The Walls Of Troy Part 9

"Uh, well." He looked down at the book in front of him, and I seriously expected him to insist we should get back to studying. But he took a breath and pushed his shoulders back as he lifted his gaze again. "Well, like I said, I've dated some guys who'd make my dad faint. I...haven't really stuck with my own age bracket."

"Is that right?"

He nodded. "When I was in high school, I dated college guys, and the minute I turned eighteen, I was all about the thirty-and-up crowd." He laughed as color bloomed in his cheeks. "Dad wasn't thrilled about some of the guys I brought home. The ones I didn't bring home?" He whistled.

"You don't get along with guys your own age or something?"

Troy shrugged. "I don't know. I've just always preferred older guys. The conversations are more interesting. The, uh..." The color in his face deepened. "Maybe this is TMI, but the s.e.x is better." He paused, the sudden shyness vanishing in favor of something else. Nervous? Unsettled? He avoided my eyes. "It's usually better, I mean."

"Yeah, usually."

He shook himself and met my eyes. "You've noticed?"

"Oh, yeah. There's something to be said for a man with experience, a.s.suming he learned from all that experience."

Troy laughed quietly, the shyness starting to slip back in. "Exactly. So you're into older guys too?"

"Are you kidding?" I lowered my voice. "First boyfriend I had after I turned eighteen was forty-one."

Troy's eyebrows jumped. I thought he'd ask "Really?" or make some smarta.s.s comment, but...

But.

Our eyes locked. Didn't move. The corner of his mouth flicked upward, taking my blood pressure with it, and the light glinted off his piercings as his eyebrow rose slightly too. Had my pulse been pounding like this all along? Or had that just started?

Troy swallowed. My stomach flipped. What the f.u.c.k were we doing? I was his bodyguard. Maybe a cla.s.smate and a study partner, but...

Definitely not someone I should not have been sharing anecdotes about f.u.c.king older men and dating jacka.s.ses with.

No matter how good he looked in this light.

Troy coughed into his fist and broke eye contact, which should not have left me feeling like someone had just let go of my throat.

"We should study," he said, barely whispering.

"Right. Yeah." I glanced down at the book. "Uh, where do you want to start? Chapter four?"

"Yeah. Yeah, chapter four sounds good."

We opened our books and flipped to the right pages.

And G.o.ddammit, I should've known there was no point in trying to comprehend anything academic right now. Not on the heels of that conversation.

We'd finally had a real conversation, one about ourselves rather than our cla.s.ses, and I didn't know how to feel about that. I'd wanted Troy to show some of his cards, but the ones he'd shown weren't the ones I'd had in mind, and there was no putting them back up his sleeve and pretending I'd never seen them.

Troy wasn't the first gay man I'd run into who preferred older men. I was one of those guys myself. But as the words on the page jumbled together and stopped making sense, I realized he'd said he liked the thirty-and-up crowd. Which meant I hadn't just met a guy whose older-guy preference I completely understood.

From where he was standing, I was an older guy.

And no matter how much I tried to rationalize it away as hallucinating or plain old wishful thinking, I knew that look he'd given me a minute ago. I knew it because hadn't I given that same look to a few men over the years?

Oh G.o.d.

I really was in over my head, wasn't I?

Chapter Seven.

After our study session and a long, boring biology lecture from Dr. Samson, Troy and I headed back to the house. All the while, I tried to put this morning's conversation out of my mind. I needed to be his bodyguard. Concerned for his safety and nothing else. Especially not the way one corner of his mouth rose a little higher than the other when he smiled. Or how that eyeliner was starting to grow on me because it brought out the blue in his eyes. Or how the spiked black hair was inching from really, dude? to let me run my fingers through it.

Jesus. I was so f.u.c.ked.

I did have a job to do, though, and whether or not I was tangled up in thoughts I had no business having, some things about this a.s.signment still weren't adding up. I told myself the only reason I felt the need to push for answers was because it was my job.

Of course that was bulls.h.i.t. This had started out as a job. Now? I didn't know what the h.e.l.l was going on. Or why I couldn't think around him. Or stop thinking about him.

We walked into the house, and of course, Talos came down to greet Troy, so while they said h.e.l.lo to each other, I went into the security office to sign out and download my weapon.

When I came back, though, keys in hand so I could head back to my apartment, Troy lingered by the stairs. His book bag still leaned against the bottom step, and he sat beside it, petting Talos. When he saw me, he rose, as did my pulse.

