A Little Bit

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Eli

Present

The party is already in full swing by the time I make it there. I guess it is pretty late. Almost midnight. But I couldn’t stop my work. I still have the charcoal stuck under my nails, having barely washed my hands for these people.

I know I need to make friends. I know that. But I can’t help looking around and thinking how pretentious everyone is. And decidedly not like me.

I didn’t even want to come to this school. Mom begged me to. Said it was the “opportunity of a lifetime,” and I think she knows that I’d do just about anything to make her happy after… everything.

I was doing fine in my little community college bubble back home—drawing, lounging with my friends, being high most of the time—doing regular twenty-year-old-with-no-ambition type activities. I knew exactly how everything worked. Charlotte was there, Mom and Dad were there. It was comfortable, which was all I cared about.

But, every once in a while, I’d run out of money, and because I didn’t want to concern my parents after all the shit a few years ago, I’d put one of my drawings into a contest. So when I did this time, I won a big-ass prize, which was great. I was going to save most of it and use the rest to buy weed. Maybe buy something nice for Mom.

That’s what I wanted to do, but unfortunately for me, some scout was there. He took one look at my work and said I had to come to their art program. And fuck , if my mom hadn’t been standing right next to me, I would’ve politely told him “fuck no,” because I saw the little emblem on his shirt. I knew exactly where he was from. I’d decided a long time ago that I would never go there. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

Looking over at Mom’s face once he had walked away, I saw the answer there. It was lit like a goddamn Christmas tree, and her face never looks like that anymore. Never .

When she turned to me and asked, “What do you think?” I decided to be honest with her.

“What about?—”

She cut me off with a squeeze of my hand and a slight scowl on her face. “Eli Robert Johnson.” You know she’s serious when she pulls out the full name. “No. Don’t think about that. You always think about that. This is something you can do for you. You deserve it.”

At that point, I mean, I had to say yes. Despite what I was feeling inside, there’s no way I could wipe that look off her face.

So here I am. A few hours away in the prestigious town of Astorville, attending their namesake, Astorville University. The school is old as shit. Looks like a castle. All brick, marble, and dark, rich woods surrounded by scrupulously cared for grounds. The kind that have bushes that spell shit out in flowers. A far cry from the tan boring buildings and planters full of mulch and dead bushes that my former school provided. It’s private and exclusive as fuck, which means all these pricks around me are rich. And not regular rich—the kind of rich where their great grandparents settled the town. Something I’ll never relate to, and definitely judge them for, because I can’t seem to help it.

Maybe I don’t want to be their friends, but it’s been a week, and a guy needs a fuck every once in a while, so they’ll have to do.

Heading to the bar that has all the liquor set up on it, I grab one of the crystal glasses—rolling my eyes while I do so because of course they have crystal and not regular fucking solo cups—and choose a random bottle to pour myself a drink, mixing it with a splash of coke.

I turn around, propping my elbows on the bar behind me and take a few sips, letting my eyes drift over the potential at this party. This place is fucking huge and off campus, in one of the many old brick townhouses that line the streets, because apparently only the scholarship kids—like me—live in the dorms. And when I say old, I mean old . Most of the shit in this town was built in the 1800s, when it was founded. It hasn’t happened to me yet, but I’m just waiting for a racist confederate soldier ghost to haunt me.

Some guy in my Art History class invited me tonight. I could entertain him as an option, but honestly, he’s too easy. He hasn’t stopped eye-fucking me since I first sat down in that class. And that’s not what I’m looking for. I need a bit of a challenge tonight. Something to make this fun. A game.

As I continue to scan the room, I try to gauge what I have a taste for. Being bi can be a blessing and a curse. Lots of options, but if I don’t know what I’m in the mood for, it can be frustrating as fuck. I usually try to just feel the night—let it lead me to whoever the universe puts in my path. But tonight, nothing is jumping out at me.

Everyone is wearing pastels. It’s actually kind of eerie. Looking down at my ripped black jeans and long black tee confirms how much I stick out among them. Like a whore in church. Is that the saying? I don’t fucking know. I don’t blend in. That’s the point. And from all the furtive glances I’m getting, they all notice how different I am too.

Charlotte would’ve loved it here. Now that I’m older, we could’ve gotten drunk together and had fun saying outrageous shit just to see their reactions. But I’m here alone. So I’ll have to make do with having fun on my own. Maybe I’ll give her a call later and tell her about it.

