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How long had he been reacting like that to me? Had it been like that back in high school, too? Had he spent years getting tormented by me in ways that I hadn’t even intended?

I skimmed over the notes, paying particular attention to the section he’d written up about Anse. Shit, it had been more than insult. It was damned near a character assassination against me.

But was he wrong?

I mean, I wasn’t dumb, but according to Andy an argument could be made that Anse wasn’t either. He was just greedy. A hypocrite of the highest order. He took and he took and didn’t give a fuck about who he hurt in the process.

Even when Anse wanted to seem like he was doing something for someone else, it was really all for personal gain.

Like what I’d done in that classroom.

I could tell Andy, and myself, that I’d done it for him. But I’d been curious. I’d wanted to touch him. To taste him. To figure out what was going on in my own head.

But instead I’d just confused myself more and probably hurt him again in the process.

My phone rang, the sound loud and harsh in the silent room and I glanced down to see that Mark was calling.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Why aren’t you here?” Mark asked loudly, a sea of noise in the background.

“I’m working,” I snapped. “I’ve got to get this paper done so I don’t get kicked off the team, remember?”

“I thought the nerd kid was writing it,” Mark said. “Come on, it’s Friday night. You need to party.”

“I need to study,” I argued. “It’s due on Monday and Andy just gave me notes.”

“What an asshole,” Mark complained.

“No he’s not.” I blew out a sigh. “Look, you’ll have plenty of fun without me. And don’t fucking wake me up when you get back.”

I hung up on him and turned my phone to silent, dropping it face down on the desk so I could settle in and get to work on this stupid paper.

I gave a priest a handjob.

“Stop it!” I yelled at myself, huffing out a breath as I rolled my shoulders and straightened up in my chair. “Just fucking work.”

I started typing, glancing between the screen and the notes as I worked to piece together something cohesive and force thoughts of Andy and his dick out of my head.

After a few hours and a couple thousand words I shut down the computer and pushed away from my desk. I turned off the light and stripped out of my clothes before falling into bed.

Lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I let my hand drift over my chest, down my stomach, and around my thickening cock.

Andy was definitely longer than I was, but I was pretty sure I was thicker, not that it mattered, just an observation. It was probably a really bad idea to think about him while I jerked off again, but I couldn’t help it.

I’d held another man’s cock in my hand. Not just any other man, either. Andy Simpson’s hot, firm, long cock. And it had felt amazing.

And I absolutely wanted to do it again.

Chapter Eleven

~Andy~

I’d spent the entire weekend in a downward spiral of fear, shame and annoying arousal over what had happened with Trevor on Friday afternoon.

Every time I closed my eyes I could feel his hands on me, smell his cologne, taste his breath on my lips.

And it was torture the likes of which he could never have implemented on purpose.