Page 21 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

Josh

I was certifiably a fucked-up pervert. It was official. Slap it on my medical records, bitches.

When I’d gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I happened to overhear some weird noises coming from down the hall. Worried that Dorian was hurt or needed help, I padded quietly to his door, peeking through the crack.

To say I was shocked at what I saw would be an understatement.

But the fact of the matter was that sometimes people walked in on other people masturbating, and while that was common enough just to be an awkward accident, it was my reaction that bothered me.

Because I hadn’t walked away, or exclaimed my surprise and apologized for seeing his dick.

I had watched, holding my breath, enraptured by the scene in front of me.

My eyes had flicked back and forth between the screen of his laptop and the hand leisurely stroking the length of his hard cock, slick with lube.

He was intently focused on the porn that played on his laptop, but I was more focused on the drops of pre-cum pearling at his slit. The porn definitely caught my attention, too, though.

The set looked like a locker room. A large guy, around my size, dressed in what looked like a slutty football player costume, lay on his back on the bench, rope tied tightly around him to keep him there.

A smaller guy, dressed as a stereotypical nerd, straddled his chest, ruthlessly fucking into the bound man’s throat.

The football player’s face was a mess, red and covered in tears and spit.

While he gurgled and choked around the cock abusing his throat, the nerd was grunting out the most obscene dirty talk I’d ever heard.

“Such a useless whore. Only good for taking cock. Should leave you tied up here as a gift for the rest of your team—god knows you’d be better at being their cumdump than a teammate. ”

On a particularly deep thrust, he wrapped his hands around the jock’s neck and cut off his air completely. And even though the player writhed and flailed, the look in his eyes was one of pure need. He was loving what was happening.

I swallowed a whimper that was threatening to slip out of my mouth and bit down on my bottom lip. A quick glance downwards confirmed what I feared: I was painfully hard and had even leaked through my briefs, creating a small wet spot on my pajama pants.

When I looked back at the laptop, a hard slap to the jock’s face made me flinch. Dorian moaned as he watched the man being roughly used. His hand began moving quicker, twisting upward.

A small breath punched out of me when I suddenly saw a glint of silver beneath his hand. That was… a piercing—a godforsaken dick piercing. Lord, have mercy.

I squinted, trying to see it better, almost coming in my pants when I realized there wasn’t just one, but at least three.

I was taken by surprise when Dorian’s thighs stilled for a second before thrusting up one last time into his fist, releasing several ropes of cum onto his abdomen and chest.

I just… I just watched my little brother come.

The realization hit me like a train, causing me to stumble back from the door and rush to my room. I closed the door behind me as quietly as possible, praying that Dorian hadn’t heard me in the hall.

I refused to look at my crotch, already knowing what I’d find.

Fuck.

* * *

I woke up the next morning with wet underwear, a dumb plan, and a desperate need for it to work. One of those “ if I do this, then maybe I’ll stop feeling that” plans.

After attempting to scrub the dried cum from my briefs in my bathroom sink so that Dorian wouldn’t notice it while doing laundry, I downloaded a gay dating app and took a few shirtless pictures for my profile.

Pretty quickly, I already had people messaging me. Some just sent dick pics and nothing else, some wrote that they wanted to bounce on my cock, and one asked if I was a catfish.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I finally received a normal “hey, how are you?” message from a thirty-year-old man named Eli.

He was cute, in that very safe, clean-cut sort of way.

He worked in IT, loved dogs, and was looking for something potentially long-term but open to other things if the mood was right.

He was very polite and nice when I said I wasn’t very experienced.

He said he liked that I wasn’t experienced, and that we could go as slow as I needed.

Most importantly, Eli looked like a finance bro who played pickleball and never got white clothes dirty, while Dorian looked like a pampered rockstar who had the money to hire a hitman, but would much prefer to stab a bitch himself.

I felt relieved at how different he was from Dorian. I would go on a date with Eli, hopefully fall in love, or at least hook up, and then boom , no more hard-ons for my brother. I just needed to get it out of my system, get distracted, and then I’d be cured.

We agreed to meet at a little wine bar near downtown that evening.

With a nervous fluttering in my gut, I showered and spent way too long deciding on an outfit.

