Chapter 20: Ghosts of Touch

Cody POV

I sit on my couch, Ryan’s note from the club crumpled in my hand. “Meet me tomorrow.” I didn’t go. My chest hurts, heavy and tight. I ran from him in that alley, his curse still loud in my head. My jeans from that night hang over a chair, stiff with dried sweat. I can’t stop seeing him—leather jacket, hips rolling, hands on me. My heart’s bleeding, but my pride’s too big. I shove the note in a drawer, slamming it shut. My apartment’s quiet, dark. Too empty. I need to forget him. Even for a night.

I head out, streets wet from late rain. A bar’s open, lights dim and red. I walk in, air thick with smoke and beer. My shirt’s tight, black, sticking to my chest. A guy leans on the bar, short brown hair, eyes on me. He’s not Ryan, but he’ll do. I nod, slow. He grins, walking over. “Hey,” he says, voice low. My stomach flips, nervous but needy. “Hey,” I say back, throat dry. We talk a little, words blurry. My hand shakes when I sip my drink. He touches my arm, warm and rough. I lean in, desperate.

We stumble to his place, a small room down the street. Door shuts hard. His hands grab my shirt, pulling it off fast. My chest’s bare, sweaty already. I kick off my shoes, jeans next. He’s on me, lips hard and wet. I close my eyes tight, picturing Ryan. His voice fills my head, low and dirty. “Fuck me, dancer,” he’d say, like that night in his bed. My stranger’s hands slide down, yanking my boxers off. I’m hard, cock bouncing free. He drops to his knees, mouth open. His lips wrap around me, hot and tight. I groan loud, hands in his hair. It’s short, not Ryan’s thick mess. I push deeper, hips rocking slow.

He sucks hard, tongue flat on the underside. My cock throbs, wet with spit. I feel his throat, tight when he takes me deep. My legs shake bad, toes curling on the cold floor. I imagine Ryan’s dark eyes looking up, like in the pool. “Yeah,” I moan, voice shaky. His hands grab my ass, squeezing firm. He pulls off, gasping, then licks slow, tip to base. My head tips back, chest heaving. I thrust again, faster. Spit drips down his chin, messy and loud. I come quick, hot in his mouth, groaning Ryan’s name in my head. He swallows, panting. My knees wobble, weak. It’s good, but it’s not him.

I flop on his bed, breath fast. He climbs over, naked now. His cock’s hard, thick, brushing my thigh. I roll him under me, hands on his chest. My fingers dig in, feeling muscle. I picture Ryan’s tan skin, his groans. I grab lube from his table, slicking my hand. I stroke him slow, then fast. He moans loud, hips bucking up. I climb on, lining him up. I sink down, slow at first. He’s big, stretching me tight. I gasp sharp, eyes shut. Ryan’s voice echoes, “Take me,” like our first time. I ride hard, ass slapping his thighs. Sweat drips off me, hot and salty. He grabs my hips, thrusting up. I come again, spilling on his stomach, shaking bad. He follows, grunting loud, warm inside me. I collapse, empty. It’s not enough. It’s not Ryan.

I leave fast, clothes back on, head spinning. My chest’s tight, aching worse. Back home, I sit alone, lights off. My hand’s on myself again, shorts down. I see Ryan’s old dance clips in my head—me spinning, him watching. My cock’s hard, needy. I stroke fast, picturing him jerking off too. He’s in his big house, sprawled on his bed. His jeans are open, hand wrapped tight around himself. My spins play on his phone, hips swaying slow. He groans my name, “Cody,” voice rough and low. His hand moves quick, precum shining on his fingers. His abs flex, tan skin sweaty. He comes hard, cum splattering his chest, thick and white. His breath’s shaky, loud in the quiet. I lose it too, moaning loud, spilling over my hand. My room’s dark, lonely. My heart bleeds, raw and torn.

Night drags on. My phone buzzes at 3 a.m. I grab it, hands shaky. A text. Ryan. My heart stops, then races fast. “Miss your cock,” it says. My throat gets tight. I type quick, fingers fumbling. “Want your mouth.” My chest heaves, needy and dumb. He texts back fast. “Touch yourself. Now.” My hand’s already down my shorts, stroking slow. I picture his lips, wet and hot, sucking me deep. I moan soft, hips lifting. “You too,” I text, breathless. He sends, “Yeah. Hard for you.” My head spins, dizzy and hot. I stroke faster, imagining his groans. My legs shake bad, bed creaking. “Miss you,” he texts. My eyes sting, wet and blurry.

“Miss you too,” I send, voice in my head cracking. My hand’s slick, moving wild. I see him on his bed, hand pumping fast. His cock’s thick, red at the tip. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down. He groans my name, loud and rough. I hear it through the phone, almost real. My breath’s fast, chest tight. I come hard, moaning loud, spilling over my stomach. My phone pings. “Just came. You?” it says. I nod, dumb, texting, “Yeah.” My body shakes, spent and sore. Pride keeps me quiet. I don’t call. He doesn’t either. My chest hurts, bleeding slow.

I lie there, shorts tangled at my ankles. My hand’s sticky, resting on my thigh. My phone glows, dark now. Silence presses in, heavy and cold. My heart’s loud, aching bad. I want him here, hands on me, voice in my ear. But I ran. I ended it. My throat burns, dry and sore. I pull my shorts up, curling tight. My chest heaves, shaky breaths. I see him still—jerking off, groaning my name. My hand twitches, wanting him. Pride stops me. My eyes shut, wet at the corners. Sleep pulls slow, heavy with him.

Then my phone buzzes again. Sharp. Loud. My eyes snap open, fumbling fast. A voicemail. My heart stops, hard and quick. I hit play, hands shaking. His voice crackles through, low and rough.