My Best Friend's Brother Dylan Was Supposed to Be Straight
by Troy
Chapter 7
Dylan Is In Control
I stayed there on my knees, pulse pounding in my ears, eyes locked on Dylan's. His grip on my hair was firm, commanding, but not painful—more like a leash he knew I wasn't going to try breaking. His stare bore into me, daring me, testing me.
"Look at you," he said softly, almost amused. "Didn't take much, did it?"
I could feel my face flush, but I didn't back down. "You act like I didn't make you beg last night," I said, my voice rough with pride—and something hungrier underneath.
Dylan gave a low laugh, then finally released my hair, fingers trailing through it before he sat back again. "Fair," he muttered. "But I'm still the one in control now."
His legs remained spread, casual, confident, like he was daring me to make another move.
I stayed still, heart thundering in my chest, staring up at him from the floor. Dylan hadn't moved—his legs still spread, eyes burning into me with a heat that stripped me bare.
He leaned forward just slightly, one elbow on his knee, his fingers slowly brushing over his own thigh like he was in no rush. Like he knew I wasn't going anywhere.
"Say it," he said, voice low, smooth like velvet with something dangerous underneath. "Say I'm in control."
My breath caught, throat suddenly dry. He wasn't asking for a joke, or a tease. This was a moment— the moment—and I could feel the weight of it settling over both of us.
"I…" I started, but the words tangled.
He tilted his head. "Come on, spaghetti noodle. You wanted to play? Let's play for real. Say it."
His voice wrapped around me, and I felt something crack open in my chest. My pride, my resistance—it all flickered under that stare, under his voice. And it felt good. Too good.
"You're in control," I whispered, the words slipping out shakier than I meant.
Dylan's eyes lit up with a slow, pleased smile, like he'd just claimed something important. "Louder."
My throat tightened. I looked up at him, every nerve in my body on fire, and I said it again, this time stronger, firmer—because I meant it. "You're in control."
He let out a low hum of approval and leaned back, arms draped lazily across the top of the couch like a king surveying his throne.
"Good boy," he said, and I swear my entire body reacted to the praise like it was wired into me.
My knees pressed into the carpet, tension humming through me. His control wasn't physical—it didn't have to be. It was how he looked at me, how he talked to me. Like he could see every inch of my need, every stubborn little part I'd tried to hold back—and loved making it unravel.
He reached down, hand curling under my chin, tilting my face up toward him. His thumb traced my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing it.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth, then back up to mine, holding me there like a command already spoken.
"Lick it," Dylan said, his voice low and rough with authority. "There's your prize."
My breath hitched, body tightening at the sound of his voice—so sure, so calm, like he owned the moment and knew it.
"Open your mouth," he continued, the pad of his thumb pressing just slightly more into my lip, enough to make my heart stutter. "And take a good feel of what you've been wanting for so long, Troy."
He guided my face back down, letting me drag my lips along the heavy length beneath his sweats. The heat of him soaked through the thin fabric, pulsing against my mouth. I didn't kiss—just let my breath wash over him, slow and deliberate.
"Damn," Dylan murmured, looking down at me with that lazy, cocky grin. "Would you look at that? Mouth's already salivating."
I rolled my eyes, lips ghosting over the bulge. "It's called anticipation , not thirst."
"Sure," he snorted. "Tell that to the drool you just left all over me."
I blinked, cheeks flushing as I pulled back just enough to see it—yep. There it was. A dark wet spot spread across the front of his sweats, right where my mouth had been.
Dylan raised an eyebrow and looked real damn proud of himself. "Wow. Didn't know I had that effect on you, spaghetti boy."
"Don't flatter yourself," I muttered, trying to play it cool. "Gravity's to blame."
"Mmhm," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, chest flexing just to taunt me. "That's what you'd say right before you'd choke on it."
My eyes flicked up at him. "I thought you were straight…"
Dylan's grin deepened, slow and wicked. "Not for you, Troy." His voice dropped, thick and deliberate. "The way you arched your ass into me last night? The way you look at me like you need me? I wanna show you exactly what happens when you tempt me like that."
The air around us buzzed as he sat up slightly, gaze locked on mine, full of heat and authority.
"Take off my sweats."
My breath hitched. My hands moved without thinking, fingers slipping under the waistband, brushing hot skin. His abs twitched beneath my touch, the soft fabric dragging slowly as I peeled it down, inch by torturous inch. I didn't rush—my fingertips grazed over his hips, down the sharp lines of his pelvis, tracing the heat radiating off him.
As I eased his sweats down past his hips, his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and heavy, slapping up against his stomach with a soft, solid sound. My breath caught in my throat. There was no more guessing now. No teasing. It was right there , hard and ready, and bigger than I'd let myself imagine.
Dylan looked down at me, smug as ever, that grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "There it is," he said, voice low and dripping with cocky satisfaction. "What you've been staring at every time I stretch."
He leaned back slightly, one hand resting behind his head, the other lazily stroking the base, like he had all the time in the world. "Now…" He tilted his head, smirk sharpening. "Let's see how that smart mouth of yours feels."
Then his voice dropped, all tease and command rolled into one:
"C'mon, Troy. Bring that tongue closer to my balls."
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
