Chapter 9: Almost Caught

Dylan’s breath was still hot against my cheek, lips brushing the side of my face like he wasn’t done with me yet—like he’d barely even started.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmured, voice dark and smooth, “you won’t be able to walk out of the gym tomorrow.”

I was about to laugh—probably choke out some dumb reply like I don’t even lift—when we both froze.

“Yo! Troy?”

Jake’s voice.

From upstairs.

Dylan’s eyes went wide. “No fucking way.”

My heart jumped out of my chest. “Shit—”

We scrambled apart like two magnets violently repelling each other. I practically fell backward off the carpet, grabbing at my hoodie like it was a life vest. Dylan rolled to the side, trying to yank up his sweatpants in one motion but getting them caught halfway around his thigh because of his hard cock.

“I swear to god,” he whispered, “are you seriously going to leave my dick wet after this?”

“I can’t help it! Jake is here!”

“I know! But I’m gonna start barking if I don’t—fuck, where is my shirt?!”

He grabbed a random cushion off the couch and dropped it casually over his lap to hide his boner just as the basement door creaked open.

Jake came down the stairs, skipping the last two steps like he always did, and walked into the room looking a little flushed. Not from nerves—more like from a long night. His hair was wind-tousled, and he was still wearing the same hoodie he’d thrown on before leaving.

He spotted us instantly. Me sitting on the floor, hoodie pulled up to my nose like I was five seconds from dying of embarrassment, and Dylan with a suspiciously firm pillow in his lap, leaning back like some chill guy who definitely hadn’t just almost gotten blown on the living room carpet.

Jake blinked, then sighed as he dropped onto the couch beside Dylan.

“Man,” he said, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees, “tonight was ... not what I expected.”

“What happened?” I asked, trying not to sound like I’d just had my face in his brother’s crotch. “How was Sophie?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh. “Well. So we’re leaving Starbucks, right? She’s like, ‘Let’s walk back to my place.’ So obviously I’m thinking this is, you know ... a thing.”

I nodded like I understood, even though my brain was still full of Dylan’s cocky whisper.

“We’re walking, she’s holding her cup all cute, bumping my arm, telling me how chill her roommate is...” Jake shrugged. “I’m thinking, okay, this is a soft launch into, like, making out on her couch. At least.”

Dylan made a polite little noise beside him, shifting slightly—probably trying to hide his awkward tent pole under the cushion.

Jake didn’t seem to notice.