On The Edge of Yes
SCENE 1 – Andy’s PoV
It was a Monday afternoon, and the spreadsheet I was building had become a mess of half-finished formulas. I hadn’t really been working. It was more just staring at numbers, tapping through cells, hoping something useful might eventually emerge. It hadn’t.
I was sitting next to the glass wall of the grad lounge, on the third floor of the student union building. The atrium opened to the floors below. Students moved through it like a current. From up here, you could watch without being watched.
Normally, the separation helped me focus on my work. Gave me just enough ambient noise without pulling me in. Today, it didn’t help at all.
I hadn’t let myself think much about Jackson since our encounter last week. He’d shown up to my office casual, maybe even cocky, and confidently asked for a regrade of his mid-term. More than that, he tried to draw me out on the comments I’d left. Maybe I’d hit too close to home. The work was solid, but he hadn’t gone as far as he could. That’s why I hadn’t changed the grade. He didn’t argue. He just left, after making sure his presence lingered.
During the short visit, he’d remained standing, muscles tensed, intentionally or not. The way his eyes had lingered on me made me feel like I was something to understand. And even after he left, I’d sat there too long, spine straight, face blank, trying not to squirm while my heart kicked in my chest and my pants fit tighter than they should’ve.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything. He was an undergrad. Young. Straight. Definitely not the first guy to use his body as leverage, and probably not the last.
I’d let it go. Moved on. Or thought I had.
Nearby, I heard laughter. It was low and easy, rising from below. I didn’t recognize the voice at first, but the cadence was familiar.
I looked. There he was.
Jackson.
My stomach tensed before I even registered why. Just the sight of him, big and handsome, made my fingers curl tighter around the edge of my laptop. I told myself it was nothing. That I was just surprised. But my body knew better.
He was seated on one of the wide circular benches by the railing, just below me, on the opposite side of the atrium. His frame relaxed, t-shirt pulled tight across his chest, sweatpants hugging his quads like a second skin. His legs were splayed open in that way only guys with big legs ever sit.
He wasn’t doing anything special. Just sitting. But even that looked like a flex. He looked relaxed but his core stayed tight. The sleeves of his shirt clung to his biceps, and the fabric stretched across his upper back where his lats flared wide beneath it. He didn’t need to square his shoulders or puff up. His size just was. Intense. Unapologetic.
Next to him, Julia practically sparkled. Cross-legged and folded toward him, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, the other teasing at the hem of his shirt. I saw her say something. The way her head tipped and her smile lingered told me everything. She wasn’t just flirting. She was inviting.
She trailed a finger along his forearm, tracing a vein like it was a secret worth learning. Then her hand moved across his thigh. Slower now. Higher. She paused, fingers grazing close enough to feel the shape of him through the fabric. Just resting there, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Something flared in my chest. A flash of heat that twisted tight and refused to go quiet.
Jackson didn’t react. He just let her continue to touch him like she was lucky to be there.
His body soaked up the attention. Absently, he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, which flexed his bicep so big it looked like the sleeve might split. The shirt pulled across his shoulder, stretched tight over the sweep of his lat, every angle exaggerated by the movement. He held it there for just a second longer than necessary, elbow high, shoulder thick and round. The kind of gesture that drew the eye whether he meant it to or not.
I looked down to Julia’s hand. There was a twitch under the fabric. Enough to make her smile widen. My breath caught.
And right at that moment, he looked up. Right at me. That steady, unreadable gaze from across the atrium. As if daring me to look away. I knew I should, but my eyes stayed locked on him.
Julia kept talking beside him, fingers still stroking, her voice low, her posture confident. But Jackson wasn’t listening. His gaze stayed fixed. Quiet. Measuring.
Then he winked. Just once.
I couldn’t move. My mouth went dry. I could feel my pulse in strange places. In my wrists, my thighs, the base of my throat. It didn’t matter how public this was. Somehow, the moment felt private. Intimate. And way too real.
His mouth barely moved. Just a twitch at the corner. Not quite a smirk. But it landed like one.
