Rules of Engagement
The next day, I was toweling off after the gym when my phone buzzed. I saw that it was Tyler, so I let it go for a few minutes. I was pretty sure I knew it was about.
“We need to talk. Please come by when you have a minute.”
I smirked. The whole thing amused me. He could’ve just said what he meant. Another complaint’s been filed. Again. This time with more detail. But no. He tried to sound like a boss. “We need to talk.” Like he believed he had the upper hand. Like this was his building, his rules, his game.
I slung the towel around my neck and leaned against the sink, giving myself a once-over in the mirror. Hair still damp. A couple drops beading down my chest. I looked good, better than good. That kind of effortless post-shower swagger I didn’t have to work for anymore. The kind that always hit harder when someone else wanted to resist it.
My smirk deepened. The memory hit like a slow flex. Connor, flushed and wrecked, perched on the edge of Michael’s bed. Me, standing over him. Naked. Hard. Breathing heavy. His eyes fixed on my cock before he took me all the way. Then the door burst open, and Michael was just standing there, stunned.
And I had just continued, stared him down while his boyfriend gagged on me, until I finally unloaded all over Connor, giving him an experience Michael would never be able to match.
Michael hadn’t said a word to me since. Slammed the door when he got back last night and acted like I didn’t exist. Like that was supposed to make me feel guilty.
That’s what Tyler was dealing with now. Not just the report. The image. The aftermath.
I took my time getting dressed. Every detail calculated. Just enough to make sure he’d feel it the second I walked in. Charcoal tee, tight across the chest, snug on the arms. Just enough to flex with every move. Then gym shorts, low and snug enough to let my outline show when I walked. No underwear. Of course.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, tousled it on purpose, then stepped back and took a long look. Smiled. That’d do.
I picked up the phone and finally answered. “On my way.”
I stepped into the hall. I wasn’t going to explain myself. I was just going to stand there, right in front of him, reminding him exactly how I looked the last time I left his apartment. Shirtless. Smug. Dripping with the kind of intensity he still couldn’t process.
I knocked firmly.
Tyler opened the door just a little too slow, like he needed that extra second to collect himself. His hoodie was zipped halfway up, sleeves pushed to his elbows like he wanted to look relaxed, but the fabric around his shoulders told the truth. He radiated tension, like someone trying to hold it together. As if he thought he could bluff me.
I didn’t wait for an invitation. I stepped past him, entering his space.
His eyes dragged over me once, too fast to be casual, too slow to be innocent. He looked away, as if wishing it hadn’t happened. But the tension in his jaw gave him up.
The blinds were angled down, cutting the sunlight into pale slashes across the floor. His desk was cleared. Everything was neat and organized.
He closed the door behind me. I didn’t turn. Just let my eyes drift over the place as I walked further in. Same tight little apartment. Same silence building, like he didn’t know how to start.
I knew he had a boyfriend. Some upper-year guy, a business major vibe, who probably thinks he’s dating someone responsible. I wondered what he’d say if he saw Tyler right now, jaw tight, eyes glued to my arms like he’d forgotten how to blink.
Tyler cleared his throat. “There has been an additional complaint."
I sat on the arm of the couch, elbows on my knees, hands hanging loose. He leaned against his desk. I didn’t speak. I just waited.
He started moving through his script, voice clipped but a little rushed, like he wanted to get through it before something, or someone, derailed him.
“Michael submitted a second report this morning,” he said. “There was mention of noise, of… inappropriate conduct…” He paused, like he knew more, before continuing. “Disruption of shared spaces.”
He kept going, eyes glued to his iPad even though I could tell he wasn’t reading from it anymore.
Every few seconds, his eyes flicked up, toward my legs, my chest, my arms, my face, like he couldn’t decide which part of me distracted him most. The words kept coming, but his focus was gone.
“We’ve talked before about community expectations. Mutual respect. Reasonable quiet hours. You have a previous warning on file.”
I reached over and plucked a bottle of water from the edge of his desk, cracked the seal, and took a sip.
