Page 38 of Taste Test

I ended up staying at Suzie’s for the rest of the day.

She was celebrating her last night of freedom before her boys returned from holidaying with their father the next morning, and I was in no hurry to face whatever awkwardness awaited me at home.

We’d ordered pizza, opened a bottle of wine, and spent the evening on her couch watching terrible Netflix rom-coms while she provided running commentary on every unrealistic relationship trope.

“See, this is why real life is so much messier,” she’d said, gesturing at the screen where two impossibly attractive people were having a perfectly choreographed argument in the rain. “No one has these conversations. They just stumble through and hope for the best.”

By the time I finally cycled home, it was properly dark and I’d had just enough wine to feel brave but not enough to do anything stupid. The house was lit up when I turned into our street, warm yellow light spilling from the kitchen and lounge windows.

I contemplated running straight to my room and hiding there until this whole thing blew over. Maybe if I avoided him long enough, we could both pretend it never happened. Lock it away like it was just some fever dream brought on by too much sexual tension and not enough sleep.

But as I stood in the lounge, I realised that hiding would only make things worse.

If we were going to get through this, I needed to act like nothing had changed.

Be normal Casey. Make stupid jokes. Complain about my professors.

Pretend I hadn’t spent the morning declaring my undying devotion to his cock.

The sound of movement from the kitchen decided it for me. Taking a deep breath, I headed towards the sound.

I found Jared leaning against the counter, mug of milo in hand, gazing up at his calendar photo. He looked fresh from the gym—grey nylon trackies clinging to his thighs, trainers still on, and a black jumper stretched across his chest, damp at the collar.

“Admiring your handiwork?” I asked, trying to sound laidback.

He turned at the sound of my voice, and for a moment we just looked at each other. Then his familiar grin spread across his face.

“Just appreciating the artistic vision,” he said, looking back at the calendar. “It’s amazing what good lighting and strategic positioning can do.”

“Strategic positioning,” I repeated. “Is that what you’re calling your semi-chub preparation now?”

He laughed, and the sound was so normal, so Jared, that I felt myself relaxing properly for the first time all day.

“Mate, that wasn’t just preparation. That was professional method acting.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a ghost of a smile. “Some of us take our craft seriously.”

“Your craft being amateur pornography for charity?”

“It’s artistic expression with a philanthropic purpose. Completely different thing.”

I laughed. “Right. Of course. My mistake.”

“Besides,” he added, nodding towards the calendar, “Mr October’s got to maintain certain standards. Can’t have the children’s hospital thinking they’re getting subpar beefcake.”

The easy banter felt like a lifeline. I pulled out one of our mismatched kitchen chairs and settled at the table, grateful to have something solid beneath me after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

Jared remained leaning against the bench, one ankle crossed over the other in that relaxed way of his, mug cradled in both hands.

For the next ten minutes we chatted about nothing important—his upcoming match against Canterbury, my assignment deadlines that were creeping up faster than I’d like, whether we needed to do a grocery run since our fridge was looking particularly tragic.

Comfortable conversation punctuated by his usual complaints about Professor Henderson’s brutal marking and my mock outrage at his suggestion that cornflakes counted as a proper dinner.

It was so perfectly normal that I started to think maybe we really could just pretend this morning had never happened.

Maybe Jared’s note had been right—maybe I really was overthinking it.

Maybe blowjobs and cum facials were just normal morning activities for him, nothing worth getting worked up about.

But then Jared drained the last of his milo, set his empty mug in the sink, and turned to look at me directly. I could sense something shift in the dark blue pools of his eyes.

“So,” he said. “Are we going to talk about this morning?”

Noooooooooooooo!

My stomach dropped. “Do we have to?”

“I think we should. You said some pretty heavy stuff while you were going down on me.”

“I was just... I got carried away.”

“Did you though?” He pushed off from the counter and stepped closer, those piercing blue eyes never leaving mine. “Or were you finally telling me how you really feel?”

The question was pointed at me like a loaded gun.

I could deflect again, make another joke, retreat back into the safety of pretending none of it mattered.

But Suzie’s words echoed in my head—that silence wasn’t always golden, that sometimes it just kept you lonely.

