Page 30 of Dirty Martini
Rhys
He’s doingthis on purpose.
That little shit is trying to get to me. I just know it. There’s no other reason he’d be wearing that ridiculous excuse for swimming trunks or taking approximately one million laps around the pool.
Except I’m the one staring down at him from the penthouse balcony. He probably has no idea I’m up here with my eyes caught on the way the muscles in his arms bulge as he takes another lap or the way those tight trunks hug his?—
Nope. This is not in my head. It’s a tactical move on his part and I amnotbiting.
But I stay still, smoking my cigarette like I hate it, eyes locked on his figure diving in and out of the pristine infinity pool below me. I hate to admit that this isn’t the first time I’ve caught myself watching him. No, in the last three days since I caught him fucking himself with that dildo—something that will forever be imprinted in my memory—he’s all I’ve thought about.
The pretty choked sounds he made. The intoxicating arch of his neck as he came. The sight of his little hole taking a pounding. The?—
I take another drag, falling into the pit of self-denial I’ve found myself in. I refuse to acknowledge this burgeoning attraction I have toward Everest Hill. To start, I’m not even into men. I think after twenty-three years, I’d know if I found men appealing in more than a general acknowledgement of attractiveness. I’ve certainly never pictured myself wanting to drag my hands down a solid chest or feel the scrape of stubble against my chin. I’ve never imagined taking my tongue and tracing the line of an Adam’s apple or holding a cock that wasn’t my own.
That’s all I’ve been able to focus on. I swear, fucking Everest.
Yeah, let’s fuck Everest.
Wait, what? No. Absolutely not. I slap the intrusive thought out of my head. There are so many reasons that’s a terrible idea. The first being that I hate his guts, actually despise him, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. All other reasons should and do pale in comparison to that.
Regardless, it doesn’t stop my traitorous dick from twitching when he exits the pool—all wet, dripping muscles—and looks up like he can see me clearly.
Then the fuckerwinks.
I kill the cigarette and turn away from the confusing sight. Heading straight to my room, I grab Elton’s old computer he gave me when mine died. I’m only half nervous when I put myself in a private browser and do what I’ve been thinking about the last few days.
After a few minutes, it’s conclusive. I’m straight. Nothing about gay porn excites me or my cock. Don’t get me wrong, it was hot, but it proves that whatever happened with Everest was a momentary blip of insanity. I was tired and caught off guard and that’s how he got the advantage. Nothing more.
I eye a particular thumbnail of a strong, thick man on his back, legs hiked up in the air, and raise an eyebrow.Just to be safe…
My phone rings, and I curse, shutting the laptop as if I’ve been caught. My face is red hot when I see it’s Elton calling, and I just know he’ll be able to tell what I was doing.
I clear my throat as I pick up. “Hey.”
“Were you just masturbating?”
Chuckling, I run a hand down my mouth. “That’s the first thing you have to say to me after days of not speaking to each other?”
“Aw, Rhys, do you miss me?”
“Fuck off, you know I do,” I laugh, shaking my head. “How’s Spain?”
“Holy shit, dude, it’s incredible. The food, the culture, the women.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, even if he can’t see it. “Let me guess. You’ve already fallen in love?”
“She just doesn’t have a Visa, but we can take care of that.”
“Jesus, Elt…”
“We can talk about the future Mrs. Elton Hill later. How’s my little brother doing?”
My laughter stops abruptly, and once again I’m brought back to that damn night. “Everything is fine.”
“Why do you sound like I shouldn’t believe you? How are his classes going? Has he made any new friends? Is he eating?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I growl, getting up when I realize I have to get ready for my shift.
