I’ve never heard him so raw and unguarded before. It does something to me, knowing I’m not the only one having my control broken like this.
I’m still shaking from the aftershocks, my body trembling as Riley’s fingers remain inside me, gentler now but still there, guiding me through my bliss. When I start to feel too sensitive, his fingers withdraw carefully.
“Jacob,” he says my name again, sounding like a question and a warning combined.
I hear the sound of his zipper being lowered and turn over, needing to see him, needing to witness what I’ve done to his composure. Riley hovers over me, his face flushed, his eyes dark with arousal. He takes his cock in hand—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip—and begins stroking himself, his movements fast and desperate.
“Give it to me,” I beg, surprised by my own words. “Please, Riley.”
A guttural sound escapes him at my plea. His hand moves faster, his breathing ragged. My own cock twitches, still sensitive from my orgasm, but already stirring again at the sight of Riley coming undone. I wrap my hand around it, stroking lazily.
“Fuck,” Riley gasps, and then he’s coming, hot streaks landing on my cock, my hand, my stomach. The sensation of his release on my skin pushes me over the edge again, impossibly, my body convulsing with a second orgasm that leaves me breathless and shaking.
For a few long minutes, we’re bathing in the afterglow of our shared release. My head collapses back against the mattress, my chest heaving, our combined mess cooling on my stomach. Riley stands at the foot of the bed, looking stunned.
Our eyes lock as we come down from the high, both of us panting. Something passes between us in that moment: recognition, connection, understanding. And then Riley’s expression changes, horror washing over his features as reality crashes back.
“I shouldn’t have—” he starts, stepping back from the bed. “This wasn’t—”
“Riley, wait.” I reach for him, but he’s already turning away, grabbing tissues from the nightstand to clean himself hastily.
“We need to talk about this,” I say, pushing myself up on my elbows.
“No, I… I need to go.” He collects his things with frantic energy, shoving bottles back into his bag.
“Riley, stop. Just—”
But he’s already heading for the door, leaving me naked on the bed. I hear him moving through the apartment, the front door opening and then closing with a decisive click.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling the sticky evidence of what we did cooling on my skin. Something fundamental has shifted inside me. A door I never knew existed now stands wide open. I know with absolute certainty that after what just happened, I’ll never be the same again.
12
Riley
I’ve been avoiding Jacob for a week. Ignoring texts from Renata, screening calls from the gym, and burying myself in hospital work until I’m too exhausted to think about my hands on his skin or the sounds he made when he came. Seven days of trying to forget how I ran from his apartment like a coward, my medical ethics in shambles around me. But here I am anyway, standing against the back wall of The Red Corner like an addict who can’t stay away from his drug of choice, waiting to watch Jacob fight the biggest match of his career.
It’s partially Bobby’s fault I’m here. I called him that night after fleeing Jacob’s apartment, my voice so shaky he thought someone had died.
“I fucked up,” I told him, gripping my steering wheel with white knuckles, parked outside my building but unable to go inside.
“What kind of fucked up? Like ‘oops, I left the oven on’ fucked up or ‘I need an alibi’ fucked up?”
“I crossed a line with Jacob.”
The silence on the other end lasted three seconds before Bobby squealed so loudly I had to pull the phone away frommy ear. “You hooked up with Mountain Man? Holy shit, Riley! I need the deets right now.”
“No details,” I said firmly. “It was a mistake. A massive violation of professional ethics.”
“Fuck ethics,” Bobby replied. “Was it hot?”
It was. God, it was scorching. But I couldn’t admit that. “It was a mistake,” I repeated.
“That’s not a denial,” Bobby sing-songed. “I’m officially your gay guru now. First step: you have to talk to him.”
I didn’t promise anything, but his words stuck with me through the sleepless nights that followed. Now I’m here, not to talk, but to watch. To make sure Jacob’s shoulder holds up. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
The Red Corner heaves with energy tonight. It’s packed wall-to-wall, the cage lit dramatically by blood-red spotlights. The smell of sweat, beer, and adrenaline hangs heavy in the air. I’ve tucked myself into the darkest corner, but my height makes me visible in a crowd. I keep scanning faces, terrified of running into Dr. Parker again or anyone else from the hospital who might question why I’m here.