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Gripp’s lithe limbs underneath me tensed as my hands gripped his hair and I pinned his head to the floor. I kissed him with fiery intent, wishing I hadn’t already come. His groan into my mouth was long and echoed against my chest as his fingers dug into the flesh of my arse. The taste I’d had wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough. I wanted to choke him with my cock while I wrapped my hands around his throat.

Pulling away, I reluctantly unwound my arms from around him. That was it, the end. I’d had my half hour with a piece of the illicit that was Gripp, it would have to do. He was Sophie’s brother. What had gone down shouldn’t have happened, couldn’t happen again.

“You need to leave.”

I jumped to my feet, kicking his clothes toward him. He moved upwards, his ink puckering and illegible as he sat with not a care in the world. I couldn’t help ogling his cock, peering at the smudge of black ink there. Even soft, he was enticing, mouth-watering. To have that fuck me would have been amazing, but this was all I was getting. I had to walk away.

“Wow. Cold, man.”

The t-shirt I’d picked up went over my head and I pushed my arms through the holes, feeling better at kicking Gripp’s arse out while I was fully clothed and didn’t have any vulnerable parts showing. Standing rigid above him, he took his time meandering around and getting dressed.

“You’re not a cuddler then?” he laughed.

What a bitch. I really liked the guy, his humour, his didn’t give a fuck attitude - he was a bad boy through and through. How I liked my partners unfortunately, although I’d never quite met anyone like him before. I was a hugger; a sappy, hanging onto you all night kind of cuddler too, liking the connection. Warm skin against mine. There was no way I was going to admit that to him, it was pointless anyway, never going to happen.

Once he was dressed and tying up his boots, his demeanour changed entirely, you could see him physically morph into the street guy he showed the world. The softness that had been there moments ago, replaced with something edgier, harsher.

“I don’t want Sophie coming back to the flat. She’s safer here.”

“No problem,” I promised. “As long as she wants, she can stay.”

“No. You make her stay,” he said, getting to his feet and striding to the door. “If she makes to leave, you persuade her otherwise. I love my sister, but she doesn’t belong in that flat with me. She deserves far better.”

I was baffled at his words, perplexed at the need to explain something I had no control over. The way I lived my life was easy in comparison to his, but I wasn’t going to apologise for it. Having no idea how to voice my aggravation without sounding arrogant, I kept my mouth shut.

He slipped quietly out the front door without another word, leaving the Loft feeling ominous and hollow, smelling of sinful sex.

* * *

Unknown: Hey. How R U?

The first text came the next day, I didn’t need a degree to figure out who it was, vaguely recognising the number I’d deleted after I’d texted Gripp at the club that night. Still, I deliberated over it for two hours until I was sure it was him. I didn’t answer back, couldn’t go down this road. It was a train wreck waiting to happen.

Unknown: U wanna meet?

Another text a few days later, I assigned ‘Gripp’ to the number, curious to see how long he’d flog a dead horse. I contemplated that one for a couple of hours too, before deciding it was a bad idea and his second text went unanswered too. Uni was kicking my butt, and as much as letting the hair down appealed, with him - not so much.

From there on, every few days Gripp sent a text. Some were random, some were pushy, yet never impolite, or crossing any lines. I left them all alone. He was the kind of guy who would only take no for an answer for so long before deciding enough was enough. He’d walk away and that would be the end of that.

So, the text that came two and a half weeks after the first one totally threw me for a loop.

Gripp: You wanna hook-up? I’m so fucking horny thinking about you.

Although taken aback at the forthright words, I felt my balls tighten. It was about eight o’clock in the morning and I had no real hurry to be at Uni, early rising wasn’t an issue unless you counted the thing in my boxers stirring awake. Reaching down, I squeezed myself through the soft cotton, groaning. I needed to pee.

I crawled off my bed and staggered into the en-suite, my hard on making pissing a daunting task. I always looked like something out of a Quasimodo movie, bent in half with a jet stream flowing from my dick as I tried to pee into the bowl and not on my feet.

Once I’d successfully managed not to soak my bathroom and my erection had deflated a little, I decided I’d have another hour under the duvet. Listening to who was up, I heard the faint chatter of Sophie and Jake. Nothing legible, both doing breakfast. I flipped my phone back on, scrolling through social media which was always an effective way to kill an hour. I didn’t use it often, other people’s drama too much for my liking, but some pages linked to excellent sports medicine sites and articles, so I tolerated the other bullshit for the sake of those.

A text alert flashed up and I saw it was Gripp again. Unusual to get two in such short succession; my curiosity got the better of me, I was suddenly eager to see what he was saying. I hadn’t replied to anything but for a weird reason, I looked forward to receiving them.

The text flashed open and I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Good. Fucking. Lord. He’d sent me a dick pic. The big, flushed head the focal point, the slit pointed right at me, blurry tattooed hand at the bottom. It’s not that I didn’t want to see it, because I did. I knew I’d be jacking off to that picture far more than I would have liked to have admitted and it annoyed me. I threw the phone on the floor, uncaring if the bloody thing broke on the solid wood. This had to stop. Gripp was taking up far too much of my time. I had no space in my life for the drama he’d ultimately bring my way.

Keep ignoring them.

What I should have done was block the number as it hadn’t been enough to simply delete before. Yet - I couldn’t bring myself to do the one thing I really, really should have. I was a masochist, a danger to my own sanity.

Pathetic.