Bingo.

I spot him across the room, a girl hanging off his arm, which might usually be a problem, but the way his eyes keep shifting toward me, much more than anyone else, tells me that despite the girl clinging to him, he’s definitely interested in this dick.

He’s got on a light-blue polo and khakis and, Jesus Christ , a fucking sweater tied around his shoulders. I didn’t know people wear that in real life. Thought it was just something they put on Ralph Lauren models for the ads.

He looks so fucking put together, and it’s definitely giving my cock insane ideas about what his perfectly combed, sandy-blond hair would look like while I fist it and fuck what I’m sure is a sweet ass from behind.

Running my eyes down his form, I see he’s probably a little shorter than my six foot three, and slightly thinner, someone who I can throw around and would be able to take everything I give them. Once my eyes make it down to his feet, I see he’s wearing boat shoes. Ugh . Did he just get back from sailing or some shit?

I look back up at his face to see it’s taken on some nervous energy, and if it’s possible, he’s glancing at me even more than he was before, taking notice of my perusal of his body. He’s being obvious as fuck. Those are the looks of someone who has thought about experimenting before.

I know a lot of people try to stay away from being someone’s experiment, saying that it only leads to heartbreak, but I fucking love it. Usually you have an insane fuck because despite their inexperience, they’re eager beavers after repressing how they feel for so long. And once you’re done, they pretty much freak out right away and scamper off to have their existential crisis, leaving you alone. They’re perfect.

I need to get off and despite how ridiculous it is, that sweater is fucking doing something for me.

I have no idea of the layout of this place, but I take a chance and head toward a hallway, peeking around the corner and seeing rows of doors. I stand there, waiting for him to look for me again. His sweet eyes drift back to the bar, and seeing that I’m not there, a slight pull forms in his brow, but he quickly smooths it out and continues pretending to listen to whatever his little circle of friends is talking about. Probably when they can all go shopping for more sweaters and boat shoes.

He takes another glance around the room and spots me, so I crook my finger at him in a “come here” gesture then walk around the corner to wait.

I’m taking a bit of a risk that he’ll follow, but I saw his eyes. Whether he can admit it or not, he wants it, and I’m more than willing to give it to him. He can go back to pretending he’s completely straight tomorrow.

He rounds the corner, his startling blue eyes catching on mine, then kind of looks around the hallway like he’s surprised he actually came. I don’t wait for him to change his mind. Grabbing his arm, I haul him into the first door and slam it shut behind us, taking his shoulders and slamming him against it. My eyebrows raise when I feel how much his muscles flex and bunch under my touch. He definitely seemed more lithe from across the room, but fuck yes I can get behind this.

I launch myself into his neck, running my nose up his soft as fuck skin and inhaling. Goddamn he smells good. Like expensive wood that I definitely can’t afford.

“Um… Um…” he mutters, while squirming under my hold. But he doesn’t try to move or push me away, or utter my favorite phrase, “I’m not gay.” I love hearing straight boys say that shit, especially right after they had my cock halfway down their throat.

Sticking my tongue out, I lave a small stripe in the crook of his neck, feeling my body buzz from the taste. I’m starting to feel fucking ravenous, something about him is making me lose control. So I open my mouth, almost trying to unhinge my jaw, and bite him, before starting to lightly suck at his flavorful skin.

He fucking whimpers. It’s so small and cute and definitely something he didn’t mean to let out. Kill me. My dick hardens in my pants while I let my hands drift down to his ass and squeeze it, pulling him closer to me so I can rub my aching cock against his. And what is that I feel? He’s definitely hard too. I groan at the first grind of my hips, reveling at the sparks that ignite every time our cocks rub together.

Unlatching from his neck, I murmur, “Hi. I’m Eli.” I kiss and nip around his neck some more. “Let’s fuck.”

I pull back from him, looking at his pretty-boy face to give him the chance to tell me no. God, he’s beautiful. It’s kind of alarming. Blond hair that’s perfectly tousled on top. Blue Eyes. The icy kind where he kind of looks like he could be a vampire or something. Sharp cheekbones and jaw. Fuck . That mouth. His lips are pink and wet against his tanned skin. And pillowy. I want to press my finger into them just to see how much they bounce back. It almost makes me want to kiss him. But I don’t do that. They’d still look good around my dick, though.

