Troy's Revenge
Dylan had just spanked me—light, playful, but firm enough to leave a ghost of a sting—and then rolled over like nothing happened. Like I wasn’t lying there, painfully hard, my skin flushed, my pulse a live wire under the surface. His last words still echoed:
“I’ll take good care of you.”
Now he was sprawled on his back, abs rising and falling slow beneath his tank top, arms folded behind his head like he was goddamn Hercules taking a nap. His lips were curved, faint but smug. Like he knew exactly what he’d done to me.
And still—just laid there. Like he hadn’t just turned me on so hard I was seeing stars.
I shifted. My leg brushed his under the blanket.
Jake, still passed out on the other side of the mattress, let out a snore and rolled over.
I turned. Pressed my front to Dylan’s side, my face ending up near his shoulder—close enough to smell him. Deodorant. Warm skin. Sweat. Still faintly gym-drenched. Masculine and fucking addictive.
And Dylan just laid there, smug and still.
I exhaled.
Turned.
“Did you seriously just spank me and go to sleep?” I whispered.
His lip twitched. Eyes still shut. “You didn’t seem like you minded.”
“I didn’t,” I breathed. “But I’m still here. Still hard. Still waiting.”
His eyes opened, barely. Dark. Heavy. “Oh yeah?”
His eyes fluttered open—barely—and he looked at me sideways, amused. “Oh yeah?” he whispered, smirking again. “You’re the one who backed that little ass up into me all night. You started it.”
“That was survival instinct,” I said, mock-defensive. “You were warm.”
“You were grinding.”
“You were hard.”
He chuckled under his breath, low and warm. “Still am.”
Swallowed, my pulse loud in my throat. My eyes dropped to the blanket over his waist. There was a clear outline there now. A thick ridge, barely contained.
“You had a girlfriend,” I said, voice quieter. “Didn’t you?”
His smirk faded into something more thoughtful. He looked at the ceiling for a beat, jaw shifting. “Not anymore. We’ve been… done for a while. It just wasn’t working.”
“Because of… this?” I asked, my fingers brushing his forearm.
He looked back at me, brows raised. “Because she was clingy. Jealous. Didn’t like when I trained guys one-on-one. Thought something was going on.”
“Was something going on?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
“Not then.” His smirk returned. “But maybe now.”
I bit my bottom lip, then reached out. Slowly. Deliberately. My fingers skimmed the hem of his tank top, hesitating for just a breath before slipping underneath. The second my hand met his bare skin, I felt it—warm, tight, smooth as sin. His abs flexed under my touch, hard muscle twitching like he was trying not to react.
I dragged my palm up, slow and greedy, savoring every inch. His body was unreal—cut and solid, like he’d been carved just to be touched. Each line of his stomach begged to be traced, and I followed it with my fingers, teasing him. His core tightened again, and I felt the ripple of control in him—like he was holding back, letting me explore. Letting me enjoy.
My hand slid higher, gliding over the center of his chest, and holy hell—his pecs were massive. Thick and warm and firm beneath my palm, like molded steel under silk. I pressed in a little, felt the way they moved beneath my hand, and fuck, he felt so good. I could’ve stayed there, just touching, mapping every inch with my fingertips, feeling him breathe under me.
“Someone’s curious,” he murmured, voice low, lazy, cocky as hell—but deeper now. Rougher. Like I was actually starting to get to him.
“You started it,” I said again, barely able to keep the heat out of my voice.
And god, he knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing. Letting me touch, tease, discover all that perfect, tensed muscle while he just laid there like he owned the room. Like his body was some fucking gift and I was finally unwrapping it.
I slid my hand lower, over the waistband of his shorts, fingertips just brushing beneath. The air between us thickened, heavy with heat. My chest rose and fell faster, and I felt his flex beneath my palm—subtle, restrained, but definitely there.
My hand found the outline of him.
He was hard. Huge. Throbbing.
