INICIAR SESIÓNThe steam curled around them, glistening on every inch of exposed skin, but Noah couldn’t feel the heat anymore. All he felt was the accusation hanging in the air.
A spy.
Sterling Belmont thought he was a goddamn spy.
The words played over in Noah’s mind, but even louder was the realization that slammed into him like a body check to the chest.
All this time—the lingering stares, the unreadable tension, the heavy silence between them—it hadn’t been want. It hadn’t been intrigue.
It had been suspicion.
Sterling had been watching him because he didn’t trust him. Every moment Noah had felt pulled toward him, every flicker of tension that had stirred something strange in him was simply the effect a billionaire must have on everyone. It was just the cold scrutiny of a man convinced he was the enemy.
The hurt came fast and quiet. Not heartbreak, exactly, but something sharper. Something hollow.
He let out a humorless breath, his eyes dropping—unintentionally—for a moment.
Great.
Blood thrummed in his ears, betrayal hot on his tongue.
The prick’s cock even looks bigger than before. Of course it did. Because life had that kind of sense of humor.
But the flicker of hurt was quickly scorched out by anger.
Sterling was sitting there with that same icy, composed expression, like he’d just cracked some elaborate code. Like Noah was a puzzle piece he’d finally shoved into place.
Smug bastard.
Noah straightened, the steam catching on his skin as he rose to his full height. Water rolled down the lines of his chest, down the length of his thighs. He didn’t care that he was naked. He didn’t care that his crotch was practically at eye level with his boss.
He leaned forward, just a little, and let his voice drop into something mocking.
“You got me,” he said coolly. “Great work, Sherlock.”
Sterling didn’t flinch.
Not even a twitch.
Instead, he stood.
The movement was slow, deliberate. He also rose to his full height until they were face to face, the difference in their postures barely enough to matter. The heat between them became a force of its own. Steam clung to their bodies, slicking their skin, magnifying every breath.
They were too close to be casual.
Noah could feel the warmth of Sterling’s breath, could smell the masculine mix of clean sweat and subtle cologne, something that should’ve been repulsive in the thick air but instead made his head swim. He was getting drunk on it. His body betrayed him, blood rushing south despite the fury burning in his chest.
Sterling’s eyes dropped for a moment—to Noah’s lips, and then lower. He looked back up slowly, and Noah met his gaze. A dangerous pause filled the space between them, both men breathing hard, both staring at each other's mouths like they’d forgotten how to speak.
Noah pressed on, his words laced with cutting, icy venom.
"That background check you ran? Money well spent." His eyes never wavered, his gaze fixed and unblinking, his voice flat and mechanized. The kind of calm that signals the imminent shattering of a dam.
"It’s true," he admitted, "I don’t have any family living in Crestwick." His jaw tensed painfully, each word a betrayal of his own past he’d fought so hard to conceal. Yet he forced the damning truth out. "My mom’s in Linden Hollow Cemetery."
There it was, a loaded truth slicing through the charged air. A pregnant pause ensued, then, the tiniest fracture in Sterling’s composure. The faintest eyebrow twitch, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Noah saw it. He turned abruptly, unwilling to let himself dig any deeper.
Then Sterling muttered a curse under his breath. He reached out without thinking and gripped Noah’s arm.
The contact was electric.
Fireworks exploded through Noah’s nerves. The warmth of that touch—firm, grounding—lit up places he didn’t even want to acknowledge. His heart slammed against his ribs.
“Noah...” Sterling’s voice came out lower than before, velvet wrapped in smoke. “I had no idea, I didn’t—”
But the apology died in the space between them, charged and dangerous.
They stood there, naked, steam swirling between their bodies like a barrier that refused to hold. Noah could feel his body responding involuntarily, the growing ache between his legs a betrayal of every defense he had. His breath hitched as he caught another inhale of Sterling’s scent. Earthy, masculine, raw.
It should have repulsed him.
It didn’t.
He was dizzy from it.
And Sterling—Sterling was staring at his mouth again, gaze dark and intense, chest rising and falling like he was seconds from crossing a line.
Noah ripped his arm away, violently. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
The words cracked in the heat.
He turned and marched toward the door, wet footsteps echoing off the tile.
Noah grabbed the handle—but before he could twist it, a large palm slammed against the glass.
The door didn’t budge.
Sterling was right behind him.
Noah turned, breath heaving, and they were nose to nose. Their bare chests nearly touched. His hands clenched at his sides.
Noah’s anger flared hotter. He shoved Sterling with both hands, palms landing against his chest.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” he said, breathless.
Sterling stumbled back a step but didn’t drop his gaze.
“Prick—” Noah went to shove him again, harder this time, but Sterling caught his wrists before he made contact and held them there.
The grip was firm, unyielding.
Holding him there, making a point.
He released Noah’s wrists so suddenly that Noah almost lost his balance.
When he steadied himself, heat and adrenaline spiked.
He pushed again.
This time Sterling didn’t budge, didn’t flinch. He moved fast, grabbing Noah’s arms, reversing the motion and sending him staggering backward until they collided against the wall with a jarring thud.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
Sterling pressed in as Noah caught his breath, their skin sliding, hot and wet. He pinned him with a knee between the legs and a hand around his neck. The pressure was just enough to keep him there.
“I knew you’d be a problem,” Sterling murmured darkly.
All of Noah’s blood surged south at once. Every nerve lit up in defiance. He reached out instinctively and gripped Sterling’s cock, the move shocking them both.
