Page 49 of Antagonist

Instead of feeling relief, the cold water just heightens all my senses, making me shiver and think of the way Fletcher trembled when I kissed his neck.

Too soon, the water is warm on my skin. I turn it back to cold, but it’s too late. I’m already overheating.

I wrap my hand around my dick, giving in. Closing my eyes, I see Fletcher splayed out on the workbench.

His long hair fans around his head, creating a golden halo. But he’s no angel. Angels don’t moan like this when I run my hands over their nipples or cup their erection.

No, Fletcher may look like an angel, but he’s not. He’s a fucking demon, and the dichotomy is so enticing it makes my cock throb under my touch.

Fletcher opens his blue eyes, begging. He wants this too. I know it.

I open the button on his paint-stained jeans and pull the zipper down to reveal his underwear-clad erection. I don’t know why I thought he’d be the kind of man that would wear brightly colored underwear, but I’m surprised when I see it’s black. But even with the dark fabric, I can see a damp patch.

“Harrison,” he moans, begging me to do something, and his voice reaches depths of my soul I thought were forever lost. He bucks his hips, demanding more, and I finally release his cock from the confines of his underwear.

The cold spray of the water isn't enough to stop me from feeling hot all over when fantasy Fletcher yells my name as I give him what he needs. I need it, too, more than I ever thought.

My hand grips tight, and I lean against the shower wall, reaching for my balls with the other hand. I tug them, and the pleasure-pain makes me cry out his name, “Fletcher.”

He can drive me crazy like no one else. He can make me lose my mind like no one else.

The Fletcher in my head takes his cock in his hand. The devil can no longer wait for his pleasure.

I can feel the grip he has on his cock as if he's holding my own, and I mimic him, tightening my hold as I stroke my cock. Our eyes meet, and all I see is pure unabashed lust.

He strokes himself until he's coming all over me, and I can feel it all: the tightening of his balls, the building pressure, the final release.

“Fletcher!” I cry as I paint the shower wall with my cum.

The fantasy Fletcher ebbs away as I open my eyes and stare blindly at the glass wall in front of me.

I turn off the water and dry myself until my skin is red. I don’t know what I’m trying to rub off. My memories of Fletcher, what I've just done, or the feelings I have when I think of him.

When I met Tate, I thought he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen, but loving him didn’t happen for a while. Mostly because I always thought he was way out of my league. It wasn’t until we fell into bed after one of his many breakups that everything changed for me.

With Stella, it was an even slower burn. I’d been hurt by Tate leaving, so I took things slowly. But Fletcher? I shouldn’t even be thinking about him on the same level as my previous relationships, let alone having thoughts that he may become so much more than they ever were.

When I return to my desk, the beer is warm and the sandwich is dry, but I nonetheless consume them.

I check my emails and see one from Ellis.

* * *

Three days later, as I pull up to the school wearing my oldest jeans and T-shirt, I feel a little less off-kilter.

My workload has increased, and I spent most of Monday cleaning up one of Bradley’s messes. If he knew how his own uncle feels about him, he wouldn’t walk around the office like he owns it. Unfortunately, Mr. Jones is far too nice and loyal to his family.

Even though I don’t like it, I respect him for it. If I’m honest, this week’s shit storm has been a blessing. Long days that go so far into the night that I’m barely awake by the time I get into bed. One-track mind focusing on completing the job. It was exactly what I needed.

“Harrison, good to see you,” Ellis says as I round the corner of the building.

“I want to say the same, but I’m holding three buckets and a mop.”

He laughs, and I follow him to where a team of parents is gathering by the wall we’re meant to be cleaning today in preparation for the mural.

“Hey, Harrison, I hope you’ve got your A game today. Cleaning walls isn’t for the fainthearted,” Melodie says, and the other parents laugh. I’ve gotten to know them during the meetings, and they’re a cool group.

Some of them are talking about having a big barbeque in the summer, and for once, I’m excited at the prospect of hanging out and seeing Megan happy with her new group of friends.