Chapter 4: Troy’s Revenge

Dylan had just spanked me—light, playful, but firm enough to feel it in my spine—and then turned over like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t lying there rock hard with my heart pounding in my ears, trying to catch my breath. His last words echoed like a taunt.

“I’ll take good care of you.”

And now he was on his back, his chest rising and falling slow and even. Tank top clinging to him, biceps slack but still thick, like he was made of stone even in sleep. His lips curved the faintest bit, like he was dreaming about what he just did. Or about what else he could.

I stared at him, stunned.

He was just ... asleep?

I shifted slightly, adjusting my leg over the blanket. Jake, dead to the world on the other side, snored once and then settled.

And Dylan just laid there, smug and still.

I exhaled.

Turned.

I rolled over, slowly, deliberately, my back now to Jake, my front facing Dylan. My body pressed into the mattress as I tucked my arm under my head, my face ending up just beside his shoulder—close enough to breathe in the scent of his deodorant. Clean, masculine, faintly citrusy. Close enough to see the stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips. Close enough to whisper, “Did you seriously just spank me and go to sleep?”

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes still closed. “You didn’t seem like you minded.”

“I didn’t,” I murmured. “But I’m kind of still here. And hard.”

His eyes fluttered open—barely—and he looked at me sideways, amused. “Oh yeah?” he whispered, smirking again. “You’re the one who backed that little ass up into me all night. You started it.”

“That was survival instinct,” I said, mock-defensive. “You were warm.”

“You were grinding.”

“You were hard.”

He chuckled under his breath, low and warm. “Still am.”

I swallowed, my pulse loud in my throat. My eyes dropped to the blanket over his waist. There was a clear outline there now. A thick ridge, barely contained.

“You had a girlfriend,” I said, voice quieter. “Didn’t you?”

His smirk faded into something more thoughtful. He looked at the ceiling for a beat, jaw shifting. “Not anymore. We’ve been ... done for a while. It just wasn’t working.”

“Because of ... this?” I asked, my fingers brushing his forearm.

He looked back at me, brows raised. “Because she was clingy. Jealous. Didn’t like when I trained guys one-on-one. Thought something was going on.”

“Was something going on?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.

“Not then.” His smirk returned. “But maybe now.”

I bit my bottom lip, then reached out. Slowly. Deliberately. My fingers skimmed the hem of his tank top, then slipped under it, pressing against the warmth of his stomach. Rock-solid, abs flexing beneath my touch.

“Someone’s curious,” he murmured, still not stopping me.

“You started it,” I said again.

I slid my hand lower, over the waistband of his shorts, fingertips just brushing beneath. The air between us thickened, heavy with heat. My chest rose and fell faster, and I felt his flex beneath my palm—subtle, restrained, but definitely there.

My hand found the outline of him. He was hard. Huge. Throbbing.

I didn’t mean to gasp, but I did. Quiet, sharp, right next to his ear. I let my fingers graze the shape of him through his shorts again, slower this time—just to be sure.

“Looks like the gym bro’s still hard,” I whispered, smirking. “Why’d you stop grinding on me if you were gonna keep this thing throbbing against me all night?”

Dylan let out a low, lazy laugh, deep in his chest. He was still lying on his back, both arms behind his head, like he hadn’t done a single damn thing. But his cock said otherwise.

“Maybe I just wanted you to enjoy it,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “Keep you wanting more.”

I rolled my eyes and slid even closer, so my mouth was nearly brushing his shoulder. “God, you’re so cocky.”

“You love that about me,” he said, lips curling into a grin. “Spaghetti noodle.”

I froze. “Spaghetti noodle?”

“Yeah,” he said with a little shrug, “all bendy and soft. Til you get hot.”

He knew exactly what he was doing. My cheeks burned, but I didn’t stop. I let my fingers trace the length of his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts—back and forth, slow. Just enough pressure to feel the weight of him, the way he twitched under my touch.

“You saying my little ass felt good?” I murmured, just to watch him react.

He exhaled, slow and shallow. “Better than good.”

I grinned and kept teasing him, outlining his cock with the pads of my fingers. I swirled a fingertip around the ridge of his head through the fabric, taking my time. He tensed slightly, then relaxed, his breath warming my cheek.

“Jesus,” he muttered, just under his breath. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

I dipped my head and kissed his bare shoulder, soft and slow. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

His smirk deepened. “Nah. Let’s see what that noodle’s got.”

I moved my hand lower and slid it under the waistband of his shorts. My heart was racing now. He wasn’t wearing any underwear—no wonder I could feel everything so clearly earlier.