His eyes flicked down. Not to stop me. Just caught, for half a second, on the way my forearm flexed as I twisted the cap. The swell of my bicep under the tee.
He didn’t call me on it.
I finally spoke up.
“Connor didn’t complain.” I let that sit. “So who’s really upset?”
He blinked. Just once. Then his face twisted slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or defend someone else.
“Connor is... err... was with Michael,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Huh. He must’ve been missing something.”
I shifted, one hand casually adjusting myself. Nothing exaggerated. Just enough to draw his eye… and keep it.
His gaze dropped, locked for a beat, then snapped back up like he was more focussed on the content of Michael’s report, than on any transgression that might have occurred.
I smiled again, barely. Just enough to let it hang between us.
“I’m issuing a formal second warning,” he said. Voice tighter now. Like he’d found the line he was supposed to deliver and clung to it.
He tapped the tablet screen like that made it official. Like saying it out loud gave it weight.
“You sure you want to do that?”
His eyes flicked up, met mine, then darted away. He adjusted his stance. He didn’t appear very sure of himself.
“You don’t get to… question it,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “It’s policy.”
But the words landed softer than he meant them to..
I stood, slow and smooth. Took a step forward.
He didn’t back up. But he didn’t hold still, either. His jaw tightened. He adjusted the iPad on his desk like he could find his backbone in the rules printed on the screen.
I reached out, slow and controlled, and placed a finger under his chin. Lifted it. Just enough to make him look at me.
“Maybe this is about more than just a warning.”
Colour rushed to his neck. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The silence stretched just long enough for him to feel it.
I leaned in close enough that he’d feel it. Close enough that he’d know I wasn’t going anywhere.
“You didn’t call me here to stop me, Tyler.”
“You called me here because you don’t know if you want me to stop.”
I let that land. Watched the twitch in his jaw. Then glanced down.
“I’d take odds you’re already hard and throbbing under there.”
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to. The way Tyler sat there, stiff, holding himself as if a stiff enough posture could undo what I’d just said, told me everything. He hadn’t expected me to say it out loud. To name what was really going on. And now that it was out there, he couldn’t figure out how to take it back.
I waited. Just let the silence do its work.
Then I shifted. Just enough to let the moment stretch. I was already close enough that he could feel the heat coming off me, close enough that every breath made him more aware of what he hadn’t said yet.
Tyler’s breath hitched. I saw it in his chest before I heard it. A tiny expansion, a falter in rhythm. His gaze snapped to mine, but he didn’t speak. He was still trying to find the words that would make me step back.
He probably thought of himself as a top. One of those tight-ass rules guys who thinks a title and a tablet make him a big deal.
“I think you’ve been waiting for an excuse to talk to me like this,” I said, voice low. “You just didn’t know what you’d do once you had it.”
He opened his mouth, then shifted, like he meant to move past me.
I beat him to it. Lifted one arm, calm and unhurried, and planted my hand flat against the wall beside his head.
He stopped. Didn’t look at me. Just stared at a spot over my shoulder like that would make this easier.
I leaned in a little. Just to make sure what I had to say landed the way I wanted it to.
“You’re not mad about Connor,” I murmured. “You’re jealous. Jealous that he experienced me before you.”
That hit. I watched the flush bloom in his neck and spread up into his cheeks. He tried to speak. Failed once. Then finally, he spat it out.
“You think this is funny?”
There it was. A spark. Anger, maybe. Or shame.
I tilted my head slightly and shrugged.
“Not funny,” I said. “It’s just hard to take you seriously while you’re still checking out my arms and trying not to look at my junk.”
He held still, but his body was giving him up. He was breathing quick, throat tight, hands twitching restlessly.
He wanted me out. He wanted me to back off. But not really.
“You need to leave,” he said, softer now.
But his voice cracked halfway through, and his eyes didn’t follow it. They stayed on me. Or tried to. They kept drifting lower, then snapping back up, like he was fighting his own instincts.