I ended up in a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, dark-wash jeans that definitely did something to my ass, and a few spritzes of a fancy cologne Dorian had bought for me as a move-in present.

On my way out, I walked past Dorian on the living room couch, saying I was meeting up with an old coworker for drinks.

The lie sat heavy in my chest, like it physically pained me to keep the truth from him.

He just gave me an assessing look, as if he knew I was lying to him but was calculating whether he needed to call me out on it.

I ignored it and told him not to wait up for me.

I needed to get out of that house before I lost my mind.

Eli was already sitting at a two-top when I walked into the bar. It was a nice place, a lot of rich dark colors, velvet cushions on the seats, and a piano in the corner for live music nights. My date welcomed me with a bright smile as I took the seat across from him.

“Hey, Josh, right?” I nodded, smiling back at him. “Great! Eli, of course. Did you make it here okay?”

“Yeah, I lucked out with some street parking. Thanks for meeting up with me,” I said.

“No, thank you . You look good, really good. What would you like? I’ll go to the bar and get our drinks.”

“Uh… I don’t really know. I’m not great with names of things. Typically, I just drink whatever’s in front of me.”

Eli chuckled, standing and smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt. “Dangerous answer. I could come back with something horrible, like warm Malort.”

I blinked. “Is that… real? Wine names are so weird.”

“Oh yeah. It’s basically paint thinner with emotional trauma. Don’t worry, I won’t do that to you on a first date.”

I smiled despite myself. “I appreciate your restraint.”

He smiled and headed toward the bar. I took a moment to glance around the room again, admiring the low, golden lights and the quiet, instrumental music that played softly over the hushed voices of the other couples.

It was the kind of place you were supposed to fall in love in. Or at least kiss someone, maybe?

I exhaled slowly, willing myself to relax.

I could do this.

When Eli returned, he set a pale orange cocktail in front of me. “It’s a bourbon peach smash. Figured it was a safe bet.”

“That… actually sounds good, I think. You have good instincts.”

He grinned. “High praise coming from a man who’ll drink anything.”

I laughed a little, then took a sip. “Okay, yeah, that’s dangerously drinkable.”

“I know, right? But let me know if it starts tasting too good. I don’t want to be responsible for any ‘accidental sleepovers.’”

I choked a little on my next sip. “Noted.”

We settled into an easy rhythm, the kind of pleasant small talk that didn’t require too much energy. I asked about his job, and he told me he worked remotely for a cybersecurity firm, spending most days yelling at his monitors while in pajama pants.

“I keep meaning to get a treadmill desk,” he said. “But I know if I buy it, I’ll just be wasting my money. I’m a chair guy through and through.”

“I respect that level of self-awareness,” I replied with a soft laugh.

He also asked about my job, and I told him about Wild Roast. He smiled when I talked about how weird some of the regulars were, or how seriously people took their foam art.

“So you’re, like, a part-time barista, full-time therapist,” he said.

“Exactly. But I also own the place.”

His eyebrows raised. “Wow, that’s impressive. And how do you spend your time when you’re not caffeinating the world?”

Trying not to picture my brother’s dick, I thought.

“I like to work out,” I answered instead. “Lift weights, mostly. And sometimes I like watching those trashy reality shows. I don’t know… I guess I’m kind of boring?”

“I don’t think that’s boring. Honestly, it’s kind of nice. You seem grounded.”

You have no idea how absolutely un-grounded I am, my brain supplied.

I smiled politely, swirling my drink. “What about you? And what brought you into the wonderful world of dating apps?

He leaned back slightly, relaxing into the seat.

“I guess the usual. I had a long-term relationship that ended a few years ago. Took a break from dating for a while, focused on work, therapy, and figuring my own crap out. But I miss the connection, you know? The little things. Shared playlists, lazy weekends, having someone to cook for. That stuff. I don’t miss my ex, but it is nice having someone around. ”

That sounded… really healthy. Like, emotionally stable and functional. Wow.

“That makes sense,” I said. “I guess I’m just starting to figure out what I want.”

“In terms of partners or relationships or what?”

I nodded, sipping the last of my drink. “Yeah… This is actually my first date with a man. Not that I’m experimenting or anything! I like guys! I just kinda ignored the fact I’m bi for most of my life.”