomach clenched at the command, my body already reacting to the intensity of his words. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees, positioning myself between his legs as he sat on the couch with his legs spread apart. I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his gaze making my pulse race faster.

Dylan’s hands came to the back of my head, gripping my hair tightly, his fingers digging in. He tugged my head forward, forcing my face closer to his crotch. His voice was low, the words dripping with authority. “There’s your prize, Troy. What you’ve been eyeing.”

I could smell the hint of sweat on him, his scent mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne. His bulge was pressing against my face, hot and hard through the fabric of his sweats. Every inch of me screamed for more, but Dylan wasn’t letting me off the hook yet. I could feel the weight of his control, his dominance, and it was driving me wild.

But before I could fully process what was happening, Dylan yanked my hair again, forcing my head closer to him. His voice dropped low, thick with authority. “You want it, boy?” His words hit me like a punch to the gut, his eyes burning with a twisted satisfaction. “I know you do, you little cocksucker.”

The room seemed to freeze, the air heavy with the tension we both created. My body responded before I could think, but Dylan wasn’t done with me yet. His fingers dug deeper into my hair, pulling me just a little closer.

I could feel his pulse against my face, the bulge in his pants taunting me. My heart raced, my breath caught in my throat, desperate for what he was about to do, yet I was helpless, trapped in his control.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “You’ll get to taste my cock tonight, Troy,” he whispered, his tone dripping with power. “But you’re gonna have to earn it first.”

And with that, everything teetered on the edge, my desire and frustration tangled together. The anticipation was unbearable, and I was left there, kneeling, desperate for what was to come.