His mouth opens to say something, but no words come out, just a static sound from his throat. It kind of reminds me of a dishwasher starting up.

Shaking my head, I go back to his cozy neck, continuing to mark him up and grind against his erection. “That’s okay, I don’t need to know your name, sailor.”

Still no answer from him. But that dishwasher continues running.

I huff out a laugh. “Fuck you. I’m funny. Because of your shoes? Boat shoes? Sailor?” Nothing. “Ugh, nevermind.”

Barreling on, I reach between us and start undoing his pants, slipping my hand inside while nipping at his earlobe. “Do you top or bottom? Because I—holy shit!”

My hands freeze in shock because… without a doubt, I am handling the biggest, most magnificent dick I have ever come across in my slightly slutty life.

It’s dim in here, so I can’t see every detail like I want to, but from what I can make out, it’s absolutely splendid. Longer than mine, which… fuck him, mine’s pretty big… but whatever. It’s unnecessarily thick, in the best possible way, and feels like absolute velvet with my hand wrapped around it. People need to start a religion around this dick because I know more than a few people who would be willing to kneel for it.

I clear my throat and look back at his face, which has a startled look plastered on it. I guess I did just yell “holy shit!” after discovering the Goliath he’s sporting. He’s probably wondering what’s up.

I stare into those blue eyes. “I don’t usually compliment my fucks too much, but it’d be absolutely remiss of me to not tell you that you have a beautiful dick. Like really nice.” I give it a slow pump, watching his eyes bug out as a groan rumbles somewhere in his throat.

Flicking my eyes down so I can watch, I keep pumping him, slow and steady, admiring the way his skin stretches, loving the way my hand glides over him, twisting at the top of his plump, wet head.

I lean back to his ear and whisper, “You’re wet for me, sailor. Should I taste it? Anything that comes out of that beautiful cock has to be amazing.”

His eyes go wide as I remove my hand, slightly glistening with his pre-cum, and bring it up to my face, licking a stripe up the middle with the flat of my tongue, my eyes never leaving his. His flavor explodes on my tongue—salty, musky, and a hint of sweetness. I momentarily close my eyes to savor it.

“ Fuck ,” I rumble while putting my saliva slicked hand back around his thick cock. “Yes. I can work with that. Let’s do this, sailor.”

I give one pump and feel his cock swell. You know, the swelling right before someone is about to come, which sends a pang of disappointment through me. If this two-pump bitch comes right now, before we can even do anything, it will be an absolute waste.

But then, I feel myself flying backward, stumbling and losing my balance until I fall on my ass, pinwheeling my arms along the way. A grunted “oof” escapes my lungs when I hit the wood floors beneath us, which are fucking hard, by the way, and hurt. I sit there a moment, trying to decipher how the fuck I just ended up down here.

This fucker just pushed me.

I lift my head to cuss him out, but I can’t because we’re both just watching his cock come all over the floor. Spurt after spurt of cum jets out of his dick, making a sweet little puddle while he quietly chokes on the air around him.

Even though I’m mad as fuck, I kind of want to crawl over there and lick it all off the floor like a depraved slut puppy.

I’m still looking at his pool of cum when I finally hear words come out of mystery man’s mouth. “I’m not fucking gay,” he pants.

My favorite.

I smile big and wide at him, raising one eyebrow and flicking my eyes down to the cum puddle. “Yeah, you seem pretty straight…” I drawl while holding my hand out to it.

“I’m not gay,” he repeats while starting to shove his softening cock back in his pants.

Nooooo. That thing should be out all the time.

I roll my eyes. I’m sure most bisexual men would be tender and understanding of this guy’s issues with his sexuality, but I’m not asking him to hold my hand in public. I’m just trying to get my dick wet behind closed doors, so he can settle the fuck down.

“Okay, fine. I’m not gay either. Let’s just be some straight boys who have a bro-fuck for one night, because I’m still hard as fuck and it’s only courteous to return the favor, sailor.”

“St–stop calling me that.”

“Okay. Then what’s your name, sailor?”

“No.”

I rear my head back, bringing my hand up to my heart in feigned offense. “Rude. I just made you come. We should be on a first name basis.”

“Baaaaaabe!” an airy feminine voice calls from somewhere in the hall.

His head whips toward the door then back at me, his eyes huge and pleading. Asking for my help—that I’ll play along and be cool despite the fact that he just metaphorically fucked me over.

