Sabotaging No Nut November - Chapter 5

The stale taste of Leo still lingered in the back of my throat, a phantom reminder of the bathroom floor and the green light burning on my watch. Three down. My new target was Ryan. The mountain. The fucking immovable object. His room was a sanctuary of cool indifference – minimalist, almost sterile, dominated by a king-sized bed swathed in crisp, dark grey sheets that looked like they’d knife you if you dared wrinkle them. Framed black-and-white photos of desolate mountains and empty beaches lined one wall, radiating solitude. The air carried the faint, expensive bite of his cologne, sandalwood and something sharp. It smelled like control. My cock gave a traitorous throb against my zipper. Twelve days of this ache, this relentless fucking pressure. Leo had been desperate heat; Ryan was ice waiting to crack.

He was already seated at his sleek desk, textbook open, laptop humming softly. Dressed in dark sweatpants and a plain black tee that clung to muscles earned through disciplined routine, not gym showboating. He didn’t glance up as I entered. "Door," he said, voice even. Calm water over granite.

I closed it softly, the click sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet. "Brought my Econ notes," I said, dropping my bag near the foot of the bed. My voice felt too bright, too loud for this space. I deliberately sat on the edge of the bed, not the offered chair beside him. Too far. I needed proximity. The mattress dipped under my weight. "Thought I'd actually learn something tonight. Shockingly."

Ryan’s room smelled like sandalwood and ambition. The bastard even had his textbooks alphabetized. His desk lamp cast sharp shadows across the clean lines of his jaw, his fingers tapping impatiently on his physics notes. I sprawled across his bed, deliberately mussing the perfectly tucked duvet.

"You’re distracting me," he said, not looking up.

I grinned, stretching my arms behind my head, making my shirt ride up just enough to show a sliver of stomach. "Distracting you how?"

His pen stilled. "You know how."

I did. His smartwatch had flickered yellow twice already tonight—once when I’d leaned too close to point out a problem, my breath warm against his neck, and again when my knee had "accidentally" brushed his under the desk. Ryan was disciplined, but discipline was just denial with a prettier name.

"You could always just admit defeat," I said, rolling onto my stomach, propping my chin on my hands. "Save yourself the trouble."

He finally looked at me, dark eyes unreadable. "You’ve got Mason, Tyler, and Leo wrapped around your finger. That doesn’t mean I’ll break."

I kicked my legs lazily behind me. "They weren’t wrapped around my finger. They were in my mouth."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His watch pulsed—still yellow, but weaker. Fading.

I slid off the bed, crossing the room slowly. The hardwood was cool under my bare feet. I stopped just behind his chair, close enough that the heat of his body radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt. He didn’t turn around.

"You’re sweating," I murmured, dragging a single finger down the nape of his neck. His skin was damp, fever-hot.

He exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. "Evan." A warning.

I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You think about it, don’t you? What I did to them." My hand drifted lower, tracing the hard line of his spine through his shirt. "You wonder what it would be like if I made you lose."

His chair creaked as he shifted, but he didn’t pull away. His voice was low, rough. "You’re not that good."

I smirked, pressing my hips against the back of his chair, letting him feel the hard outline of my cock through my jeans. "Prove it."

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then, in one fluid motion, Ryan stood, turning to face me. His expression was still controlled, but his breath came faster. His gaze dropped to my mouth. "You’re playing a dangerous game."

I stepped into his space, close enough to feel the heat between us. "So make me."

He grabbed my hips, shoving me back against the desk. Papers scattered. His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his tongue forcing its way past my lips. I groaned into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His body was solid against mine, his thigh pressing between my legs, grinding against my aching cock.

"Fuck," I gasped, breaking the kiss. "So much for discipline."

Ryan’s fingers dug into my waist, lifting me onto the desk. The edge bit into my thighs as he stepped between them, his hands sliding under my shirt, palms rough against my skin. "You wanted this," he muttered, dragging his teeth along my jaw. "Now take it."

I arched into his touch, already hard, my pulse wild. "Prove you can make me."

His hand slid down, palming me through my jeans, squeezing just shy of painful. I hissed, hips jerking forward. "You’re begging for it," he growled, undoing my fly with sharp, impatient tugs. "Just like the others."

I caught his wrist before he could pull me free. "Difference is," I breathed, locking eyes with him, "you came to me."