Page 60 of Loverboy

I tried to tell myself it wasn’t immoral. We all wanted to be known, to be seen, to be unconditionally loved, and maybe if someone else could make me feel that way, maybe I’d picture them instead. But right now, Jasper was all I had. He made me feel good, and goddamn, I wanted to feel something other than the vast sea of emptiness I’d been trying to fill my whole life.

I slipped my hand under my waistband, groaning as I made contact with bare skin. There was an undercurrent of guilt, as I realized just how fucking hard and leaking my cock was from imagining Jasper’s hands and mouth on me. I ignored it, hand wrapped tightly around my aching length.

My phone buzzed against the mattress, only spurring me on. I imagined Jasper sending me a follow-up message, and the thought made me squeeze myself harder. I was sure I could make myself come just from the proof that he cared.

He’d tease me if he saw how easy I was—call me a fucking mess. And I’d take it, too, as long as it meant he kept looking at me.

I ran my fingers over my swollen tip to wet them, hips jerking from a heady jolt of pleasure. My hand moved of its own accord, spreading the sticky evidence of my sin and settling into a steady rhythm.

Despite the pleasure, something was lacking, and I gritted my teeth in frustration. This was good, so good, but nowhere near as good as rubbing off against Jasper had been. I squeezed myself even harder to try and make up for the difference, my strokes growing sloppy.

I dragged my other hand, the one holding the vial necklace, down over my mouth, past my jaw, and squeezed the sides of my throat. The chain necklace wrapped around my fingers bit into my skin with the pressure, the vial pressing hard against my windpipe.

I started to sob. I couldn’t even feel embarrassed that I was crying while jerking off, the high of finding the vial—my vial, our vial—too powerful to resist when it promised the sweet, intoxicating relief that I craved. The proof that I was loved.

The fantasy took on a life of its own, and I was helpless to stop it. My imagination supplied all of the condescending remarks he might make as he fucked me, and the sound of his voice in my head had my balls drawing up tight, leaving me teetering on the edge of bliss. I slowed my ministrations, trying to drag the moment out longer, unwilling to let go of the high.

Then I was pumping my shaft again, the earlier buildup immediately starting to prickle at the base of my spine all over again. My toes curled, and I thrust my hips up into my fist harder, faster, chasing the pleasure with desperation that bordered on madness. My shirt rode up my stomach with my frantic movements, and I was barely breathing, little puffs of air escaping my throat as I continued to choke myself to the brink.

Blotches of white exploded behind my eyelids, and my throat burned with a guttural moan. In that moment, I came apart completely, the emotions reaching a crescendo and tipping me over the finish line. I was drowning and floating all at once as thick spurts of my own release coated my bare stomach.

The low hit before I managed to catch my breath, shaky hands falling away from my cock and throat. The high had turned into something far more sour, bitter on my tongue.

It was shame.

27

Milo

NO AMOUNT OF adjusting myself in the rearview mirror was going to calm my nerves. I combed my fingers through my hair again and smoothed my long-sleeved crew neck I was wearing for the thousandth time since leaving the apartment. I’d spent too much time at home, rotting around the apartment in sweatpants and a hoodie. The simple combination of jeans and a tight shirt made me want to peel off my skin.

I should have left earlier. Or maybe I should have cancelled and told Jasper I wasn’t ready for such a big social outing. Staying at home and partying with my own crowd was one thing, but going out to a public place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces? Nightmare fuel.

“That fucking asshole,” I grumbled, yanking the driver’s side handle and pushing the door open with my foot. Jasper had gone straight to the restaurant after class, inadvertently making my anxiety worse. He should have known better than to let me show up alone.

I tried to steel myself for the inevitable awkwardness of searching a room full of people for faces I recognized, flashes of hot and cold pulsing through my veins with every step. The parking lot was nearly full, and the warm glow of fairy lights and candles was visible through the windows. If it weren’t for the overlapping voices spilling out as I opened the door, the ambiance might have been comforting when I stepped inside.

The restaurant was small and intimate, with tables packed tightly together and a bar along the farthest wall. A colourful mural covered the dining side, likely done by local Indigenous artists, which was fitting for a place that served authentic Indigenous cuisine. I’d never been here before, which meant I’d already memorized the menu and scrolled through photos of the interior online.

Jasper’s laughter cut through the noise-soup, and my anxiety dipped as I followed the sound. I found him sitting at the bar beside a guy I didn’t recognize, immersed in conversation. On the other side of him, our mutual friend Allison nursed a glass of wine. Across from the bar, Blane was easily identifiable: round glasses, a bumblebee nose ring, and long dark hair. His tanned skin practically glowed under the soft lighting, and being in the same space as the two other fragments of my soul for the first time in ages reminded me of what an idiot I’d been. Every time I tried to disappear, I was also trying to leave them behind.

Blane had claimed a table, filled with a combination of strangers and a select few I recognized. I gravitated towards Jasper first, cursing the way I curled in on myself in situations I didn’t control. Moments like these always made me miss being younger and less self-aware. Life was so much easier back when I wasn’t painfully aware of everyone else in the room, worried about what they might think or say.

I hovered behind Jasper, fingers lifting toward his sleeve before I caught myself—the urge to grab him and use him as my anchor felt childish and humiliating. I talked myself out of it and shuffled over, begrudgingly sitting next to Allison. I leaned past her dark hair to peer at my brother, who merely glanced over mid-conversation, jerking his head in acknowledgment of my presence.

“They’re waiting for another table to finish up so they can push it together with the rest of our group,” Allison informed me, turning to face me and blocking the view of my brother.

“Oh. Okay.” A muscle ticked in my jaw.

It wasn’t her fault I was on edge. I actually liked Allison. She was funny, and we got along well enough. I even had a little crush on her at one point, when we were teenagers and shared a guitar class before I dropped out of high school.

I stared down at the drink menu, not registering any of the words, no matter how many times my eyes scanned over them. I was too busy tracking the easy rhythm unfolding between Jasper and the stranger beside him. Allison had no trouble jumping into the conversation, while I busied myself with inspecting the fork in front of me.

I wasn’t sulking because I hadn’t gotten to sit next to my brother, honestly. It was just a really fancy fork, gold-plated, with intricate designs.

At least twenty minutes passed before the table we were waiting on freed up—minutes I spent stewing in jealous silence. Jasper and Allison had both made several attempts to include me in the conversation, but my responses were clipped and uncooperative. I shot to my feet the second the tables were pushed together, failing miserably to rein in my eagerness. I got to the tables first, dragged out a chair, and dropped into it with urgency.

“If you don’t sit next to me, I’m gonna stab you with a fucking fork,” I blurted, gaze flicking pointedly between Jasper and the empty chair next to me.