"Hey." He swallowed. "Uh...I was thinking..." He cleared his throat and motioned toward the second floor. "We've got that exam coming up in bio. Maybe we should study?"

I held his gaze, my heart thumping as he looked right back at me, his eyes a mix of bold and uncertain. I wondered if I was imagining that devilish gleam. Even if I was, I sure as f.u.c.k wasn't imagining the effect it had on my entire cardiovascular system.

"Um." I shifted my weight, glancing down at Talos just because I needed something else to look at besides Troy, and h.e.l.l, the dog was there. And huge. And could probably take off my arm if he wanted to. s.h.i.t.

I brought my gaze back up again, and G.o.ddammit, I was looking right back at Troy. "Probably not tonight. I've got some c.r.a.p I need to take care of at home."

His shoulders came down so subtly it was almost imperceptible, but the combination of relief and disappointment in his face was unmistakable. "Okay. Well, um. I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Yeah. 0700. I'll be here."

"Good. Okay."

We locked eyes again, the air between us thrumming with a weird vibe that I hoped to G.o.d he couldn't feel. Just because we'd opened up to each other a little while we'd been studying didn't mean the door was open for more.

"I should go," I said, barely managing a whisper.

He nodded. "Yeah. I should"-he nodded toward the stairs-"study."

"Good idea. I'll..." We'd already done this. Why were we going around and around? "I'll see you tomorrow."

He took the first step up the stairs, which lifted him to just slightly above my eye level. Then he turned and continued up, Talos on his heels as always.

And before they'd even made it to the top, I got the f.u.c.k out of there so I could clear my head.

On autopilot, I made it back to my apartment building.

I went up to my apartment and collapsed on the couch. My mind was still reeling, and without the road to hold even a little bit of my attention, I could think of nothing except for Troy and this whole f.u.c.ked-up situation.

Neither of us had made a move, but those looks and silences in the study room had been too loaded to ignore. It was like we'd broken some of the ice recently but had still been keeping each other at arm's length for no reason I could put my finger on. Until today. With no one else around, we'd dropped the act and actually talked, and hadn't that f.u.c.ked with my head?

And then we'd come home. And he'd suggested studying.

And why didn't I believe him? Was I imagining that gleam in his eye?

G.o.ddammit, I was losing my f.u.c.king mind.

Since my a.s.signment kept me at his side for hours every day, it was only a matter of time before something gave. I'd never make a pa.s.s at someone I was guarding, but I'd have been lying if I told myself I'd say no if he did, or if he'd pushed just a little harder to "study" together tonight.

a.s.suming I hadn't been reading too much into that. I hoped I was. Because if I wasn't...

f.u.c.k. We were both adults, but I was the one with the responsibility toward him. I was the one who was obligated to be the G.o.dd.a.m.ned adult and put a stop to things before they got out of hand. Or before they got farther out of hand.

I shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the front of my jeans, but that didn't help. I was rock hard just from thinking about Troy, and that wasn't going away any time soon. Especially not when my mind kept going right back to Troy. And his mouth. And his body. And those eyes. f.u.c.k, those eyes...

I rubbed my hand over my face. This was ridiculous. I didn't need to do anything except take a f.u.c.king cold shower and get my head back in the game.

Cold shower. Definitely.

I stripped out of my clothes and refused to even acknowledge this d.a.m.ned hard-on as I stepped into the shower. I started the water warm for now, to see if that would help, but I wasn't above turning it cold. The alternative was...no. Absolutely not. I was not jacking off to him. No f.u.c.king way. That would only make tomorrow morning h.e.l.l.

Right. As if that ship hadn't already sailed.

Exhaling, I pressed my palms against the wall and let my head fall forward so the water could rush over my neck and back. A stream slid over my shoulder, down my chest, and right along the side of my d.i.c.k, and I clawed at the cold, fake tile wall as I twisted my hips just right to redirect the water. Which didn't help. At all. f.u.c.k.

Just do it. A few strokes, an o.r.g.a.s.m, and...

No.

I stepped back to douse my face with water, which of course let the warm cascade land right on my increasingly unbearable erection. Turning my back didn't help. Nothing did. Nothing was going to help except either jerking off or getting laid, and the latter definitely wasn't happening, because the only man I wanted tonight was the last man in the world I had any business f.u.c.king.