I didn’t move.
Instead, I reached for the hem of my shirt.
Tyler froze.
I didn’t rush it. Just grabbed a handful of fabric and peeled it off over my head in one slow motion. Let the stretch ripple through my chest and arms. Let him watch the muscles shift under my skin.
I dropped the shirt onto his desk. Then I looked at him again, smirking.
“Remind me, Tyler. Which part of the residence handbook covers this?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
He shook his head. “This isn’t fair.”
His voice was quiet now. Barely holding.
I shrugged. “Probably not.” I let my fingers drift across my abs, slow and casual. “Is that going to be problem?”
His gaze followed my hand, locked on the movement. Processing my physique as I shifted my weight, letting my quads tense and do their thing.
“This is w-wrong,” he stammered, but it came out like a question.
I stepped closer.
“Probably,” I murmured. “You want to report me for it?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
His eyes were wide now. Fixed. Still trying to hold his ground, but the fight was draining out of him.
I moved closer. Just a few inches. Close enough that he’d feel my energy. Then I extended my hand and let it drift upward, fingers grazing the line of his collarbone, slow and deliberate.
His skin jumped under the contact, while he sucked in a breath. But he didn’t step away.
“Say it,” I murmured. “One word, and I’m gone.”
He looked up at me. Helpless and silent. Like he knew he wasn’t ready for this, but wanted it anyway.
So I leaned in closer, knowing my scent would be swirling in his nose. My lips brushed the edge of his ear, not a kiss, just enough to let him feel what it meant to share his space with me.
“You and your rules, Tyler,” I said, voice low as I loomed over him. “You think they keep you safe?” My fingers stroked his throat, slow. “You still think they can protect you from people like me?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped back half a pace. Just enough to look him over. My chest was already bare. I ran a hand slowly across. The kind of slow drag that made the muscle shift and catch the light. His eyes followed, wide and fixed.
He was barely breathing.
“It’s time to take off your shirt,” I said.
He hesitated.
I waited.
Then he pulled his top up over his head and dropped it to the side, eyes flicking down like he didn’t want to meet my gaze. Like taking his shirt off meant giving something up. He was flushed already. Shoulders tight. Still pretending he had a choice in how this played out.
And for a second, I saw it. That look in his eyes. Like he knew he wasn’t coming back from this.
I stepped in close again. Close enough that his face hovered near my chest. He was breathing shallow now. Tense. I tilted my head down, just a little, and let my breath graze his cheek.
He shivered. Lips parting. Just barely.
“You walk around like you’ve got it together,” I said. “Like you’re in the lead here, the top. But look at you.”
His head snapped up. Eyes wide. Like I’d said something obscene. Or true.
Then I leaned in just a little closer and squared up, letting my chest brush against his face. Bare skin against bare skin. Just enough to remind him who he was standing in front of.
He flinched from being touched in a way he hadn’t prepared for. Nothing about this was on his terms anymore.
I didn’t say a word. Just let my presence be felt as I walked him backward. One step. Then another. His breathing shifted. Shoulders tight. When he reached the couch, he sat down automatically. Still trying to hold himself together. Still trying to figure out if this was a mistake.
I reached for the waistband of my shorts and pulled them down. No underwear. My cock was already hard, full and heavy, thick between my thighs. Tyler’s eyes dropped to it and stayed there.
I stood in front of him, silent.
Let him look.
Let the moment stretch.
I didn’t tell him to touch me. Didn’t offer. Just stood there and watched him.
“See something you want?” I asked.
His mouth opened like he had an answer, but nothing came out.
I let my hand trail down over my abs, slow, fingers brushing lightly across the muscle. His eyes followed it, like they had no other option. I wrapped my hand around my cock and gave it one long stroke, just to feel the tension build.
He was staring now. Locked in.
I took another stroke. Slow and measured. Then my breath came heavier, my chest rising. I stayed quiet and let the soft slide of my hand and Tyler’s shallow breathing fill the room.