The heat radiating from him was undeniable, burning through the fabric, and my fingers tingled as I traced the thick length beneath. He felt impossibly firm, almost too much to fit in my hand, pulsing with every beat of his heart. The shape of him was undeniable, heavy and thick against my palm, with a slight curve that pressed up into me like it was begging for more.
The sensation of his arousal was electric, and I couldn’t help but linger, teasing the outline with a slow, deliberate touch.
I didn’t mean to gasp, but I did. Quiet, sharp, right next to his ear. I let my fingers graze the shape of him through his shorts again, slower this time—just to be sure.
“Looks like the gym bro’s still hard,” I whispered, smirking. “Why’d you stop grinding on me if you were gonna keep this thing throbbing against me all night?”
Dylan let out a low, lazy laugh, deep in his chest. He was still lying on his back, both arms behind his head, like he hadn’t done a single damn thing. But his cock said otherwise.
“Maybe I just wanted you to enjoy it,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “Keep you wanting more.”
I rolled my eyes and slid even closer, so my mouth was nearly brushing his shoulder. “God, you’re so cocky.”
“You love that about me,” he said, lips curling into a grin. “Spaghetti noodle.”
I froze. “Spaghetti noodle?”
“Yeah,” he said with a little shrug, “all bendy and soft. Till you get hot.”
He knew exactly what he was doing. My cheeks burned, but I didn’t stop. I let my fingers trace the length of his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts—back and forth, slow. Just enough pressure to feel the weight of him, the way he twitched under my touch.
“You saying my little ass felt good?” I murmured, just to watch him react.
He exhaled, slow and shallow. “Better than good.”
I grinned and kept teasing him, outlining his cock with the pads of my fingers. I swirled a fingertip around the ridge of his head through the fabric, taking my time. He tensed slightly, then relaxed, his breath warming my cheek.
“Jesus,” he muttered, just under his breath. “You’re really doing this, huh?”
I dipped my head and kissed his bare shoulder, soft and slow. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”
His smirk deepened. “Nah. Let’s see what that noodle’s got.”
I moved my hand lower and slid it under the waistband of his shorts. My heart was racing now. He wasn’t wearing any underwear—no wonder I could feel everything so clearly earlier.
He was even bigger than I’d imagined.
Thick. Hot. Heavy in my palm, the tip already slick with need.
The moment my fingers wrapped around him, I felt the weight of it—dense, veined, and rock hard, pulsing against my skin like it had a mind of its own. My hand barely closed around his girth, and the silky skin over that steel heat made my breath catch. I gave him one slow, careful stroke, from the base up, and his cock twitched—jumped in my grasp like it had been aching for touch.
Precum beaded at the head, warm and wet, smearing over my fingers as I ran my thumb across it.
He let out a quiet groan, deep and strained, hips shifting just enough to chase the friction.
“Fuck, Troy...” he muttered.
I smiled against his skin and whispered, “So sensitive.”
I ran my thumb over the tip, already wet, and he twitched again. My palm glided over his shaft, then lower—down to cup his balls gently, feeling the weight of them, the heat. He spread his legs a little without a word. Inviting. Confident. Letting me take over.
They were heavy and warm in my hand, skin silky and tight, his arousal pulsing through every part of him. I rolled them slowly in my palm, teasing, letting my fingers explore the soft skin beneath as he let out a low, breathy grunt. His thighs tensed, strong and wide on either side of me, and I felt his cock give another needy throb against my wrist. He was dripping now—leaking steadily on my fingers—and I could feel just how much he was holding back.
I kept going, slow and steady. Stroking him while I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then another along his neck. He was panting now—quiet, breathy, but undeniable.
“You like that?” I breathed, fingers tightening slightly around him.
“You’re not bad for a virgin,” he whispered back, breathy and smug.
I froze with his cock still in my hand—thick, hard, pulsing against my palm. My face was close to his now, barely inches away. I raised an eyebrow and gave him a look.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
He laughed softly, low and lazy. “Troy… come on.”
