Page 18 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

“Parker doesn’t have any meetings, so you’re a slacker, a perv, and a liar,” he replies, not believing me. I quickly decide not to argue, even though he’s very wrong.

Asher stays shirtless, adding to how flustered I already am.

His arms are muscular, not overly so like mine from years of rugby and weightlifting, but it’s clear he works out somewhere.

Asher rounds the twin bed and bends over to rummage through his backpack, the thin cotton fabric stretching over his ass making my cock throb with need.

Is he doing this shit on purpose? Does he know how he affects me?

My hands itch to touch his hips, to rub the length of my cock up his crease.

“Where’s your laptop?” he says once he stands and faces me. His hair is a disheveled mess, the black strands pushed haphazardly out of his face, and I wonder for a quick moment what he would look like after being freshly fucked. “Did you hear me, slacker?”

“I, ugh, I forgot it in my hurry to get over here.”

“Okay, then we’ll use mine.”

Asher leaves the room without saying a word, and I’m left, still fumbling like a teenager.

I don’t know what my issue is. I’ve hooked up with plenty of men before—not that Asher and I are hooking up, far from it—but something about walking in on him in such a private moment has fucked with my head more than he typically does.

I want to let go of the resentment I hold toward him.

I’m trying to. I need to. He hasn’t done anything wrong, the complete opposite, actually.

It doesn’t matter that I thought I caught him checking me out, or the chemistry that sizzles between us, or how anytime he touches me, it feels like I’ve been brought to life.

I’ve made myself out to be the villain by treating him like shit when he hasn’t exactly done anything to me besides be himself.

I take a minute to look around his personal space, noting the minimal decor, the stacks of books on nearly every inch of free surface, and notebooks stacked high.

Everything seems to be organized chaos. His room smells just like him, only more potent—rich leather and books—and I take a deep inhale, filling my lungs with it, as pathetic as that may be.

“Here,” Asher says as he fumbles into the bedroom with a chair, dropping it in front of my feet before walking around and pulling out his desk chair and taking a seat.

I guess this is where we’re studying. Grabbing the spare chair, I set it down next to him at his desk, taking a seat next to him.

It’s different from studying in the archives.

The wind howls outside his bedroom, a rogue bare branch knocking against his window periodically.

The sun has started to set, shining the last of its light in through the intricate stone tracery.

“Let’s get this over with,” Asher says, breaking my focus.

“Way to make me feel welcome, Ambrose, Jesus.”

“Do you blame me? You barged in here while I was jerking it and demanded I tutor you. Ever heard of a text? A knock?”

I guess I don’t blame him. I don’t know what I was thinking, storming over here like he owes me something.

Hell, all I wanted to do was apologize for yesterday, and I’ve screwed even that up.

I know I’ve been an asshole in the past, but that’s behind us.

Unless he really is just biding his time with me because my dad is forcing him to catch me up in my classes.

Vulnerability is like a disease, latching onto my bloodstream and slowly eating away at my resolve.

Being with Asher has become as easy as breathing.

I’m the most authentic version of myself when we’re together, and I don’t want to lose that.

I’m already losing my masked stranger, so the physical release and connection I’ve been given will slip away.

I can’t lose whatever this is between Asher and me.

I can’t let my fear of being vulnerable ruin it.

All it’s done is put a further wedge between us when all I wanted was to be his friend in the first place.

Anger starts to rise in my chest, but I take a deep breath, pushing it down and allowing a little piece of the real me to slip out. I fucking hate this feeling, but I want to give him a peace offering. I owe it to him. I owe it to myself.

“Look, I don’t want to fail. Okay? I’m sorry for how I’ve acted, and everything you said was true. I know how privileged I am, and I know I have my parents to fall back on, but that doesn’t mean I want to need it. I can do this. I just need your help.”

Asher looks at me like I’ve grown horns, his mouth slightly agape, the pupils of his eyes blown wide, and he doesn’t say a damn word. This isn’t going at all how I thought it would, and that awful feeling of my skin becoming too tight starts to gnaw at me.

Instead of lashing out, I swallow down the uncomfortable feeling and take a deep breath.