His thighs shifted, knees falling open like his body made the decision for him. He was hard. It was obvious now. The front of his jeans straining with it. He tried to adjust, subtle, like I wouldn’t notice. But I’d already seen everything I needed to.
“You’re not gonna touch yourself?” I asked, tilting my head. “You thought calling me in here would keep things on your terms. But now you’re sitting there leaking through your shorts.”
He looked up. Eyes blown. Embarrassed.
I smiled. “You remember the last time I was in here? I told you to enjoy the view.” With my free hand, I dragged my fingers slowly across my abs.
His face flushed deeper, and I leaned in.
“Did you?” I asked. “After I left. Did you jerk off thinking about me?”
I gave my cock another slow stroke. “What does that say about you, Tyler?” I paused, just long enough to let it sink in. “Hell, what does that say about me?”
His jaw clenched. But he didn’t look away.
I stroked myself again, then let go. Let it bounce once, thick and heavy against my abs. His gaze stayed glued to it. His mouth opened like he needed air.
“You think I’m gonna fuck you?” I asked, voice low and flat. “Is that what you’re hoping this is about?”
He blinked. Just once. But I saw the answer all over him.
“I’m not here to give you what you want, Tyler. I’m here to show you what wanting me does to you.”
That landed. He flinched again. Swallowed. Shifted awkwardly on the couch like he didn’t know what to say. Like his body wanted to react, but his brain was still chasing a script that wasn’t working anymore.
I stepped closer. Just enough for my cock to hover inches from his face. Close enough that he could smell the heat off me.
I didn’t say a word. Just watched him. Watched panic and lust fight it out behind his eyes.
Then I gave myself another slow stroke.
He was squirming now. Hard. Desperate. Pretending not to be. Still sitting there like the warning on his iPad meant anything now.
I pressed forward, not sudden, just steady. Let the head of my cock graze his cheek, smear a line of precum against his flushed skin.
He froze. His breath caught. His lips parted like he might beg without realizing it.
“Say it,” I murmured. “Tell me you want it.”
His lips parted. His whole body tilted forward, like he might say it. Might finally give in.
But he didn’t..
I smiled, slow and knowing, and let my hand drift down. My fingers curled around my cock. I started stroking again. A steady rhythm. Slow and deliberate. My gaze locked on his.
He flinched, like he meant to look away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“You’re still pretending this is about willpower,” I said, voice low. “Still clinging to the idea that if you don’t say it, you haven’t surrendered to me.”
His jaw flexed. Hands balled into fists beside his thighs. His legs stayed spread, the bulge in his jeans straining harder with every breath.
“But you already know,” I continued, letting each stroke drag a little longer. “You figured it out the second I walked in here. Maybe even before that.”
I loomed over him. My cock was inches from his face, glistening, thick, twitching with every stroke.
He didn’t move.
“You don’t want this to be over,” I said. “You just don’t want to be the one who caves.”
His mouth opened again — maybe to speak, maybe just to breathe — but no words came.
“It’s pride, isn’t it?” I said, watching him squirm. “You’re the guy with answers. The one who enforces the rules, struts around with your iPad like it makes you untouchable. But not with me.”
I tightened my grip. Felt myself building toward it. I shifted, adjusting the angle. Tyler’s face tipped up, eyes wide, lips parted in something that wasn’t quite defiance and wasn’t quite surrender.
“But you invited me here,” I went on. “You made this happen. And now…”
My voice dropped, cool and final.
“…this is what happens when you try to play boss with someone who sees through you.”
The first pulse hit just above his brow. A thick, wet stripe that caught in his hairline. The second landed across the bridge of his nose, ropes painting him in hot lines. Another shot splattered across his eye, tangling in his lashes, his cheek, glistening on the edge of his mouth. Then a few more down his chest, streaking the flat of his sternum, slipping lower.
He flinched. Just slightly. Like his body was still trying to resist, even as it betrayed him. His breath came fast, shallow, while my seed ran down his face.