I felt it in my gut. That tight heat, low and sudden, blooming fast enough to make me shift my weight. I kept my expression neutral and didn’t move from my seat. I just sat there, fingers curled around the edge of the table, trying to anchor myself to something solid.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. We had nothing in common. He was a jock, obvious and unapologetic. Cocky. Not my type. And definitely not on my team.
Still, something in my chest was humming.
I don’t know how long I stared, but eventually I turned away. Slowly. Then I gathered my things and made my way toward the stairs, breath steady, jaw tight. The glass disappeared from view behind me, but the moment didn’t.
That wink stayed lodged behind my eyes.
In the office, I’d held my ground. Curriculum and grading protocols were my armour, the structure I could point to, lean on. They let me meet his intensity with confidence. But now? One wink, and it all felt obliterated. Out here, everything was social. Physical. No rules I trusted him to follow. I was exposed, unsure what boundaries he’d respect. His attention hit different. Effortless. Just a glance, a twitch of his mouth, and my pulse jumped. I was left with the rawness of being seen, and the quiet shock of how easily he stripped everything else away.
Scene 2 – Andy’s POV
A few days later, I was again working in the graduate lounge, trying to finish up before it got too late. The space was nearly empty now, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the far corner, headphones in, lights dimmed low like the building itself had started to doze off.
When the door creaked open, I glanced up out of habit. But then I saw who it was. Jackson. My eyes widened before I could stop them.
He paused in the doorway, gaze dragging slowly across the room until it landed on me. For a second, neither of us moved. Then he started walking, deliberate and headed straight for me.
I sat up straighter.
He looked good. His torso was packed tight into a T-shirt he probably didn’t think twice about, shorts riding just high enough to show off his powerful legs without looking like he tried. His blond hair flawlessly tousled.
I glanced back at my screen, trying to focus on the line I’d been editing. I didn’t need this tonight. Whatever he was doing here, I felt quite certain it wasn’t about course work.
“My office hours are posted,” I said as he approached, just loud enough to sound like a barrier, but not sharp enough to make a scene.
Jackson smiled, slow and crooked, the kind of smile that said my words didn’t matter. “You always set up in the same spot?” he asked, gaze dragging over the table. “I’m starting to wonder if this chair’s got your name on it.”
“You’re not supposed to be in here.” I kept my voice measured, even. “This space is for grad students.”
He didn’t argue. Just glanced at my open laptop, then back at me like he could already tell I wasn’t doing anything important. He lifted his hands, palms out in mock surrender.
“I’m not here to crash the party,” he said. “I promise not to steal your thesis or anything.”
His grin softened, confident, but no less smug.
“Do you need something, Jackson?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral. Guarded. Just enough courtesy to let him decide to back off. Yet I knew full well which way this would go.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose. But it felt intentional.
I didn’t say anything. I just watched him. The way his weight shifted, casual but purposeful, like even his pauses had intent. I couldn’t stop thinking how good he looked. Too good for this hour. Too good for this room.
“Nah,” he said, shrugging. “Just figured I’d check in,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were staring at me like I’d grown a second head… or like you were enjoying the show. Not sure which.”
I held his gaze, steady on the outside. I wasn’t about to flinch. But inside, I felt the shift. He knew exactly what he was doing, bringing me back to that moment. That wink. He’d caught me staring at him. Now he was testing me. Watching to see if I’d fold.
I glanced back at my screen. “You keep track of who looks at you?” I asked, voice even. “That sounds exhausting.”
He smirked but didn’t bite. Just let it hang in the air between us, like a dare.
And I couldn’t help it, my mind flicked back to the other evening. Julia giggling, leaning in, fondling him. I’d told myself it meant nothing. That he wasn’t my type.
And maybe all of that was still true.
But then he sat down across from me without asking.
