Page 17 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

“Not happening. It’s never going to happen, so you can stop wasting your breath and bringing it up every five seconds. I’m gonna start thinking you have a thing for me.”

This time, Ryder laughed long and loud before shrugging. “Your loss,” he said when he could finally breathe again.

Screw this. Why was I wasting my time arguing with this asshole when I had tables to service.

I started to turn as Ryder lifted his water bottle to his lips with his head tilted back.

Every swallow had his throat contracting in a rhythmic up-and-down motion.

He shut his eyes, clearly loving the relief of the cool liquid.

Excess water sloshed out of the bottle, spilling from the corner of his mouth.

A thin river ran down his smooth chin, dripping to his chest where it cascaded over his pecs.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth as it automatically twitched with the desire to capture that escaped stream of water.

To lap it off Ryder’s chest, then continue sampling every inch of exposed skin. And there were so many inches.

“Shit,” he mumbled as his hand went to his torso, where he swiped the water away, then continued to stroke his hand down over his abs in a slow, caressing motion.

My breath caught in my throat. The short break had helped cool me down, but the heat surged again, flushing my skin and making me dizzy.

That damn hand kept cruising down, down, down, smoothing over muscles and tanned skin.

I couldn’t look away from how his abs tightened under the touch. And then his fingertips reached the top of his shorts.

But he didn’t stop there.

Ryder stroked over his growing bulge, and my cock responded in kind, thickening beneath the tight confinement of spandex.

The temperature seemed to rise by twenty degrees, growing too thick to breathe.

My skin prickled, and my fingertips tingled with the need to touch.

I couldn’t figure out if I wanted my hands on him or myself.

A loud snort pierced the air, ripping me from the erotic trance of Ryder’s show.

My gaze jerked to his face to find him smirking. “Tell me again how it’ll never happen, Alex.”

My face flamed so hot I could feel waves of heat emanating from me.

Goddammit. He’d won this round.

And we both knew it.

“Fuck off, Ryder.” I turned and stormed out of the staff room to the sound of his victorious laughter. When I reached the hallway, I stopped, bracing a hand against the wall. Air stuttered out of my lungs as I tried to exhale the disturbing past few minutes and give my dick a chance to deflate.

“Are you okay, Alex?” Parker’s sophisticated voice had me straightening.

“Yep. All good.” My voice sounded strained even to myself. Great.

He frowned. “Your table needs refills. They’ve been asking for you.” He tilted his head and studied me. “You don’t usually disappear mid-shift.”

The disapproving tone from my boss was enough to kill any remaining embers of desire. Now I was fucking up at work because of Ryder. Maybe I should take the damn bet and suck him so good he’d explode in five seconds and once again be part of my past instead of my irritating present.

I looked my boss in the eye. The man deserved no less than my utmost respect, even when I wanted to stick my head in a hole and die. “I’m sorry, Parker. I’ll take care of them right now. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you. See that it doesn’t.”

I scurried away from my boss with the shame of disappointing him flowing behind me like a cape.

For the remainder of my shift, I managed to avoid Ryder while I stewed in hatred and self-recrimination. How could I have been stupid enough to fall for a juvenile stunt like that? Touching himself to destroy my focus, for fuck’s sake.

It sure had worked, though. God must have been having a truly shitty day when he gifted that gorgeous man such a wretched personality.

By the time I arrived home a few hours later, I was tired, horny, and pissed off. My final table’s tip reflected the latter emotion, being a few hundred lower than my average, while Ryder could practically fill a tub with his earnings.

Fucker.

I walked into a quiet house. As usual, the outside and foyer lights had been left on for me.

Though I was twenty-three and had been taking care of most household duties for almost a decade, my mother worried and never retired for the night unless she felt confident I wouldn’t return to a dark walkway.

I shut the lights and locked the door behind me before kicking off my shoes. Sometimes, if I didn’t have much homework, I’d watch television until I calmed enough to try sleeping. Wednesdays were a short day of classes, so, as today, I often finished my work before my shift.

Tonight, though, I was too tired to bother with the television, but not sleepy. My mind whirled even as my aching feet and fatigued back begged to be horizontal in my bed.

I padded down the hall toward my mother’s room, where a quick peek revealed her sleeping soundly in her bed.

She was a loud sleeper, not quite a snorer, but her breathing reverberated through the room.

When I was younger, I hated the sound. She’d fall asleep on the couch and drive me crazy.

Now, it gave me comfort, knowing I could easily ensure she breathed well.

Though she was no longer a functional ambulator, she managed her wheelchair well in the house and could stand for a few minutes without help.

She could also take about four or five shuffling steps, which made all the difference in the world.

It allowed her to get from her bed to her wheelchair independently and stand at the sink to complete her morning and evening routines, as well as use the bathroom independently.

Someday, she’d lose the ability to perform those activities.

I had no clue what we’d do when that time came and tried not to think about it too deeply.