He turned his head toward me, eyes half-lidded, full of heat and mischief. “I can spot a virgin craving cock from a mile away. You’ve got that hungry little look—been staring at me with pure lust all night. Especially during FIFA.”
My cheeks flushed. “I was not—”
“I know those lusty eyes,” he said, cutting me off, smirking even wider. “I know that look like fuck, what would it feel like to ride that? To taste it? To feel it throb in your hand…”
“Okay, fine,” I laughed, cheeks burning hotter. “I’ve never done this before.”
He leaned closer, his breath tickling my ear. “And yet you’ve got my cock in your hand like you’ve been practicing for months.”
I grinned and slowly resumed stroking him. Long, steady glides from base to tip, using just enough pressure to make him hiss through his teeth.
“To be fair… look at you, Dylan. Last time I saw you was three years ago and now—” I glanced down meaningfully, “you’re basically sculpted like a Greek god. And your dick’s just as cocky as you are.”
He let out a quiet groan at that, one hand sliding behind his head again like he was settling in to enjoy this. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”
“I’ve watched enough to know what I want,” I murmured, tracing a finger over the underside of his shaft. His cock twitched again—hot, thick, glistening now with precum that leaked from the tip, wetting my fingers.
I circled the slick head with my thumb, slow and teasing, and Dylan’s body tensed. His stomach tightened, his breath hitched.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Keep going.”
His voice dropped lower, deeper, like he was slipping into something darker.
I kept stroking him, this time varying the pressure—tight around the middle, light at the base, letting my fingertips dance up the length of him. His cock felt heavy in my hand, the skin smooth and hot, the tip dripping precum like it couldn’t wait to be in my mouth.
His breathing got rougher. Louder. His chest rising and falling in steady waves, but his hands didn’t try to stop me. He just lay there, completely open to me, cocky and relaxed—but clearly fighting not to lose it.
“Don’t stop,” he growled.
I slowed just enough to drive him crazy, dragging my thumb over his slit again, spreading the precum down his shaft. His cock jumped, twitching like it was begging me for more.
And then—
I let go.
Gently, teasingly, I pulled my hand out of his shorts and slid it up his abs, dragging my fingers across the hard ridges of his body. His skin was slick where my touch passed—warm and sticky with his precum, smearing in a slow, glistening trail up over the tight cut of his stomach.
“Wait—what?” Dylan said, breathless. His voice cracked.
With his precum still glistening on my fingers, I brought them to my lips, slow and deliberate. I took a lick—just the tip of my tongue tracing the taste of him—then slipped them into my mouth, sucking gently before swallowing.
I met his eyes, lips curling into a smirk. “Now you know how it feels.”
He blinked, still a little dazed, and I leaned in just enough for him to hear me whisper:
“When you were grinding against my ass and just stopped—yeah, I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
His brows lifted, that cocky grin making its slow return as he laid there, still sprawled out, chest rising and falling. His abs flexed slightly under my hand. He just looked at me like he was sizing me up all over again.
“Oh, really,” Dylan said, voice rich and amused. “So you’ve got jokes now.”
He shifted slightly, his thick cock still hard, twitching against the waistband of his shorts. “You think you can play games with me, huh?”
He turned his head toward me, eyes glinting with something darker, more dangerous—but still playful. “I was being nice, Spaghetti Noodle.”
I snorted. “Nice? You got me all worked up and then went to sleep.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I didn’t go to sleep. I was letting you marinate in it.”
And then, without warning, he shifted closer. One of his hands slid down under the blanket, curling firmly around my ass and giving it a slow, greedy squeeze. I sucked in a breath as his lips brushed right against the shell of my ear.
“But you poked the bear, Troy,” he whispered, voice low and heated. “That little ass of yours? It’s in trouble.”
He shifted even closer, his breath hot against my ear.
“Next time,” he murmured, fingers still gripping my ass, “you won’t just be tasting my precum…”
A pause, thick with promise.
“It’ll be the whole fuckin’ load.”
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