One of those narrow-backed student chairs. Hard plastic, wrong proportions for anyone built like him. Jackson’s shoulders spilled past the edges, his thighs spread wide like the seat had no idea what to do with him. His gym shorts clung to his quads, leaving him bare from mid-thigh down. Thick, defined muscle, the kind your eyes trace before your brain remembers not to. He shifted, just slightly, and his biceps flexed. The hem of his sleeve stretched over the swell. My jaw tightened. I locked my eyes on his face.
There was something in the way he watched me, like he knew what I saw when I looked at him, and he wanted me to keep looking.
He didn’t speak right away. Just observed me. Calm. Watchful. Like he was taking inventory.
Then, like we were already mid-conversation, he said, “You know Julia?”
I shrugged. “From campus?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back slightly. “We’ve been hanging out.”
The way he said it was casual. Like it was no big deal.
I felt the heat rise in my chest before I could stop it. I didn’t want to call it jealousy. It was more like irritation at how easily he could get a reaction out of me.
I glanced at him, then away. “What are you doing messing around with her?”
Jackson’s smile curved slow. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” he said, voice low. “And if you were, I figured it’d be me you were jealous of. Not Julia.”
My chest tightened. I didn’t react, but something cracked under the surface. My face held, but the heat was already crawling up my neck. He was too close, too calm, too good at this.
He leaned in, elbows on the table like we were just catching up. “She was all over me the other night,” he said. “Could’ve had me right there if she’d wanted. But I was more interested in who was watching.”
My stomach flipped. I kept my posture neutral, but inside, something buckled.
“You didn’t exactly look bored,” he added, still smiling, still not blinking.
I could’ve laughed. Could’ve denied it, brushed it off, played the smarter game. But instead—
“Why would I be jealous of a girl who’s clearly getting played?”
Jackson’s smile sharpened, just slightly. Like that was exactly the response he’d been hoping for.
“You sure about that?” he asked. “Because the way you looked that night... it wasn’t subtle.”
I bristled. Not because he was wrong. Because he said it so easily, like it was obvious.
“I wasn’t—” I began, then stopped. My voice had gone thin, defensive. I reset. “You don’t know what you saw.”
Jackson tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, amused. “I saw a guy trying not to drool while a girl felt me up.” He let that hang for a beat, then added, “And not because he wanted to be the one being fondled.”
The air around us thickened. I hated how fucking smug he sounded. How right he was.
Then, without a word, he leaned back in the chair, shifted his weight slightly, and raised one arm, slow and deliberate. Stretched it behind his head like he was working out a kink in his neck. The sleeve of his t-shirt rode high on his bicep, the muscle tight, defined, veins tracing along his forearm like a map he knew I’d try not to follow.
“I’m just saying,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine, “if you’re gonna look, you might as well own it.”
And the worst part? I could see what he was doing. I was watching it happen, and still couldn’t stop it. Jackson made it look effortless.
I’d spent years studying human behaviour, analyzing what makes people fucking tick. I had put in the time, completed the training, knew the theory. I was just weeks away from defending my doctoral thesis. But he didn’t need any of that. Just his presence. His intensity. Somehow, that was enough to knock me off balance.
“Do you even like guys?” The words came out before I could stop myself.
As soon as I heard them, I wanted to take them back. I hadn’t meant to go there. I wasn’t trying to call him out. I was trying to keep up. And I knew it made me sound defensive. Exposed.
His smile widened, lazy, knowing. He was enjoying how flustered I was.
He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head slightly, then said, “Does it matter?”
“What is this, Jackson?” I asked. “You’re just playing, right? Seeing how far you can push before you get a rise out me?”
He didn’t deny it. Just watched me, like he was waiting to see how much longer I’d pretend I wasn’t turned on.
I dropped my eyes, instantly regretting it. His quads stretched the fabric of his shorts with every subtle shift, the lower half fully exposed, smooth and massive. I followed the line of muscle down to where his calves flared like they were carved from stone.
Then he flexed. Just slightly. His leg tensed, and I watched them come alive, the skin tightening over the striations, veins shifting like a map across the surface. It was the kind of flex I couldn’t unsee. One that demanded attention. And I gave it. All of it.