Still. I knew d.a.m.n well getting myself off to Troy wouldn't make things any worse, but...I couldn't.

I thought about everything imaginable besides Troy. Old women. Horror movies. That softball game when Chief Young sent a line drive right into my groin, and how much worse it would've hurt if I hadn't been wearing a cup. I even tried to call on the guilt of my Catholic upbringing.

Nothing helped.

I turned the tap to cold and grunted as the freezing water landed on my back. G.o.ddammit. Even that didn't do anything, and I shouldn't have been surprised. f.u.c.k that tolerance for cold I'd built up after jerking off in the shower on a ship. That had long ago taught me the difference between a half-a.s.sed need to blow off some steam or relieve some boredom-a little cold water always took care of that in a hurry-and the desperate, mind-bending tension that wasn't going anywhere until I'd given in and gotten off.

f.u.c.k it.

I turned off the water but didn't get out of the shower, and instead braced my arm against the wall and closed my fingers around my c.o.c.k. One stroke, and I released a low, throaty groan that echoed in the tiny bathroom, and I pressed my forehead against my arm as I kept stroking. My hips joined in, thrusting in time until I was f.u.c.king my own fist the way I wanted-needed-to be f.u.c.king Troy.

I didn't even know if he was a top or a bottom, and my mind played both possibilities out in the most graphic, mouthwatering fashion. Like a split-screen p.o.r.no, I saw myself f.u.c.king him from behind, slamming into him with one hand on his hip and the other in his hair, and at the exact same time, I saw us bent over a bed, Troy riding me fast and hard while I jerked my d.i.c.k just like I was doing in real life.

"s.h.i.t," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as I pumped faster, as the fantasies picked up speed and my whole body tensed. In my mind, Troy bucked against me, driving me deeper, and on the other side of the split screen, he reared back and roared as he f.u.c.ked me harder, and I- Lost it.

Just...lost it.

My eyes rolled back. My whole body trembled. I didn't even feel the cool air on my wet skin. Nothing existed except the tremors and electricity and the twin p.o.r.nos of Troy in my mind.

Panting and shaking, I stopped. I still held my hypersensitive d.i.c.k in my s.e.m.e.n-coated hand and, for the longest time, didn't move.

d.a.m.n it. My heartbeat hadn't even started to come back down before the what the f.u.c.k am I thinking? set in. Sighing, I turned on the water again, let it warm back up, and rinsed off the sweat and s.e.m.e.n.

I dried myself off and stumbled into the bedroom, where I collapsed across my bed, my arm slung over my eyes as I tried to catch my breath.

And now there was no escaping my brain and its not entirely off-base accusation that I was a f.u.c.king idiot. I'd lost my ever-loving mind. Getting this hung up on someone that young? He couldn't even drink yet. I'd been able to drink longer than he'd been able to drive. He was an admiral's kid, and my professional responsibility.

Dropping my arm to my side, I stared up at the ceiling. Now that the most distracting tension was gone, and I could think again-sort of-I tried to examine things more objectively.

Troy had never been as relaxed around me as he had been today. Confined to a room in the back of a library with an armed guard, he seemed to calm down a lot. He wasn't the same guy who'd had a panic attack in a crowd. He wasn't the sullen kid with an att.i.tude.

Which meant...

The incredibly guarded personality was a front. That, coupled with the panic attacks, removed any doubt I might've had that something had f.u.c.ked with his head. Which meant there was a possibility that having me as a bodyguard might not have been enough. I couldn't protect him when I was away from him, like I was at that moment. I also couldn't protect him from demons that lived in his head.

He needed more protection.

And something told me that whether Admiral Dalton was willing to admit it or not, Troy needed to see a therapist.

I dressed in civvies and went back over to Admiral Dalton's house. I slipped in through the back to the security office.

MA1 Johnson looked up from some paperwork. "Hey, Iskander. You heading out for the night?"

"No, I actually just came back for..." I hesitated. "Is the admiral home?"

Johnson nodded. "Yeah." He glanced at his watch. "This time of night, he's probably in his private study."

"Where's that?"

His eyebrow arched. "I don't think you understand. He likes to be left alone when he's in his study. No one goes in there."

"Duly noted." I shifted my weight. "Where's the study?"

He eyed me, lips tight. Then he sighed. "Your funeral, MA1. Second floor, take a right after the stairs, last door on your left."

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

"G'night, MA1."