Our little family had adopted the unspoken motto of crossing the bridges when we came to them, and it had worked for us so far, though I wished we had the money and resources to plan a safe and secure future for my mother.

Someday. You’ll get a good job—a real job—and be able to provide what she needs .

I backed out of her room and shut her door without making a sound, then continued down the short hall to my room, which was the last on the right. As I passed Kenny’s room, I glanced in and almost tripped over my own feet. There, alone in his bed, slept none other than my brother.

“Holy shit,” I whispered. It’d been months since I’d come home from work to find Kenny in bed before me, which was crazy given my hours.

This meant I could head to my room and go straight to sleep without worrying about anyone.

“It’s a miracle,” I whispered as I closed Kenny’s door.

When I reached my room, I didn’t bother to turn on the light as I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them somewhere near the hamper. Then I brushed my teeth and emptied my bladder also in the dark. There wasn’t any point in turning on the light only to view my exhausted face in the mirror.

“Fuck yes,” I said as I flopped onto my back on my bed, clad in nothing but briefs. “What a night.”

What a life. Twenty-three seemed too young to be this tired.

Or this grumpy, as Ryder loved to point out, though he was the only one who brought out the full force of my grouchy side.

Maybe I needed a break or a vacation. Well, staycation, seeing as how I couldn’t afford to go anywhere.

We’d just come off winter break from college, but I worked the ticket booth at a local winter festival on top of my Top Shelf hours to earn money for Christmas presents and afford new snow tires for my car.

It didn’t count as a break if I was just as busy as when class was in session.

It must be nice to be Ryder and not only have endless piles of money but an entire semester to dick around, offering blow job competitions and treating the world like his playground.

“Stop thinking about him,” I muttered into the quiet of the night.

Now that work forced me to interact with Ryder four nights a week, I found my thoughts drifting toward him too often. How stupid was I to fall for his little stunt tonight?

But God, it had been hot. I’d have had to be dead not to react to him rubbing his damn hand all over that stellar body. What was he doing? Spending every hour he didn’t work at Top Shelf in the gym? Whatever his workout routine, it was working for the man.

He should never be allowed to wear more than those damn booty shorts.

Warmth spread through my limbs as my mind conjured the image of him in our work uniform.

It’d be so easy to peel him out of it and have him bare before me.

No doubt his dick would be as impressive as the rest of him.

He was one of those lucky people blessed by everything in life, dick size included.

And he wanted me to suck him off.

My cock responded with a surge of blood, rising to attention against the black cotton of my briefs. “Sometimes I hate you,” I said, even as I pressed the heel of my palm against my hardened shaft. I groaned at the pressure, lifting my hips off the bed to rub against my hand.

Dammit. Was I really going to do this? I’d never fall asleep now that I was hard and aching to come, but did I really want to get myself off to thoughts of Ryder?

I couldn’t change the script. He was in my head in all his mostly naked glory, and that’s where he’d stay until I erupted all over my hand.

“Fuck it.” No one would ever know. I’d die before letting this secret escape.

I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my briefs and shoved them over my ass, allowing my stiff dick to spring forward.

Groaning, I wrapped my hand around myself with a light grip and slid up and down my length.

Lube would be helpful, but retrieving it required more energy than I had to spare, so a dry hand fuck would have to do.

Luckily, I already had precum leaking from the tip, so I swiped my thumb across it, hissing at the electric zing of pleasure. The fluid eased the sting of friction.

My mind ran away to an alternate universe where Ryder was not only hot as lava but someone I could have.

Someone I wanted who also wanted me. Gone was our hatred and rivalry, replaced by roaming hands, hungry mouths, and dirty words.

In my fantasy, he tugged my cock with the perfect tension and strength, knowing exactly how I liked a man to stroke me.

His hands were strong and skilled. Within seconds, I was pumping my hips into his imaginary grip while reaching for him as well.

We jacked each other without words, only grunts and pants.

My hand flew over my cock as my brain brought the fantasy to life.

It wasn’t long before my back arched and warm spunk spurted from the tip of my dick as my body convulsed with pleasure given to me by fictional Ryder.

I wiped my messy hand on my stomach, which already had a trail of cum running up to my sternum.

Shit, that had been good and so necessary. For the first time in ages, my mind felt light and clear.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the floaty post-orgasm sensation surrounding me. In a few minutes, I’d get up and clean myself off. No one wanted to wake up to briefs around their knees and crusted cum on their stomach.

Sleep stole all my good intentions, and within minutes, I slipped into a near-coma, still covered in the evidence of my shameful fantasy.

The last active thought to cross my mind before I lost consciousness was how much I liked imaginary Ryder gazing at me with heat and desire instead of condescension and disgust.

In my fantasy, that look had been even better than Ryder’s hands all over me.

“No one has to know,” I mumbled, and as I told myself every time, this would be the last time I thought of Ryder while jerking off.