“ Please ?” I try one last time. When Asher still doesn’t say anything, I nod my head, pulling the inside of my cheek between my molars.

I go to stand when his hand grasps my forearm.

The heat is instant. Searing and electric.

I feel his touch from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes.

My heart trips over itself behind my chest as I look down at where we’re connected. Does he feel this, too?

My gaze slowly slides upward to look at his face when I catch him doing the same thing, staring at where we’re connected and looking up to meet my eyes. He has to feel this right?

“Stay. I’ll help you.”

“Okay,” I say on a rushed breath. Asher finally removes his hand, taking one final look at the spot before facing his laptop more directly.

When he opens his browser, I barely catch that he was looking at old articles on the Corvus graveyard, while my brain goes fucking haywire from his touch.

He quickly closes out of them before navigating to an assignment for our occult history class.

Asher squirms slightly in his chair while he reads, my eyes involuntarily flicking to his crotch, unable to clear my head of the image from ten minutes ago.

My breath hitches as I see the outline of his very hard cock through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

He’s seriously packing, and I bet he has a massive case of blue balls.

I clear my throat, and when I look up, Asher’s heated eyes are trained directly on me. There’s no lying my way out of this one, but I don’t want to.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, fire dancing behind his dark eyes.

“Your cock is still hard, man. C’mon. It’s fucking distracting.”

“Quit looking at my dick then, perv. Wouldn’t want to give me the wrong impression,” he quips, winking at me. Bastard.

“Whatever, Asher,” I retort, our five minutes of blissful reprieve from bickering clearly over. Asher snorts and rolls his eyes before he smirks at me. His full lips turn up on one side, his eyebrows rising in a challenge.

Shit .

“Actually, I need to take care of this. I can’t fucking focus with it throbbing between my legs.”

Wait, what?

“Leave or don’t, I don’t care anymore. I just need to get off.”

Before I can form words, Asher opens an incognito tab on his laptop, pulling up a porn site and quickly scrolling to a video of two men.

My eyes go wide, heart pounding straight out of my chest. He’s testing me.

There’s no fucking way. Asher’s thumbs slip into the band of his sweatpants, pulling them down over his hips.

Holy shit, he’s serious right now.

His cock bobs free, resting heavy against his abdomen. He’s right fucking next to me, our hips only inches apart. His hand gives the thick length a little tug at the base, holding it upright and slowly sliding his fist to the tip before pinching the engorged mushroom head.

I quickly avert my eyes.

“You’re hard, too, Si. Don’t worry about me if you need to tug one out.”

“You’re not fucking serious right now.”

Is he serious? This can’t be happening.

“Does it look like I’m joking? Now quit talking so I can come.”

My breath is coming in heavy pants now as my cock throbs relentlessly behind my joggers.

The air in the room is practically gone, my head swimming in delirium.

My pulse beats loudly between my ears, a steady rhythm that slowly increases, drowning out all other sound.

This can’t be happening. My hand has a mind of its own as I press down firmly against my dick, practically groaning at the contact and how good it feels.

Fuck, I’m so turned on right now. This is so goddamn hot.

Moans leave the speaker as the two men embrace, stroking their cocks tightly together.

Their bodies are muscular, clearly athletic, and fuck, do they look good.

Their cocks leak, precum beading down the sides as their hands rub up and down, their lengths held close together.

Something I’ve always wanted to experience.

My eyes dart to Asher next to me. He’s relaxed further in his chair, legs spread so wide our knees are touching now, the connection sparking a fuse that lights up my entire body.

I can feel his movements as he strokes his cock, his hand squeezing it tightly, twisting on every upstroke.

Shit. He looks so damn good. The tight V of his hips, the dark, coarse hair trailing down his fit stomach to his dick.

My cock jerks relentlessly, wanting attention . . . wanting to come.

Fuck it.

Without giving it more thought, I pull my joggers down over my hips to mid-thigh, my dick resting rock hard against my leg.

Asher’s movements completely halt, his eyes burning into my skin.

The tension in the room is thick, crackling all around us.

I can hardly fucking breathe. Are we really doing this right now?