My Bully Invited Me To His Hotel Room - Part 1,2,3

My Bully Invited Me To His Hotel Room - Part 1,2,3

Wes Carter bullied me in college, but I still can’t stop thinking about his body. Now we’re alone, and I can’t tell if he wants to fight me… or fuck me.

___________

I should’ve skipped the reunion. Would’ve been easier. Would’ve saved me the headache, the old wounds, the ugly memories that kept crawling back whenever I thought about him.

Wes Carter. My college bully.

He didn’t just tease me like it was some harmless joke — he made it a public sport. Humiliating me wasn’t a side quest for him; it was the main event.
Day after day, week after week, until the idea of showing up to campus felt like stepping onto a firing line.

I still remember that day in lecture. How he laughed — loud enough for the whole room to hear — and said,

"Noah’s just mad ‘cause he wants to suck me off."

And the thing was — it stuck. The laughter did too. It wrapped itself around me like a second skin.Echoed down every hallway, filled every locker room, every shitty dining hall with whispers and smirks that never seemed to die.

And yeah, if I’m being honest — he was fucking hot. Maybe that was the cruelest part. I was into him, I still am. Wes had that stupid golden-boy thing going. Tan skin, perfect careless hair, a jawline that looked like it belonged in a goddamn magazine. His arms were thick. His smile was easy. And no matter how much I hated him — some fucked-up part of me hated how much I still noticed.

I hadn’t seen him since graduation. Not until tonight. The hotel bar was packed. Noise and fake smiles. Classmates pretending the years hadn’t hit them as hard as they had. I stayed close to the edge, drink untouched, scanning the crowd for a way out.

And then — there he was.

Wes.

Sitting at the bar like he owned it. Like the years hadn’t touched him at all. He was fitter now, broader across the chest and shoulders. His olive-green t-shirt stretched tight against him like it barely survived the trip over his body.
His face had gotten sharper, rougher somehow — but the tan skin, the careless hair, the gravity he carried when he smiled — that was all still there.

And when he saw me — he smiled.

Like none of it had ever happened. Like we were just two old mates bumping into each other after all these years. My stomach twisted. I should’ve turned around. Should’ve slipped out while I still could. Instead, I walked straight toward him.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, raising his drink in some half-assed salute.
“Didn’t think you’d talk to me,” I said, leveling my voice so it wouldn’t shake.

He grinned. “Why not?”

I tilted my head. “You made it your hobby to humiliate me in college. Ring any bells?”

His smile faltered — just for a second.
“C’mon, man. That was just stupid college shit. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Wasn’t deep?” I said, my laugh low and cold.
“You called me out in lecture. You made me a joke.”

He dropped his gaze. Thumb running along the rim of his glass like he was trying to find an excuse not to look at me.

“Okay. Yeah. That one was bad.”

“You weren’t just another guy laughing,” I said.
“You were the ringleader. Everyone followed your lead.”

He finally looked at me then.And something cracked open between us — something old and bitter and too big to hide anymore.
“I didn’t think it stuck with you,” he said, voice quieter now.

“You don’t get to say that.”

The air between us tightened — like a rubber band stretched too far.
For the first time, maybe ever, Wes Carter looked sorry.
Really, truly sorry.

He looked at me — something behind his eyes shifting.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I was a dick. A dumbass kid trying to look cool. Doesn’t make it okay. But I mean it.”

I didn’t say anything.Just watched him.

He shifted a little. “I didn’t even realize you were... you know..”

“I wasn’t out, back then” I cut in.

His head snapped up.
“So, you seriously are gay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Posted about it a few months ago. Got a lot of love. People messaged and showed their support.”

I let it sit there for a second.
Then added, “You didn’t, though.”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him.
“I didn’t know what to say.”

“That never stopped you before.”

There was a pause.

Then he exhaled, soft and shaky.
“I deserved that.”

I crossed my arms. “So what now? You offer me a drink and hope I forget?”

“No,” he said. “But a few of us are hanging in my room later. Just chill stuff. Music. Beers. Room 1406. You should come by.”

I blinked. Raised a brow. “You think a party will make up for what you did?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“But maybe I can start with not being an asshole anymore. Just… come by. Let me apologize without a hundred people around.”