I quickly scoot over to him, swiping my finger through the still warm cum on the floor and stand, harshly grasping his jaw and holding my cum covered finger in front of his mouth.

“I’ll help you with your girl, if you eat your cum, sailor. It’s the least you can do for me.” My voice is low and raspy as I press my hard cock against his thigh. “You’re leaving me to find someone else to take care of this.”

He just stares at my glistening finger, a war waging inside his mind.

“Honey? Are you in here?” the voice tinkles right outside the door.

He lunges for my finger, momentarily freezing when his lips wrap around it. I’m pretty sure he expected to be quick about it, gag a little and choke it down. But when his eyelids flutter shut and his tongue takes a leisurely swirl around my finger, my pretty little straight boy discovers that he likes the taste of cum.

I suppress a full-body shiver as I memorize the feel of his tongue on my skin.

Fuck. What a waste.

Right as we hear the door handle jiggling, I regretfully pull my finger from his mouth and yank a shirt from a hanger in the closet next to us, throwing it over the cum puddle. I swish it with my boot and kick it away before quickly stepping back just as a petite girl walks in on us.

She flicks her eyes between us, confusion etched onto her face. “Warren. Who’s your friend?” she whines.

Warren. Was that so hard to tell me?

I guess she’s pretty.

Ok fine, she’s gorgeous. Long blonde hair braided down her back with skin that same tan as Warren. They really must all go sailing together. But her outfit looks like something you play tennis in.

She hasn’t said or done anything to me yet, but I already don’t like her. I don’t know why, but she can just go fuck herself, respectfully.

I look to Warren, seeing if he’s going to answer her, but he’s just zoned out on some random point in the room.

See what I mean? The existential crisis. I won’t hear from him again. And that’s okay. That’s how I like it. But I will be sad to never be in the presence of that cock again.

I reach my hand out to her. “Hi, princess. I’m Eli. Warren was just showing me around since I’m new here.” I bring her hand up to my mouth and give it a chaste kiss, smelling her flowery perfume coming off of her wrist.

She giggles and covers her mouth, letting her eyes seductively wander up my form.

Well that’s fucking bold.

Casting a glance in Warren’s direction, I see his brows pinched while he stares at our interaction.

Aww. He thinks I’m trying to make a move on his girl. Don’t worry, sailor. Not fucking interested.

I drop her hand and step back, trying to give him a look that says to relax.

His girl gives me a sweet smile, angling her body toward me and away from Warren who’s still glaring at us. “Oh my gosh, he’s so nice. Well, I’ll help too.” She tucks her hair behind her ear even though everything is perfectly in place. “I’m Vivian Woods. Everyone calls me Viv.”

I give her my own syrupy smile back. “Thanks, Viv, but I think I’ll just be going. I have something that needs to be taken care of.” I throw Warren a wink and hold up a peace sign before ambling out of the room, not waiting for an answer from either of them.

Well, this sucks. I just missed out on some good dick. But oh well, I’ll never see him again.

Honestly, after seeing what he’s packing, maybe I should just cut my losses and head back to my dorm, jerk it, and go to bed.

Just as I make up my mind and head for the door, the guy from my Art History class steps into my path.

He’s got an overeager smile on his face, like he usually does when he aggressively makes conversation in class, but his eyes are a little glassy from whatever he’s got in his cup.

“Hey, man. I was hoping you’d show up,” he yells over the music, that big-ass smile still on his face.

Studying him, I guess he’s pretty attractive. Dark hair and eyes, a handsome face with round black-framed glasses sitting on his regal nose.

He’s got nothing on sailor-boy, but he does have something going on.

I let out a long, tired sigh. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

His brows snap together. “Go?”

Lazily smiling back at him, I ask, “Are you going to act like you don’t want to go back to my dorm?”

He keeps his face clouded with confusion before it smooths out and that eagerness returns while he vigorously nods his head. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“I’m Eli, by the way.”

His face screws up. “We’ve talked plenty of times in class… I know your name.”

I smile. “Of course. And I know your name too.”

I have no idea what his name is.

He huffs and sets his empty cup down on a side table. “It’s Terrence.”

“I know.”

I didn’t know.

Shrugging his shoulders, he puts that smile back on his face. “Okay, sorry. After you,” he says, gesturing for me to start walking toward the exit.

I turn and head for the door with my prize for the night dutifully following behind me.

Ugh. Too fucking easy.