I imagine her on her knees, mouth open for my thick cock, my hand twisted into her long, soft curls. It would make directing the depth and speed so easy, and in my fantasy, Ellie takes it all so well.
A voice clears behind me, and I whip around to find Seb’s eyes on Ellie’s ass, too.
“I can practically hear the filth dripping from your mind,” he whispers.
“You think you know it all.”
“If there were no consequences, you’d be all over that like a deadly contagious rash.”
Ignoring my triplet, I stride into the kitchen, trying to leave my stupid fantasy behind.
Consequences. What the hell does Seb know about those? He lives his life with a foot over the line, and whenever trouble bites him in the ass, he laughs it off or laces his excuses with a joke or two. He gets away with so much more than I ever could. I don’t like the bitter taste of resentment that I find sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth, but he’s right that I wish I could throw all consideration of consequences out of the window and take life a little less seriously.
“Colby, grab this platter and take it out to your dad,” Lara says, thrusting a huge tray of raw meat into my hands. “He should have started grilling an hour ago.” Grateful for the distraction, I stride into the yard, finding my dad and assorted friends hanging out and drinking beer like they don’t have care between them.
“There he is,” my dad says proudly.
“Colby, you’re bigger every time I see you,” Mr. Conolly, our old neighbor, says.
“All my boys are training hard,” Dad says.
“I bet they eat you out of house and home.” Mr. Conolly raises his beer as if to say cheers. Behind me, someone laughs in a light and tinkling way. When I turn, Ellie is out in the yard. Our eyes meet, and she brushes her hair over her shoulder, looking straight at me as though she read my mind in the hall and is now taunting me with the very curls I want to grip.
“I’ll check if Lara needs me for anything else,” I say, wanting to get away from Ellie’s temptation. Before the closet, I could keep my urges under control. Now, it’s as though everything has been unleashed. I’m a rabid dog, circling my prey, desperate to draw on my previous instincts and failing.
And that’s how it is for the rest of the night. Ellie enters my orbit, shining as bright as the sun, and I skulk off like a dark planet or frigging wormhole, desperate not to obliterate her. At one point, when we’re wedged together by the crowd and making my excuses would be too awkward and obvious, I find myself offering for Ellie to present the work we did for Professor Anderson’s class.
“Are you sure?” she says. “Shouldn’t we do it together?”
“You came up with more of the ideas,” I tell her. “You should have a chance to earn extra credit.” So she doesn’t think I’m turning soft, I add, “plus, I’m already acing that class.”
“Of course you are.” She shakes her head, her mouth tugging at the side as though she’s trying to work me out. It’s not possible to do. I live inside my fucking head, and I don’t know whether I’m coming or going half the time.
“Colby,” dad yells across the yard, and I finally have an excuse to move on.
I work hard to stay away from everyone messing with my head for the rest of the evening.
I don’t even talk to my brothers when the party is over. I stomp up the stairs to my room and close the door. I throw off my smart clothes and slump onto my bed, resting my head on my hands while I stare at the ceiling, breathing as fast as if I just ran the last nine yards.
Slowly, the house quiets while I contemplate the next few years of living with a perpetual boner and fighting to stay clear of Ellie whenever I can. There will be a whole lot of cleaning up to do in the morning, but for once, we’re all too spent.
For once, too, I don’t slide into sleep immediately. My mind churns over those minutes in the darkness of the closet. I recall every moan and movement, every twitch of pleasure and moment of resistance. It’s like the sweetest torture because I want to jerk off and relieve the buildup of tension in my balls, but it feels wrong. Those images are too laced with reality. An image of Ellie laughing tonight, her face bright with amusement, tangles its way in, and nothing feels right.
This is not who I am.
I don’t give in to temptation. I have the self-restraint of a monk and the self-control of the best athletes in the world. I know what’s good for me, and I stick to the straight path. Deviation is for the weak.