I wanted to call out his smugness. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”
My voice cracked, just slightly. It came out quieter than I meant, rough at the edges, like it had to claw its way through something raw. Like he’d peeled something back and reached in and found exactly what he was looking for.
Jackson tilted his head, eyes scanning my face. He looked pleased and quietly satisfied. Like a puzzle piece had just clicked into place.
“You know, Andy,” he said, voice low, unhurried. “I’m surprised.”
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. My throat was still tight.
“A cute guy like you…” He let it hang for a beat, then added, “I thought you’d be better at this.”
A hot guy like Jackson calling out my lack of game… that stung more than I wanted to admit. He was making me feel like I was failing a test I hadn’t even agreed to take.
He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, locking me in. “Come on. You like what you see. You’ve been staring since I walked in.”
I swallowed. “You’re reading way too much into it.”
His brows lifted slightly. He wasn’t buying it. I felt like I’d just confirmed something instead of denying it.
“Or maybe,” he said, quieter now, “you’re just not the kind of guy who hooks up with someone who also fucks girls.”
My breath caught. I blinked, hard, but I couldn’t look away.
“Little close-minded for a future psychologist, isn’t it?” he added, that same damn smirk spreading again. “All that training, and you’re still trying to put people into neat little boxes.”
He was enjoying this. Not just the tension, but me. The way I squirmed, hesitated, second-guessed myself. As if watching me unravel in real time was part of what made this all worthwhile.
I didn’t know what to think. Was he really flirting with me? Or maybe this was about the other day, in my office. The way I shut him down, held my ground while he tried to get me to change my mind about his grade. He’d left cocky but unsatisfied, and I knew it. Maybe this was his way of tipping the balance back. Showing me I wasn’t as untouchable as I wanted to believe.
“This isn’t a joke,” I said, but the words came out too thin, too brittle. Even to me.
He just watched me in silence, calm and coiled, like he could hear the tension in my breath. Somehow, that made it worse.
I shifted in my seat, and instantly regretted it.
I was hard. Fully. Unavoidably. No subtlety, no hiding it. Just this thick, aching pressure against the front of my pants, pulsing like it had its own agenda. I sat straighter, tried to adjust casually, but the scrape of the chair legs gave me away.
He didn’t look down. He didn’t need to.
The smugness on his face didn’t change, but something behind it sharpened. Like he could smell it on me. The hunger and desire I hadn’t signed off on.
I swallowed hard, and pushed back from the table, hands fumbling for my laptop. I tried to shut it with control, but the snap echoed anyway. My bag was open but I missed the zipper twice, fingers clumsy, brain scrambled.
“I have to go,” I muttered.
No reply. Just that same watchful gaze, taking in my every nervous gesture.
I didn’t look at him as I shoved the notebook into my bag. I didn’t trust myself to. Not with the heat still crawling up my neck. Not with the pressure still throbbing in my lap.
I just turned. Walked. One step, then another. Fast, but not too fast. Not enough to look chased.
But inside? I was burning.
My jaw was tight. My dick ached. And the worst part?
I don’t let guys get to me like this. Not like this. Not ever.
Scene 3 – Jackson’s POV
I didn’t have to look for Andy. I already knew where he’d be.
The campus library was mostly empty this late. A few hours had passed since he bolted from the grad lounge—flushed, hard, trying not to let it show. If he thought I hadn’t noticed, he was wrong.
A few students lingered under dim lights. The kind of tired faces that blended into the shelves. At the front desk, the librarian was shutting things down for the night. That warm, late-hour quiet had crept into the building. The kind that made every sound feel intimate.
I found him near the back, in the psychology section, head tilted, scanning a row of spines like one of them might save him. He hadn’t seen me yet.
I saw the tension in his shoulders. The way he shifted his weight from foot to foot like stillness had become too much.
I slowed my steps. Let the shelves swallow the sound. Then paused at the end of the aisle, watching.
