At a college reunion, Noah hooks up with Wes—the jock who once bullied him. Just as things get hot, Wes’s best friend Ryan walks in… and joins. Now Noah’s in control, sucking Wes while Ryan watches and jerks off. But when Wes begs to fuck him, Noah pulls back—leaving them both hard and desperate, saying, “Think of this as halftime.”

___________

Woke up with sore knees and a smug little grin.

Got in the shower, hot water running down my neck, and checked my phone out of habit. Five texts from Wes.

WES:
You ready for the reunion event?
I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.
You’re a fucking problem.
I need to see you.
I’m hard as fuck. Come over.

I laughed. This the same guy who used to laugh at me freshman psych?
Now he’s texting me before 9 a.m. like a desperate little slut.
Wes had texted again.

WES:
You left me hard as fuck last night. That was evil.

I smirked. Typed back with one hand while I wiped the mirror with the other.

ME:
You earned it.

WES:
No, I didn’t earn anything. That’s what you said.
So tell me what I have to do.

I stared at the message. Then leaned back against the counter, biting my lip and sent him a message.

ME:
You wanna fuck me?
Prove you're worth it.
I’m not some easy hotel fuck. You used to bully me, remember?
I just took a shower.

Three dots.

WES:
I do remember. And I’m trying to make it up to you.
Please, Noah. Just thinking about you in that towel’s making me crazy.

I paused. Raised an eyebrow.
And then—another message came through.

A photo. Wes. In the hotel hallway mirror. Tight black shirt, sleeves hugging his arms, buttons straining over his chest. Fitted pants. Fresh trim. Slight smirk.

WES:
I know you like black. So I wore this tight fucking shirt for you.
Can’t wait to see your face when I walk into that reunion.

My cock twitched.

A few seconds later, another photo came through.

This time, every button on the shirt was undone. The black fabric hung open, sleeves still on, but the rest—just abs, pecs, that thick chest he used to smirk over in locker room mirrors. His torso looked carved. The kind of body you want to bite. And he knew it. He was showing off. For me.

ME:
You’re lucky I’m not walking in wearing just a towel.

WES:
Show me.

ME:
What?

WES:
Show me.
Please Noah.

I stood in the mirror, towel slung low, abs wet and glistening, water trailing down my chest. I flexed a little. Let the towel hang lower. Took the pic.

Sent it.

WES:
Fuck. Fuck.
You look so fucking good.
I swear to god, Noah. I will beg. Right here. On my knees if you want.
Just say the word.

Pathetic. But hot.
I was grinning now. Hard, cocky grin. Felt it in my chest.

ME:
That's the plan.

Then I turned off my phone. Left him leaking.
He bullied me for four fucking years. Made me feel small. Weak. Invisible.
I wasn’t gonna let him inside me that easy. Now? I was the one in control. And he could feel it.

Let him crave me. The same way I craved him. Every. Damn. Year.
But this time? I get to choose when he gets more.

----------

The reunion event was already in full swing by the time I showed up. Room packed. Loud. The usual fake-ass energy. I didn’t care about the drinks or the memories. I was looking for one thing. Wes was at the bar, black T-shirt tight around those arms, one hand gripped around a whiskey glass like it was my throat. His eyes found me the second I stepped in.

I didn’t look at him. I made him sweat. I said hi to a few classmates. Gave them my best smile. Let someone I didn’t even remember hug me for too long. Wes never stopped staring. Then Ryan showed up, patting him on the back. The two of them laughing like the world wasn’t tilting. Ryan saw me. Smirked. Sipped his beer.

I winked.
Wes clenched his jaw.

I slid through the crowd until I was right behind him, let my fingers trail low across the small of his back, and leaned in.
“You still stroking that cock thinking about my mouth, Carter?”

He inhaled sharply.

I brushed past him, just barely grazing his ass.
“You left me aching,” he muttered.
I turned and whispered near his ear, “Good. Ache harder.”

Ryan clocked the whole thing, sipping his drink, smirking again like he knew what was coming. He didn’t.

Wes tried to reach for me, but I stepped out of his grip and walked off, hips swaying just enough to piss him off more. I didn’t care if he was leaking in his jeans or dying to bend me over a table.

He was gonna starve for it.

______________________

The hotel bar was packed. Everyone dressed their best. Glamorous, but aging. Polished, but pretending. I let them all fade into background noise. Because when I walked in tight royal blue shirt hugging my chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show a vein or two, I wasn’t looking for conversation.

I was hunting.