We locked eyes. I let the silence stretch, daring him to speak, to pretend this meant something different than what it was.
Then, slowly, almost unconsciously, his tongue slipped out. Just the tip. Just enough to catch a drop that had started to slide from the corner of his mouth.
I didn’t move. Just watched. Let him sit in it. Let him taste it. The heat of it. The truth of it. The satisfaction pulsed through me like a slow exhale. Deep down, he wanted it. He wanted me.
He looked like he didn’t know who he was anymore. Like something had cracked open and he wasn’t ready for what spilled out.
I bent, grabbed my shirt, and pulled it over my head. Then reached for my shorts, tugged them up with casual ease. Adjusted myself slowly, letting my fingers linger just long enough.
By the time I stepped toward the door, his eyes had followed every move.
“We both know what happens with that warning,” I said, not turning back.
My voice was calm. Certain.
Like the outcome had already been written.
In the days that followed, the floor felt… lighter. Tyler still made his rounds, still walked the hall like it was part of the job. But he moved quieter now. Like he didn’t want to draw attention. Like he wasn’t sure who was watching, or what they’d seen. Some people noticed the shift. And whatever had happened to knock him off his usual rhythm, no one seemed in a hurry to bring it back.
Tyler did his best to avoid me. And on the rare occasions we crossed paths in the hall or the common room, he couldn’t meet my eyes. Like he remembered exactly what had happened behind closed doors and wasn’t in a hurry to test the line again.
He moved differently now. Shoulders lower. Voice softer. The little power-trip routines were gone. His posture had shifted into something cautious, restrained. Like he understood that if he pushed again, what he'd experienced in private might not stay that way next time.
He kept quiet. Gave me space.
He was better off for it.
Connor still came by. Sometimes late, sometimes with nothing more than a question mark in a text. I didn’t always answer. But when I did, he came fast. Like he’d been waiting for the green light.
No small talk. No buildup. Just a look, a nod, and he was on his knees or already stripping before I said a word. Something had shifted in him. That first time woke up a part of him he didn’t even know was there. And now he needed it fed. When he showed up, it was like he needed a fix. Like his body remembered me even when his brain tried not to.
Whatever comfort or stability Michael had offered, it hadn’t been enough. Not once Connor had tasted more.
As for Micheal, he kept to himself. Head down. Eyes averted. Not just from me, but from Connor too. Like if he didn’t look, maybe none of it had happened. Maybe he hadn’t stood frozen in the doorway, watching his boyfriend choke on my cock while I had stared him down and then came all over Connor’s face.
He didn’t move out. Didn’t complain again. Just kept quiet. Like silence might earn him back a little dignity.
I’d seen it before. Guys who didn’t know how to lose and couldn’t admit they’d been outplayed.
I lay back on my bed, one hand behind my head, the other scrolling aimlessly through my phone. Nothing interesting. No one I hadn’t seen before. Just the same bodies. The same moves. Nothing that made me want to look twice.
Last night’s hookup had been fine. Lean, good arms, eager. But it didn’t stick. I barely remembered his name. Just the way he stared when I undressed. The way he came too fast and tried to act like it didn’t matter.
I tossed the phone aside and sat up. Stretched. My body felt good. Strong. Loose. But it wasn’t enough. Not tonight.
I pulled on a hoodie and ran my fingers through my hair. I wasn’t going out to meet anyone. I just needed to move.
Nothing stuck lately. No one stayed interesting once the clothes went back on.
I didn’t know what I wanted. But I was starting to feel the absence of it.
And when it finally showed up, I’d make sure it knew exactly what it was walking into.
Author’s Note:
The first three chapters of this story introduced us to Jackson, an unapologetic alpha. We’ve experienced him in his element, cycling through hookups and power plays that no longer satisfy the way they once did.
In Chapter 4, we will see a shift in Jackson when someone enters his life who might actually matter. Someone who doesn’t just fold at the sight of him. Someone who sees through the charm and muscle, and makes Jackson want more than just the upper hand.
Keep watching this space. :)