He felt it. The way I take up space, even when I’m not moving. That shift in the air when someone knows they’re being watched. His head turned. Slower than it needed to be. Then his eyes found me. I saw it, the breath catching in his chest. Like his body had clocked me before his brain had.
That was all I needed. I stepped into the aisle.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move toward me. But he didn’t back away either. Just froze, the book still in his hand, like we were mid-sentence from earlier. His gaze stayed locked on mine. He looked part wary, part wired. Like he hadn’t decided whether this was a confrontation… or something else entirely.
He was holding himself tight. Braced. As if he didn’t want to give anything away, even though we both knew I’d already taken something from him hours ago.
The air hung between us, thick and waiting.
I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say. Part of me was just following the current. But another part was studying him. Curious. Andy wasn’t like the others. Most guys broke fast. They flushed, begged, gave in before you even really got to them.
Not him. He didn’t look away. Didn’t fold.
And that was why I stepped closer.
“Library’s quieter than I expected,” I said, keeping my voice low, smooth. “Almost didn’t see you back here.”
He knew that wasn’t true. I saw it in the slight narrowing of his eyes.
He didn’t answer. Just stood there. Watching me. One hand still tight around the book, knuckles pale, as if letting go might unravel something.
His eyes dropped for a second. Not to the floor. Lower. To my chest. They stuck there. Not long. Just enough to catch it. The curve of my pecs under the fabric. The way it lifted when I breathed.
He looked away fast, like he hadn’t meant to let it happen. But he had. And I’d seen it.
I shifted my shoulders slightly. Felt the muscle stretch. He blinked. Not fast enough to miss the reaction.
I held the moment.
“You left earlier,” I said. “Fast.”
He blinked again. Slow. “I had things to do.”
“It looked more like running.”
His jaw twitched. Still trying to play it cool.
But I could feel it.
He hadn’t moved. The book was still in his hand. Still an anchor. Still trying not to let go.
I smiled to myself. This was going to be fun.
“I wasn’t running,” he said, low.
His voice had tension in it, like it wanted to sound sure but hadn’t quite made it. I stepped forward, slow and measured. Enough to let him feel me coming closer.
“You were hard,” I said, quietly. “Breathless. You couldn’t even look at me when you bolted.”
That hit. A flicker passed through his face. Not just embarrassment, something more fragile. Maybe because I was right. Maybe because he hated that I’d seen it. Or maybe because, standing this close, it was happening again.
Andy set the book back on the shelf. Carefully. Like he needed something to do with his hands.
“That—” He hesitated. Swallowed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
But his voice cracked just enough to ruin the lie.
He shifted his weight like he might retreat. One small step. A flicker of pride, kicking in. But it was nothing more than a feint. He didn’t go anywhere.
“I think it means you want this more than you’re ready to admit,” I said.
He gasped, softly. Eyes snapping to mine. That was the first real crack. The sound of something breaking open. And I didn’t look away.
I could’ve gone full tilt. Pressed in, overwhelmed him. But something stopped me. He wasn’t just hot. He wasn’t just flustered. He was still fighting. And that fight? That was the spark. Not to crush it. To see what it looked like up close, when it started to waver.
“I think you’re used to being in control of everything,” I said, voice lower now. “But that’s not how it’s going to be between us.”
I let that sit. Didn’t move. Didn’t crowd him. Just let him feel the truth of it sink in. Then I stepped in again. One foot. Then another. Until I was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He didn’t back away. His breathing changed though, shorter, tighter, chest rising faster. He was still holding, but the grip was slipping.
The moment stretched tight between us.
“You can still tell me to stop,” I said. Calm. Even.
He didn’t.
He just stood there. Every breath, every twitch in his jaw, a small war with himself.
I let it stretch. Just long enough for us both to feel it in our bones.
“Because if you don’t,” I added, “we’re only just getting started.”
I reached for him, slow. Letting him see it coming. My hand closed around his wrist. Just firmly enough to be felt.
His fingers flinched, like his body didn’t know if it wanted to pull away or hold tighter. But he didn’t move. Still trying to hold on. Still telling himself he wasn’t giving in.
