My Bully Walked In and Found Another Man on My Bed

Quick Summary: *Noah, once humiliated by Wes, the jock who made his college years hell, is now in control at their reunion. Wes, desperate and horny, can't stop texting Noah, craving more after their heated hotel encounter. With every message, Noah plays hard to get, teasing Wes with the power he once lacked. As the tension builds, Noah’s not ready to give in; he's making Wes beg for it. It's all about control, and Noah's calling the shots now.*

The hotel bar was packed. Everyone dressed their best. Glamorous, but aging. Polished, but pretending. I let them all fade into background noise. Because when I walked in tight royal blue shirt hugging my chest, sleeves rolled just enough to show a vein or two,I wasn’t looking for conversation.

I was hunting.

And he was already watching. Wes stood near the far end, tall and fuckable in that black button-down—tight across his chest, collar open like he wanted someone to grab it and pull. He looked rich in that shirt. Hungry in the eyes. And next to him, of course, was Ryan Evans, Wes's best friend, grinning like a bastard in a blood-red formal shirt, black pants, hair tousled from probably not giving a shit.

They were a pair. Hot. Smug. And already undressing me with their eyes. I took my time walking past. Ran my fingers along a table. Bent slightly to grab a drink, let the shirt pull tight around my waist.

And then Wes moved in. “You look so fucking hot in that shirt,” he whispered behind me. I felt his breath, low and begging. “Noah, please let me take it off tonight.”

My smirk lit up before I even turned.
“You asking for permission now?” I said, facing him slowly. My fingers trailed lightly across his arm as I passed by. His jaw tensed.

Ryan raised his brows, sipping his drink nearby. “Damn, bro. He’s gonna make you beg.”

I shot Ryan a glance. “Still not over yesterday, huh?”

He laughed, soft and smug, looking like he knew every inch of what I tasted like.

Wes grabbed my wrist gently as I stepped past, eyes dark. “You’re evil.”

“No,” I said, licking my bottom lip. “I’m just enjoying myself.”
And I was. Watching Wes squirm under all that tension. His fingers on my skin. His breath uneven. I could *see* how tensed he was. His forearms flexed, veins thick. His cock? Definitely straining against those tight black pants.

I leaned in slightly. “You hard already?”
He exhaled through his nose. Didn’t answer.
“Thought so,” I whispered, then slipped away into the crowd.

\--------------

The day dragged on with boring activities. Photos, speeches, some awkward “so what do you do now?” moments. I played nice. But my eyes kept wandering.

Wes and I would brush past each other. Accidentally on purpose.
Once, he leaned close beside me during a group photo and I felt it—his thigh. Tensed. Close. Hard.
I looked over and smiled. Didn’t say a word.

\----------------

Evening hit, and the lights dimmed in the ballroom. More drinks. More small talk.

And then there it was again. That pull.

I found myself walking past Wes and Ryan once more—same corner, same bar. Wes looked like he’d been wrecked by the mere memory of last night. And the anticipation of tonight.

“You’re driving me fucking insane looking like that,” he muttered.

I leaned on the counter beside him. Didn’t touch him, but close enough that my shoulder brushed his arm. He groaned, low. Hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to touch me without grabbing.

Ryan wandered by, winked at him, and clapped him on the back. “Told you he’d make you work for it.”
“You have no idea,” Wes gritted.

I turned. Closed the space between us. My lips brushed the edge of his ear, warm and slow. “My room tonight,” I whispered, low and loaded. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Wes’s breath hitched. His hand twitched at his side.
“You really have to earn it though.”

He leaned in closer, voice hoarse. “Anything,” he breathed. “I’m ready to do anything. I want you.”

I smirked, stepped back without touching him.
No glance. No mercy.
Let him watch me disappear into the crowd, cock throbbing in those tight fucking pants.

I wasn’t gonna fuck my bully tonight.
I was gonna make him *crave* it so bad it hurt.


\---------------------

Around midnight, there it was— a knock on my hotel door.
Of course it was Wes. It had to be.

I opened it slow. Wes stood there, breathless. Shirt clinging to him. Three buttons undone, exposing that thick chest I’d been teasing all damn day. His eyes were dark, hungry.

“Come on in,” I said, stepping aside. “I want to introduce you to somebody.”

He blinked. Hesitated. Then walked in.

That’s when he saw **him**.

Sitting on the edge of my bed was someone new— but fuck, he looked like sin in skin.

Late 20s. Lean muscle, carved like he lived in the gym but didn’t brag about it. Dark olive-green shirt clung to his chest, sleeves tight around his thick biceps. Veins down his forearms, one leg slightly bounced like he was just *waiting* to be told what to do—or who to ruin.
Messy dark hair. Tanned skin. Eyes sharp and unreadable. The kind of smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked.

And Wes… he just stood there. Staring.

I could practically hear the blood rush to his cock.

**Luca** looked up. Smirked. “Oh,” he said, slow and low, eyes dragging over Wes’s body.