She was right. I’d spent years avoiding this exact conversation, building walls and making excuses, and look where it had gotten me: sitting at my kitchen table feeling like I wanted to disappear into the floor.

My throat felt dry as sandpaper. “Maybe,” I whispered, the word barely audible even in the quiet kitchen.

He studied my face for a long moment, and I couldn’t read his expression. Was he disgusted? Planning his escape route? Already composing the story he’d tell his mates about his delusional flatmate?

“So if I asked you right now if you wanted to see my dick again, what would you say?”

“I would say… yes please .”

He reached for his phone.

My pulse spiked. “Who are you texting?”

He ignored me. My mind raced as his thumbs moved across the screen. Was he texting his parents? His teammates?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck!

My freak-out was interrupted by my phone vibrating insistently in my pocket. Message after message coming through.

“Check your phone,” he said.

With trembling fingers, I opened my inbox to find a series of photos from Jared. My breath caught as I realised what I was looking at—him, naked, hard, a whole gallery of Sutherland perfection.

“If you’re gonna be thinking about me anyway,” he said, “might as well give you something decent to work with. Just don’t show them around, yeah? My face is in a few.”

I stared at the images, trying to process what had just happened. “I... thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Did you want to ask my dad if he can send you some too? Since apparently you’ve got a thing for the whole Sutherland bloodline.”

Heat flooded my face. “Oh god. I can’t believe I told you that.”

“What, about the underwear theft? Or fantasising about giving him office blowjobs?” Jared’s grin was pure evil. “Both were pretty unforgettable, to be honest.”

“I’m so sorry. That was completely inappropriate.”

“Sorry?” He snorted. “Mate, that was the most entertainment I’ve had all week. I’m picturing you as this horny fourteen-year-old, sneaking into our laundry like some sort of pervy ninja.”

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s absolutely funny. Also deeply disturbing. But mostly funny.” He was clearly savouring my mortification. “Though I have to give you points for consistency, at least you’ve got a type.”

“A type?”

“Yeah. Tall, blond, devastatingly handsome rugby players named Sutherland.” His grin turned smugger. “Excellent taste, really. I can’t fault your standards.”

I groaned. “Please can we never speak of this again?”

“Are you kidding? This is comedy gold. Wait till I tell him his old Bonds were being used as some teenager’s personal spank rag.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Nah, probably not. But the temptation’s there.”

“Resist temptation.”

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna say anything. But honestly, I’m really flattered. Multi-generational appeal? That’s proper legacy material right there.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me. Always have, apparently.” He studied my face with obvious amusement. “Though I have to ask, when did you make the switch? Like, what was the exact moment you decided the son was hotter than the father?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Come on, humour me. Was it gradual or like a lightning bolt moment? Did you have some sort of sexual awakening epiphany?”

“Jared—”

“I bet it was something stupid. Like me walking past in my school uniform or scoring the winning try in a game.” His eyes lit up. “Oh god, please tell me it wasn’t when I bleached my hair in Year 11. That would be tragic.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.” He leaned forward slightly. “So what I’m hearing is that Casey Walmsley has had a thing for Sutherland men since puberty. That’s dedication.”

“Can we please move on?”

“Fine, fine.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But only because I’ve got more pressing questions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, did you mean the other stuff you said? All that kinky shit about doing whatever I wanted?”

“Some of it was just... heat of the moment stuff.”

“Heat of the moment, huh?” He scratched at his jaw, then gave me this slow grin like he’d just been handed the keys to a new car. “Alright, let’s take it for a test drive then. Would you lick my armpits clean when I come home from the gym?”

The question landed low in my stomach. “...Yeah.”

“What about my boots? Muddy from training. Would you get down and lick them clean for me?”

“Yes.”

“Would you wear a collar with my name on it? Something obvious. Big letters. Maybe a little bell.”

I hesitated, but the answer was already there. “Yeah. I would.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Would you kneel for me in front of my mates? Let them see you with my name around your neck?”

“If you asked me to.”

“And would you let me put you on a leash and walk you around the backyard like a dog?”

“If that’s what you want.”