I didn’t answer. He just nodded once — almost like he knew it could go either way — and turned. And just like that, Wes Carter walked away.

_________

An hour later, I was standing outside Room 1406.

I should’ve left. Should’ve gone back to my overpriced Airbnb and pretended none of this happened. I didn’t even get the chance to wonder if it was a mistake.

Because the door opened. And there he was.

Wes.

No music. No voices. No crowd.

Just Wes.

Hair damp. Towel around his neck. No shirt. Chest still glistening from the shower.
That same stupid smirk — only this time, it was quieter. Lower.
Something behind it I couldn’t place.

Not cocky. Not cruel. Just...dark. Like he’d been waiting for me. He simply looked at me — lips curling into a different kind of smile. Not the arrogant grin from our college days.

Something heavier. Something worse.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asked.

And I didn’t answer.
I just stepped inside.

The click of the hotel door was louder than I expected. Sharp. Final. Like the sound sealed something in.Or trapped me.

I stood there in the entryway. Not saying a word.

Wes didn’t either.

He just watched me. Towel still around his neck. Water still clinging to his chest.
No shirt. No apology in his eyes. Just that look. The one that said he was thinking things he hadn’t said out loud in years. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps flexed with the movement, casual like he wasn’t even trying.

“So…” he said, voice low.
“You gonna stand there all night, or come in?”

My heart wouldn’t shut up. But my legs moved anyway. I stepped in. Slowly. Cautiously. “There’s no party here,” I said.

He didn’t even flinch. “Nope.”
“You lied.”
“I did.”

I stared at him. My hands clenched at my sides. “Why would you do that, Wes?”

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the minibar. His back looked wider than I remembered. Thicker. Stronger. The muscles across his shoulders flexed when he twisted the cap off a bottle.

“I figured you wouldn’t come if it was just me.”

“So you tricked me?”

He turned, bottle dangling loosely in one hand. “I just want to talk Noah,” he said. “Without everyone watching.”

I folded my arms across my chest. Tried to hold myself together.
“You got something to say, say it.”

He exhaled. Set the drink down with a soft thunk. And walked toward me. Each step slow. Heavy. Like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get.
“You asked me why,” Wes said, stopping just inches from me.
“Why I made your life hell back in college.”

I nodded, jaw tight.

He was close enough now that I could smell the soap on his skin.
That clean, fresh scent mixed with something warmer. Something human.
“You wanna know the truth?” he said.

“That’d be nice.”

He paused. Then his voice dropped—low, rough, real.
“Because you made me nervous.”

I blinked. Staring. “What?”

“You looked at me different than everyone else did,” he said.
“Back then, I didn’t get it. But I felt it. Every time you were in the room, I—”
He stopped. Shook his head, like the words tasted bitter coming out.

“You made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel.”

I swallowed hard. My throat felt like it barely worked.
“And instead of dealing with that, you humiliated me?”

He nodded. Once. Quiet. Solid. No excuses.
“Yeah. I am sorry about that.”

“You made me the punchline of your own confusion?”

Another small nod.

“I was scared,” he said, voice rasping. “Not of you. Of me.”

Silence stretched between us.
Thick. Heavy. Charged.

And then he said it—
“You still make me nervous Noah.”

That line—Jesus. It hit like a bruise I didn’t know was still tender. I should’ve walked out. Should’ve thrown the door open and left him there with his guilt and muscles and five years too late. But I didn’t. I stayed. Because that look in his eyes wasn’t cocky. Wasn’t cruel. It was starving.

I leaned in first. Just barely. And he took the rest.

His mouth crashed into mine like he’d been holding back since college. Like he hated himself for wanting it, but needed it more than air. His hand caught my jaw—tight, like I’d run if he didn’t grip hard enough—and his lips opened against mine, hot and rough.

He tasted like hotel soap and whiskey and something darker. His tongue slid past my lips. Slow. Tasting me like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or the only thing he’d ever done right.

I groaned into him, hand fisting the back of his neck. Wet skin under my palm. His chest crushed against mine—all heat, all muscle, all anger. And when he gripped my waist and yanked me flush against him—

I gasped. Soft. Choked. Just this helpless little sound into his mouth.
He growled. Not a moan. Not a sigh. A fucking growl.
And then everything went primal.

