My Best Friend's Brother Dylan Ch. 04

Part 4 -- Troy's Revenge

Dylan had just spanked me--light, playful, but firm enough to feel it in my spine--and then turned over like it was nothing. Like I wasn't lying there rock hard with my heart pounding in my ears, trying to catch my breath. His last words echoed like a taunt.

"I'll take good care of you."

And now he was on his back, his chest rising and falling slow and even. Tank top clinging to him, biceps slack but still thick, like he was made of stone even in sleep. His lips curved the faintest bit, like he was dreaming about what he just did. Or about what else he could.

I stared at him, stunned.

He was just... asleep?

I shifted slightly, adjusting my leg over the blanket. Jake, dead to the world on the other side, snored once and then settled.

And Dylan just laid there, smug and still.

I exhaled.

Turned.

I rolled over, slowly, deliberately, my back now to Jake, my front facing Dylan. My body pressed into the mattress as I tucked my arm under my head, my face ending up just beside his shoulder--close enough to breathe in the scent of his deodorant. Clean, masculine, faintly citrusy. Close enough to see the stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips. Close enough to whisper, "Did you seriously just spank me and go to sleep?"

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Mm," he hummed, eyes still closed. "You didn't seem like you minded."

"I didn't," I murmured. "But I'm kind of still here. And hard."

His eyes fluttered open--barely--and he looked at me sideways, amused. "Oh yeah?" he whispered, smirking again. "You're the one who backed that little ass up into me all night. You started it."

"That was survival instinct," I said, mock-defensive. "You were warm."

"You were grinding."

"You were hard."

He chuckled under his breath, low and warm. "Still am."

I swallowed, my pulse loud in my throat. My eyes dropped to the blanket over his waist. There was a clear outline there now. A thick ridge, barely contained.

"You had a girlfriend," I said, voice quieter. "Didn't you?"

His smirk faded into something more thoughtful. He looked at the ceiling for a beat, jaw shifting. "Not anymore. We've been... done for a while. It just wasn't working."

"Because of... this?" I asked, my fingers brushing his forearm.

He looked back at me, brows raised. "Because she was clingy. Jealous. Didn't like when I trained guys one-on-one. Thought something was going on."

"Was something going on?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.

"Not then." His smirk returned. "But maybe now."

I bit my bottom lip, then reached out. Slowly. Deliberately. My fingers skimmed the hem of his tank top, then slipped under it, pressing against the warmth of his stomach. Rock-solid, abs flexing beneath my touch.

"Someone's curious," he murmured, still not stopping me.

"You started it," I said again.

I slid my hand lower, over the waistband of his shorts, fingertips just brushing beneath. The air between us thickened, heavy with heat. My chest rose and fell faster, and I felt his flex beneath my palm--subtle, restrained, but definitely there.

My hand found the outline of him.

He was hard. Huge. Throbbing.

I didn't mean to gasp, but I did. Quiet, sharp, right next to his ear. I let my fingers graze the shape of him through his shorts again, slower this time--just to be sure.

"Looks like the gym bro's still hard," I whispered, smirking. "Why'd you stop grinding on me if you were gonna keep this thing throbbing against me all night?"

Dylan let out a low, lazy laugh, deep in his chest. He was still lying on his back, both arms behind his head, like he hadn't done a single damn thing. But his cock said otherwise.

"Maybe I just wanted you to enjoy it," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Keep you wanting more."

I rolled my eyes and slid even closer, so my mouth was nearly brushing his shoulder. "God, you're so cocky."

"You love that about me," he said, lips curling into a grin. "Spaghetti noodle."

I froze. "Spaghetti noodle?"

"Yeah," he said with a little shrug, "all bendy and soft. Til you get hot."

He knew exactly what he was doing. My cheeks burned, but I didn't stop. I let my fingers trace the length of his cock through the thin fabric of his shorts--back and forth, slow. Just enough pressure to feel the weight of him, the way he twitched under my touch.

"You saying my little ass felt good?" I murmured, just to watch him react.

He exhaled, slow and shallow. "Better than good."

I grinned and kept teasing him, outlining his cock with the pads of my fingers. I swirled a fingertip around the ridge of his head through the fabric, taking my time. He tensed slightly, then relaxed, his breath warming my cheek.

"Jesus," he muttered, just under his breath. "You're really doing this, huh?"

I dipped my head and kissed his bare shoulder, soft and slow. "You don't want me to stop, do you?"