And he was already watching. Wes stood near the far end, tall and fuckable in that black button-down—tight across his chest, collar open like he wanted someone to grab it and pull. He looked rich in that shirt. Hungry in the eyes. And next to him, of course, was Ryan Evans, Wes's best friend, grinning like a bastard in a blood-red formal shirt, black pants, hair tousled from probably not giving a shit.

They were a pair. Hot. Smug. And already undressing me with their eyes. I took my time walking past. Ran my fingers along a table. Bent slightly to grab a drink, let the shirt pull tight around my waist.

And then Wes moved in. “You look so fucking hot in that shirt,” he whispered behind me. I felt his breath, low and begging. “Noah, please let me take it off tonight.”

My smirk lit up before I even turned.
“You asking for permission now?” I said, facing him slowly. My fingers trailed lightly across his arm as I passed by. His jaw tensed.

Ryan raised his brows, sipping his drink nearby. “Damn, bro. He’s gonna make you beg.”

I shot Ryan a glance. “Still not over yesterday, huh?”

He laughed, soft and smug, looking like he knew every inch of what I tasted like.

Wes grabbed my wrist gently as I stepped past, eyes dark. “You’re evil.”

“No,” I said, licking my bottom lip. “I’m just enjoying myself.”
And I was. Watching Wes squirm under all that tension. His fingers on my skin. His breath uneven. I could see how tensed he was. His forearms flexed, veins thick. His cock? Definitely straining against those tight black pants.

I leaned in slightly. “You hard already?”
He exhaled through his nose. Didn’t answer.
“Thought so,” I whispered, then slipped away into the crowd.

--------------

The day dragged on with boring activities. Photos, speeches, some awkward “so what do you do now?” moments. I played nice. But my eyes kept wandering.

Wes and I would brush past each other. Accidentally on purpose.
Once, he leaned close beside me during a group photo and I felt it—his thigh. Tensed. Close. Hard.
I looked over and smiled. Didn’t say a word.

----------------

Evening hit, and the lights dimmed in the ballroom. More drinks. More small talk.

And then there it was again. That pull.

I found myself walking past Wes and Ryan once more—same corner, same bar. Wes looked like he’d been wrecked by the mere memory of last night. And the anticipation of tonight.

“You’re driving me fucking insane looking like that,” he muttered.

I leaned on the counter beside him. Didn’t touch him, but close enough that my shoulder brushed his arm. He groaned, low. Hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to touch me without grabbing.

Ryan wandered by, winked at him, and clapped him on the back. “Told you he’d make you work for it.”
“You have no idea,” Wes gritted.

I turned. Closed the space between us. My lips brushed the edge of his ear, warm and slow. “My room tonight,” I whispered, low and loaded. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Wes’s breath hitched. His hand twitched at his side.

“You really have to earn it though.”

He leaned in closer, voice hoarse. “Anything,” he breathed. “I’m ready to do anything. I want you.”

I smirked, stepped back without touching him.
No glance. No mercy.
Let him watch me disappear into the crowd, cock throbbing in those tight fucking pants.

I wasn’t gonna fuck my bully tonight.
I was gonna make him crave it so bad it hurt.

---------------------

Around midnight, there it was— a knock on my hotel door.
Of course it was Wes. It had to be.

I opened it slow. Wes stood there, breathless. Shirt clinging to him. Three buttons undone, exposing that thick chest I’d been teasing all damn day. His eyes were dark, hungry.

“Come on in,” I said, stepping aside. “I want to introduce you to somebody.”

He blinked. Hesitated. Then walked in.

That’s when he saw him.

Sitting on the edge of my bed was someone new— but fuck, he looked like sin in skin.

Late 20s. Lean muscle, carved like he lived in the gym but didn’t brag about it. Dark olive-green shirt clung to his chest, sleeves tight around his thick biceps. Veins down his forearms, one leg slightly bounced like he was just waiting to be told what to do—or who to ruin.
Messy dark hair. Tanned skin. Eyes sharp and unreadable. The kind of smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked.

And Wes… he just stood there. Staring.

I could practically hear the blood rush to his cock.

Luca looked up. Smirked. “Oh,” he said, slow and low, eyes dragging over Wes’s body. “Noah, so this is the guy you were telling me about.”

______________________

Who is Luca? Why is he sitting in Noah’s bed, looking at Wes like that? What exactly is Noah planning for Wes—will the tables finally turn tonight, or is there another twist coming? Stay tuned, because this reunion is far from over.