And fuck, that made it better.
His skin was warm under my palm. As if his body was straining against something he hadn’t agreed to feel.
“You’re shaking,” I said, just above a whisper.
“I know… I can’t help it.” His voice was thin. Hoarse. Real.
He hadn’t moved away. That meant something.
I slid my fingers from his wrist to the front of his waistband. Not to push. Just enough to feel the heat radiating off him. He was pulsing. His whole body telegraphing arousal.
His breath caught. One small, stuttering inhale. His hips twitched forward. Just barely, but it was there. That instinct to move closer. He was still trying to stop himself, but his body was already ahead of him.
“You’ve been like this all evening, haven’t you?” I murmured. “Wound tight. Trying not to let it show.”
His eyes didn’t leave mine, but I could see it happening. The tiny fractures in his composure. The pride thinning. The walls giving.
Andy’s resolve was breaking. Not all at once. Inch by inch. And I liked that better.
I shifted my hand lower, pressing the heel of my palm against the front of his pants. Slow. Measured. I could feel the heat of his cock. He was hard, twitching under the weight of it all.
“You want me to stop?” I asked.
He shook his head once. A flicker of shame in the motion. But his eyes held mine.
My smirk curled, low and satisfied. The moment he stopped pretending was the moment this got good.
I cupped him fully, letting the pressure build under my hand. His hips jumped. A grunt tore from his throat. He clutched the edge, needing support to keep him from collapsing.
I didn’t need to unzip him. I didn’t need to say anything. Just kept holding him, firm and steady. Let him feel what he was fighting.
“Don’t come yet,” I whispered near his ear, low and close. “You don’t get to finish that easy.”
I didn’t let up.
I brushed my lips just behind his ear. “I’m not done with you.”
He gasped. Quiet. Sharp. Helpless.
Then I shifted again, sliding one leg between his.
My quad pressed up between his thighs. I held it there, to let him feel the size of me. To let him show me what he wanted.
And he did.
He started grinding.
Soft at first. Hesitant. As if struggling to process what he was agreeing to. Then harder. More desperate. Like his restraint had started to slip its leash.
I slid my hand up to the back of his neck. Gripped him lightly, as he stared at my chest.
He looked dazed. Like he couldn’t believe what he was doing, or how bad he needed it. His breath hitched again, and I felt it travel through him, like every inhale was trying to steady something already slipping.
I leaned in toward his mouth, giving him the space to meet me.
But he didn’t.
He turned, just slightly, just enough to keep my lips from landing where I wanted them. Even now, even grinding against my thigh like his life depended on it, he was holding that line. Still choosing what he would give.
I smiled. That quiet smirk I saved for moments like this, when the game got personal.
So I adjusted. Shifted my mouth toward his ear, letting my breath slip across his skin.
“You sure you want to protest now?” I whispered, voice low, teasing. I could feel him freeze for a fraction of a second. A flicker of tension before the next wave rolled through him.
“You’re a little late for that.”
Then I leaned in and let my tongue trace a slow, deliberate line beneath his ear. Right where his skin was warmest. Right where I could feel the smallest tremble.
He shuddered. His hands locked onto my shoulders.
And then he came.
Right there, up against my leg.
His body jolted. His chest slammed into mine. He moaned, low and ragged, trying not to be loud. But he didn’t stop moving. He kept grinding, slower now, like he needed every last ripple, like he couldn’t stop until there was nothing left to feel.
I didn’t say a word. Just kept my thigh steady, hand on the back of his neck, anchoring him as he unraveled.
He sagged against me when it was over, his breath shuddering. My shirt was damp where he’d clutched it, his forehead resting near my collarbone. I didn’t move. I let him stay. Let him come down slow.
He’d tried not to give in. Fought like hell not to give in to what I was offering him. And now here he was, flushed and breathless in my arms.
He’d come undone.
And I’d earned it.
Somewhere near the front of the library, a light flickered. Then another. The lights blinked a warning that closing time wasn’t far off.
