Page 27 of Sweat

One would think I’d be used to humiliation by now, but when Rowan chuckles and says, “I’m starting to think you like me, babyface,” the panic building inside me puts me into a frenzy.

“Fuck you,” I spit down at him. “I can get any pussy I want. I don’t need yours.”

My moment of shameful rage quickly turns to fear when Rowan’s countenance darkens. His eyes turn haunting, his lips pressed firm and his nostrils flare. When he stands, I get flashbacks to the time I called Ma a bitch in the heat of a pre-teen tantrum. Boy, did I pay for that fuck up.

I’m still as a frightened statue as Rowan marches across what little space is between us until his chest is nearly grazing my own. His eyes hold mine hostage, and just when I think I might drown in his stare, I feel Rowan’s hand clutch my balls.

My breath hitches, and I choke on a startled cough. Pain and something so much better courses through me as Rowan squeezes me through my shorts. It swells my cock to a painful thickness, and each pulse feels like an impending orgasm.

“Get a fucking grip, Tommy,” Rowan mutters.

“Mhm,” I whine from my throat, nodding quickly in supplication.

Rowan releases me, and the relief is near euphoric. Shame commingles with my regret when Rowan packs up his bag like he’s late for something.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure he’s equally the asshole in this scenario. I just don’t want him to leave. I’d rather he punched me. Even us out and wipe the slate clean so we can get back to training.

Without paying me one look, Rowan hoists his gym bag onto his shoulder and walks off.

“Rowan!”

He keeps walking, fading into the shadows where the park lamps don’t reach, and I curse under my breath for doing the same thing with Rowan I did with Anthony. Except with Anthony, he left me because of how I admitted my affection. Now, Rowan’s leaving because of how I’m too afraid to admit it.

Only good thing about being rejected is it’s as frigid as a cold shower, and my dick goes limp on my way to the parking lot. I notice Rowan’s Legacy a few spaces down from my truck, taillights on. Part of me wants to stand in the red glow and make sure he can’t leave, but then I can’t think of anything needier, or creepier.

I get into my truck, already preparing myself mentally for the inevitability of losing Rowan before we could even become something. What though? Best friends? Does a guy like Rowan evendobest friends?

I turn my key in the ignition, and the FM radio switches on with the engine. The local rock station is doing their nightly countdown. Right now they’re playing some trendy alt-rock hit. I’m not sure I even like it, but it’s catchy, and it takes my mind off other things, if only a tiny bit.

I jump when the handle of my passenger side door rattles like someone is trying to break in. It’s locked, though, and whoever is outside knocks their knuckles on my window. I hit the window button and roll it down a couple inches.

“Unlock your door,” Rowan’s voice breezes through the gap in the glass, so deep it sends a shiver down my spine.

Heart racing, I hit the unlock button and let Rowan inside. He shuts the door behind him and rolls up the window.

“Rowan—”

“Shut up,” he says, staring at my windshield.

Shutting up, the only other thing for me to do is stare at Rowan, amazed he’s even here. Screw best friends. We’re barely even friends. Acquaintances and workout buddies, maybe. Mentor-mentee if I’m nasty. That’s it.

So why is he here?

His arm moves, and my eyes fall to where his large hand rubs at his crotch. His shorts are black and the interior of my truck is kind of dark, but by how curved Rowan’s palm is, I’d say he’s got quite the bulge going.

My cock wakes back up, and by the time Rowan turns his head to blink those dark, dreamy eyes at me, I’m weeping in my underwear.

“Relax,” he murmurs, then runs the tip of his tongue along his lips. “It doesn’t have to be gay.”

I gulp, anxiety building from that one word being spoken aloud. It feels forbidden and dirty, and I have to rub my bulge to soothe the overwhelming ache in my balls.

Rowan pulls off his shirt and drops it by his feet before reaching his hand into his shorts and grabbing what’s inside. His waistband slips far enough to free the first few inches of his cock, but his stroking fist blocks any detail from view.He works the head in steady, rolling pumps, and it gives me permission to follow suit.

It’s like the porn I watch, but a million times hotter, because it’s real, right in front of me. It’s Rowan.

I do what he does. Peak my cock up from my waistband and stroke the head. It’s already wet, and my strokes get quicker from the slickness.

“That’s it, baby boy,” Rowan murmurs.

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