His smirk deepened. "Nah. Let's see what that noodle's got."

I moved my hand lower and slid it under the waistband of his shorts. My heart was racing now. He wasn't wearing any underwear--no wonder I could feel everything so clearly earlier.

He was even bigger than I'd imagined.

Thick. Hot. My fingers closed around him slowly, stroking from base to tip, and his cock jumped in my hand like it had been waiting for me. He let out a quiet groan, deep and strained.

"Fuck, Troy..." he muttered.

I smiled against his skin and whispered, "So sensitive."

I ran my thumb over the tip, already wet, and he twitched again. My palm glided over his shaft, then lower--down to cup his balls gently, feeling the weight of them. He spread his legs a little without a word. Inviting. Confident. Letting me take over.

I kept going, slow and steady. Stroking him while I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then another along his neck.

"You like that?" I breathed, fingers tightening slightly around him.

"You're not bad for a virgin," he whispered back, breathy and smug.

I froze with his cock still in my hand--thick, hard, pulsing against my palm. My face was close to his now, barely inches away. I raised an eyebrow and gave him a look.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

He laughed softly, low and lazy. "Troy... come on."

He turned his head toward me, eyes half-lidded, full of heat and mischief. "I can spot a virgin craving cock from a mile away. You've got that hungry little look--been staring at me with pure lust all night. Especially during FIFA."

My cheeks flushed. "I was not--"

"I know those eyes," he said, cutting me off, smirking even wider. "I know that look like fuck, what would it feel like to ride that? To taste it? To feel it throb in your hand..."

"Okay, fine," I laughed, cheeks burning hotter. "I've never done this before."

He leaned closer, his breath tickling my ear. "And yet you've got my cock in your hand like you've been practicing for months."

I grinned and slowly resumed stroking him. Long, steady glides from base to tip, using just enough pressure to make him hiss through his teeth. "To be fair... look at you, Dylan. Last time I saw you was three years ago and now--" I glanced down meaningfully, "you're basically sculpted like a Greek god. And your dick's just as cocky as you are."

He let out a quiet groan at that, one hand sliding behind his head again like he was settling in to enjoy this. "You sure you've never done this before?"

"I've watched enough to know what I want," I murmured, tracing a finger over the underside of his shaft. His cock twitched again--hot, thick, glistening now with precum that leaked from the tip, wetting my fingers.

I circled the slick head with my thumb, slow and teasing, and Dylan's body tensed. His stomach tightened, his breath hitched.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Keep going."

His voice dropped lower, deeper, like he was slipping into something darker.

I kept stroking him, this time varying the pressure--tight around the middle, light at the base, letting my fingertips dance up the length of him. His cock felt heavy in my hand, the skin smooth and hot, the tip dripping precum.

His breathing got rougher. Louder. His chest rising and falling in steady waves, but his hands didn't try to stop me. He just lay there, completely open to me, cocky and relaxed--but clearly fighting not to lose it.

"Don't stop," he growled.

I slowed just enough to drive him crazy, dragging my thumb over his slit again, spreading the precum down his shaft. His cock jumped, twitching like it was begging me for more.

And then--

I let go.

Gently, teasingly, I pulled my hand out of his shorts and slid it up his abs, dragging my fingers across the hard ridges of his body.

"Wait--what?" Dylan said, breathless. His voice cracked.

I bit my lip and smirked. "Now you know how it feels."

He blinked, still a little dazed, and I leaned in just enough for him to hear me whisper:

"When you were grinding against my ass and just stopped--yeah, I'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

His brows lifted, that cocky grin making its slow return as he laid there, still sprawled out, chest rising and falling. His abs flexed slightly under my hand. He just looked at me like he was sizing me up all over again.

"Oh, really," Dylan said, voice rich and amused. "So you've got jokes now."

He shifted slightly, his thick cock still hard, twitching against the waistband of his shorts. "You think you can play games with me, huh?"

He turned his head toward me, eyes glinting with something darker, more dangerous--but still playful. "I was being nice, Spaghetti Noodle."

I snorted. "Nice? You got me all worked up and then went to sleep."

He let out a low chuckle. "I didn't go to sleep. I was letting you marinate in it."

And then, without warning, he shifted closer. One of his hands slid down under the blanket, curling firmly around my ass and giving it a slow, greedy squeeze. I sucked in a breath as his lips brushed right against the shell of my ear.

"But you poked the bear, Troy," he whispered, voice low and heated. "That little ass of yours? It's in trouble."