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Hazen is a lot steadier on his feet as we walk down the hall, and a twinge of regret curls in my chest as he unlocks his door and pushes it open.
This is the most contact I’ve had with anyone in years, and I might only be helping him get to his room, but it still means way more to me than it should.
Of course it doesn’t help that I’m holding on to Hazen, the guy I’ve been obsessing over for years, but I try not to focus on that or what happened just before we came upstairs, as I help him into his room and over to his bed.
“Comfy,” he says in a strangely endearing voice when he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, and my stomach flip-flops when he leans back on his hands and gives me another grin that does funny things to my insides.
There’s enough ambient light in the room for me to clearly see him and most of what’s around us, but not much else. I’m about to ask if he wants me to turn on the light when he looks me up and down, like he’s checking me out, that damn grin still tilting his lips.
“Do you feel okay?” I need to break the silence so I don’t let my imagination run away from me and start thinking he’s actually seeing me and not whatever the drugs and booze are showing him.
He shakes his head.
“What’s wrong?”
Is he sick? He seemed fine a minute ago, and he’s still giving me that too-sexy smile. Did something happen while we were coming upstairs?
He doesn’t answer, but my impending panic is interrupted when he lifts one hand and gently rubs it over his dick.
“I have a problem,” he says in a low voice that sounds like pure sex.
“What’s that?” My mouth goes dry, and I instinctively drop my eyes to his hand.
He’s wearing a basic pirate costume: leather boots, tight black pants, a thick leather belt with an oversized silver buckle, and a gauzy white shirt that’s fully unbuttoned with the tails tucked into his pants. The deep V of the open sides shows off his strong, muscled chest. He also had a curved sword tucked into his belt and a bandana wrapped around his hair at the beginning of the night, but he took them off shortly after the party started.
It’s nothing like the elaborate and detailed costumes he’s worn in the past, but everything about it makes him look hot as sin.
“It hurts.”
“Your dick hurts?” My voice sounds weird and faraway as I stare at his hand.
“Uh-huh.” He grips his length and gives it a squeeze.
His moan is low and rumbly, and my own dick feels like it’s trying to bust right out of my pants as I get even harder.
“How can I help with that?” I ask, half in a daze.
Is this really happening? Is Hazen actually sitting in front of me and rubbing his dick, or did I wake up in an alternate reality?
His grin is full of heat and promise as he lets go of his dick and leans back on both hands. “I think you know,” he says in that sex-drenched voice and pops his hips up a few times, emphasizing his impressive bulge.
“You want me to…”
He nods, his smile melting into a sexy-as-hell smirk as his eyes darken with lust.
A not-so-small part of my brain is screaming at me that this is wrong. He might be more coherent now, but he’s obviously still completely out of his mind and has no idea what he’s asking—or who he’s talking to.
His pupils are so blown his eyes look black, and his cheeks are flushed soft pink. His neck and chest are also flushed, and his breathing is shallow and erratic.
I have no idea what he took from that box of party favors Christian carries around, but I watched him inhale a joint in about three minutes after downing a half dozen shots and drinks in less than two hours.
He’s not just high; he’s drunk, and there’s no way in hell he can consent to anything right now.
He’s only acting like this because of what he took, and he’d rightfully kick my ass for taking advantage of him if I did what he’s asking for.
But then again, what are the odds that he’ll remember any of this?
It’s possible he might remember some of it, but he’s straight, so he’d probably dismiss any memories he’d have of messing around with a guy as a weird dream or some sort of hallucination.
And even if he does remember that I’m the one who helped him to his room, what are the chances he’d trust any memory of me going down on him? If he doesn’t stop me or push me away, then that must mean on some level he wants it.
“Come on,” he murmurs, spreading his legs wide enough I could easily fit between them. “Want it.”
I should walk away right now.
I need to turn around and walk away, but I can’t.
I’ve been thinking about doing this exact thing for years, ever since I realized I like dick. And this is Hazen, the only guy I’ve ever really wanted.
I’ve had crushes and been attracted to a ton of guys over the years, but Hazen is the only one I haven’t been able to get over or lost interest in after getting to know him.
This could be my only chance not only to give my first BJ, but also to give it to the guy I’ve been fantasizing about for three years. And he’s not exactly in the frame of mind to judge me if I suck at it.
But I know this is wrong. He can’t consent to this, not even if he’s asking for it. And there’s no way any of this would be happening if he were in his right mind.
And do I really want to go down on him when he’s probably seeing some hot girl in my place? I’m desperate, but I’m not that desperate.
I take a step back so I can leave before I talk myself out of doing the right thing, but then I make the mistake of looking at Hazen’s face.
He’s still staring at me like I’m the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and all logic and reason flies from my brain when he drags his tongue over his full bottom lip and pops his hips up in a silent invitation.
Fuck it.
It’s not like he’s never gotten head while blackout drunk before, and he told me his entire mission for the night was to hook up with someone. He’s here, he’s asking for it, and I want to do it.
I can hate myself later.
And if he does somehow remember this, he can kick my ass and do whatever he wants to me because I’ll definitely deserve it.
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