“Hah,” Noah said breathlessly as he realized what he had in his hand. A hard length that filled his palm like it belonged there. “What’s this? You some kind of pervert?”
Jamie got home just in time to see an old Jeep roll into the lot.It rattled like it had more history than safety features, sun‑faded paint, one door a slightly different shade than the rest. It slowed near the dorm entrance, music thumping faintly through open windows, laughter spilling out with it.Jamie slowed, eyeing it from a distance.Then Zach climbed out.He looked relaxed, hoodie half‑unzipped, hair a little mussed like he’d just been dropped off mid‑conversation. He said something over his shoulder that made the guys in the Jeep laugh, then slammed the door shut and headed toward the building.Jamie ran after him.“Zach—hey!”Zach turned at the sound of his name, surprise flashing briefly across his face before it smoothed into an easy grin. “Jamie! What’s up, man?”Jamie slowed as he reached him, suddenly aware of his own breathing. He bent forward slightly, hands braced on his thighs, lungs burning more than they should have.“Hockey,” he panted.Zach grinned wider. “Hocke
Jamie turned, already babbling.“Oh—sorry, I—Coach said I could, I didn’t realize anyone was still—”The words tangled and fell apart in his mouth.The man standing in the doorway to the showers was huge. Barefoot. Towel slung low around his hips, damp and hanging heavy, one hand absently scrubbing through wet hair as if he’d only just noticed he wasn’t alone.Jamie’s brain stalled.Max.Not the version burned into his memory from that cursed photo. This one was bigger. Broader. Skin still flushed from heat and steam, water tracking down over muscle in slow, distracting lines. Jamie’s gaze dragged helplessly, shoulders, chest, the sharp V disappearing beneath the towel, before he could stop himself.If seeing Max’s face had been enough to shove his own sexuality into the light, this might knock him out cold.Jamie swallowed hard, pretty sure he was staring. Pretty sure he was drooling. He took another step back, heel catching on the edge of a bench, the room tilting slightly as his bo
A few weeks later, Jamie sat on a hard plastic seat in the back of Intro to Media Reporting, trying not to yawn. His friend, Ava, sat beside him, already organized, color‑coded tabs peeking out of her notebook. They’d ended up in most of the same classes this semester, close enough now that Jamie automatically took the seat next to her without thinking.The room smelled faintly of dry erase markers and burnt coffee. It was one of those early-semester classes that still felt provisional, everyone half-watching the professor, half-watching each other, laptops open but attention drifting.Professor Klein stood at the front, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched low on his nose. He had the kind of energy that suggested he actually liked teaching undergrads, which Jamie both admired and feared.“All right,” Klein said, clapping his hands once. “This semester isn’t theoretical. It’s practical. You’re not just learning how to report—you’re going to be doing real work.”Jamie straightened a litt
Jamie waited until he heard the door next door open.He’d been pretending to read for ten minutes, sitting on his bed with his laptop open and the same paragraph untouched, ears tuned entirely to the hallway. When footsteps finally sounded, followed by the dull thump of a door and the scrape of something being dragged inside, his stomach flipped.Okay. Now.He grabbed the cup of ramen from his desk, hesitated, then added the second one. Extra. Normal. Casual. He told himself that twice as he crossed the short stretch of hallway and knocked.The door swung open almost immediately.Zach looked like he’d just come straight from working out. His hair was still damp, hoodie darkened at the collar, a massive duffel bag dropped at his feet like he’d barely noticed the weight of it. He was in sweats and a T-shirt underneath, broad and relaxed in a way Jamie was deeply aware of after the afternoon he’d had.“Hey,” Zach said, already smiling. “What’s up, JP?”“Uh... hi,” Jamie said. He lifted t
Jamie stared.Not in a subtle way. Not in the polite half-second you’re allowed before your eyes flick away. He stared way too long, frozen somewhere between fascination and disbelief, his brain refusing to cooperate with his eyes.This wasn’t possible.Max wasn’t supposed to exist like this. Solid, present, taking up space in a campus coffee shop. Jamie had always assumed he lived somewhere safely abstract. The other side of the country. A different time zone. A place that existed only in voice chat and text bubbles, nowhere he could accidentally run into him between classes.Seeing him like this felt wrong, like a glitch. Like someone had dragged an online character into the real world without warning.Max was even more attractive in person.Obnoxiously attractive. The photo hadn’t lied, but it hadn’t captured everything. The faint crease between Max’s brows when he focused, the way his eye contact held steady instead of flicking away, how easily his smile came and went, quick as a
Three months later.The dorm room smelled like fresh paint and someone else’s laundry detergent. Jamie stood in the middle of it with a box cutter in one hand and a label maker in the other, the August heat pressing in through the window despite the rattling air unit.He sliced tape, folded cardboard, and stacked things where they made the most sense. Shirts on hangers. Shoes in a row. He slid notebooks into the desk drawer, paused to wipe dust from the top of it with his sleeve, then kept going.At the bottom of one box, beneath a tangle of cables and an old mouse pad, his fingers closed around something familiar.His gaming headset.Jamie lifted it out, the foam pads flattened with age. When he turned it toward the light, a fine layer of dust caught the light as he tilted it. He hadn’t noticed when he packed. Or maybe he had and chosen not to.For a second, the room went very quiet.He set the headset back in the box, slower than necessary, and folded the flaps closed. The box slid







