Toby told himself it was a mistake. A one-time thing. Something that happened in the heat of the moment. He told himself it meant nothing. But the ache in his jaw and the memory of warm c*m down his throat haunted him in the quiet.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The way he looked down while Toby knelt.
The way he pulled his hair like reins.
The way he didn’t thank him afterward.
That was the worst part. The best part. The part that kept him hard and guilty and shaking in his own bed.
He hadn’t touched his girlfriend in three days.
She sent him selfies. Voice notes. Sweet emojis. All he could do was reply with deadpan responses and force fake smiles when she asked to see him.
He said he was tired.
Busy.
Sick.
But he wasn’t sick.
He was