Andy stiffened. Pulled back “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. Still not looking at me. “I gotta go.”
He adjusted himself with fast, nervous hands, trying to erase what had just happened by smoothing his shirt. I didn’t stop him. He grabbed his bag and stepped past me, still a little shaky, still not quite meeting my eyes, and disappeared out of the aisle.
I leaned back against the shelf, breathing slow. My thigh was still warm from him. My shirt rumpled where his grip had been. I could’ve fixed it. Smoothed it out. But I liked the shape it held.
And yeah, I was hard. I’d been hard the whole time. I could’ve pushed it. Could’ve taken that moment and dropped him to his knees. He might’ve gone along. But that wasn’t the play. Not with him.
With Andy, I was playing the long game.
He hadn’t made it easy. He didn’t just give it up because he was turned on. He clawed for self-control even as he fell apart.
That kind of resistance? That’s what did it for me. It wasn’t just about holding back. It was how he held on. How he made me chase it. I’ve had guys fold quick, eager to please. But Andy resisted. Not with words. With every breath he refused to give up. He made it a challenge. And that made it better.
He hadn’t surrendered. He’d fractured. And that’s a whole different kind of vibe.
Now I wanted to see what it looked like when he really let go.
Because if this is what he’s like trying not to want it…
I’m not sure either of us is ready for what happens when he stops holding back.
Scene 4 – Andy’s POV
I didn’t even remember walking home.
One minute I was pressed against Jackson, coming so hard I saw stars. The next, I was unlocking my apartment door with fingers that still trembled. I let my bag fall to the floor. Kicked off my shoes. I stood there in the stillness, my body flushed and wired, thighs aching, briefs still wet. The buzz in my skin wouldn’t fade, like I hadn’t yet left the library stacks.
I told myself to head for the shower. To peel off my clothes and rinse away everything. But I didn’t. I just stood there, waiting to feel like myself again. My body, it seemed, had other ideas. It still remembered what he felt like. The way he didn’t budge. The way I’d lost control.
My phone buzzed. I didn’t check it.
I knew it was Kevin. He had said he’d call. He was thoughtful like that, the kind of guy who checked in with “Hope your day went okay” and signed off with “Sleep well, babe,” a soft habit he never skipped..
We’d been seeing each other for about a month. It started slow, two weeks before we made it to bed. When it happened, I’d made the first move. Kevin didn’t rush. Just met me there, calm and steady. That was him. Thoughtful. Attentive. He treated me like I mattered.
And now here I was, fifteen minutes after grinding against another man in the library. There hadn’t been a kiss. He hadn’t said a word. Just that intense presence, the warmth of his muscular body pressed to mine, and the slow, measured drag of his tongue along my cheek, taking what I didn’t remember offering. My pulse hadn’t settled. And the deeper truth? I hadn’t wanted it to end. Not then. Maybe not even now.
I dropped into the armchair by the window and stared into the dark. My heart was still racing.
He’d felt like a wall. Not just strong, immovable.
When I pushed against him, he didn’t shift. When I pulled away, he held steady. And the worst part was how much that turned me on. It wasn’t just the physicality. It was how grounded he stayed while I came undone.
I told myself it was just a moment of chemistry. Some kind of fluke. But that didn’t explain why I couldn’t stop replaying the way he held me after. Not just during. After.
I needed to talk to him.
Not to ask for more. Just to set a boundary. To remind myself who I was, or who I thought I was. I wasn’t someone who lost it in the corner of a library, letting a younger guy mess with my head, push into my space, unravel me with nothing but a look and a touch. I needed to feel solid again. Like I still had my shit together.
I should’ve shut it down earlier. Left before it turned into whatever that was. I wasn’t supposed to let him get to me like that. I should’ve been the one setting the tone, not chasing clarity after the fact.
I ran a hand through my hair and picked up my phone. Put it down again.
Kevin deserved a reply, but I didn’t send one. I didn’t want to lie.
I’ll talk to Jackson. Soon.
Just to re-establish boundaries.