He kissed me like he wanted to ruin me—teeth on my bottom lip, breath hot, his hips grinding into mine without shame or hesitation. His hand slid lower, grabbing the back of my thigh, hoisting it up like he couldn’t get close enough.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was five years of tension breaking like a snapped cord. He kissed like a man possessed. And I kissed him back like I was drowning and he was the only sin that could save me.

When I finally tore away, I was shaking. Breathless. My lips were raw. My whole body thrummed. Wes’s eyes were still on me. Black with want. Voice low and broken.

“You okay?” he asked, voice wrecked.
I nodded. Barely.
“Yeah. Just—fuck.”

I looked at him. Really looked. Wes Carter. My bully. My crush.
My fucking mess of a memory.
And right now? He looked like he wanted to worship me and destroy me at the same time.

He sat back on the edge of the bed. Legs spread. Elbows on his knees. Still shirtless. Still looking at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
“You still want answers?” he said.

I nodded.

His palm patted the space between his thighs.
“Then come here,” Wes said, voice all gravel. “Come closer.”

I stared down at him. Wes sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, towel barely clinging to his hips. His eyes dragged up my body like he wasn’t sure if I was about to slap him or climb into his lap. His fingers grazed my thigh — featherlight. Testing the waters.

“You always this quiet when you're turned on?” he said, voice low, cracked at the edges.

I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
I stepped in close. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin. My hand slid into his hair, fingers tangling through the damp strands. He leaned into it like he’d been waiting for me to touch him for years.

The towel slipped off his shoulders, landing behind him in a quiet heap. I dragged my thumb along the curve of his jaw. Felt the stubble bite my skin.

"Show me," I said. "Show me you're sorry."

His breath caught — just a hitch — and then he moved.
Hands slow. Careful. Like he was afraid he’d break the moment if he moved too fast. He pushed my shirt up, eyes tracing every inch of skin like it was sacred. I let him lift it over my head. Toss it aside.

He stared. Like he didn’t believe I was real. Then his mouth found my stomach — a soft, reverent kiss that made every muscle twitch.

Lower.

Lower.

His fingers trembled as he popped my belt. Dragged my zipper down. I kicked off my jeans and briefs, cock heavy between us. Wes stared at it like he’d just found religion.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said, voice barely there. “Never even kissed a guy before tonight.”

I tightened my grip in his hair. Tugged just enough to make him look up at me.

“You sure you want to?”

“I need to,” he breathed. “Please.”

I didn’t say a word. Just let him work.

Wes leaned in, mouth opening around the head of my cock. The first feel of his mouth was hot, wet and clumsy. I made my hips jerk forward without thinking. He sucked too tight at first. Didn’t know how deep to go. But fuck, it didn’t matter. It was Wes Carter. On his knees. Lips wrapped around my cock like he needed it to breathe.

He gagged a little when he tried to take more, pulling back coughing, spit dripping down his chin.

"Fuck, that's it" I breathed, tightening my grip in his hair.

He looked up at me, eyes wild, and then he went back in.
Hungrier. Sloppier.
His mouth slid lower, wet and greedy. Cheeks hollowing. Spit pooling at the corners of his lips. The sounds—loud, obscene—made my cock throb harder against his tongue.

Watching him — watching Wes Carter — my goddamn nightmare from college — with his lips wrapped around my cock, struggling, moaning, trying so hard — it almost broke me. I rocked my hips forward, feeding him more, and he took it. Gagged again but didn’t stop. His hands gripped my thighs like he needed to hold onto something real.

“Good boy,” I muttered, voice low.

Wes whimpered at that — actually whimpered — and sucked harder, rubbing his thighs together like he couldn’t help it. The sound of him — messy, desperate, so fucking needy — filled my head, my chest, my cock.

He pumped the base with one hand, sloppy and desperate. His other hand clutched my leg like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. He sucked harder, faster, chasing the rhythm like his life depended on it.

“Jesus, Wes—” I growled. “You are doing so fucking good.”

He pumped the base of my shaft with one hand, jerky and wet, while he bobbed his head, getting sloppier by the second. He whimpered around me and it went straight to my balls. His eyes fluttered closed. He sucked harder like he needed the praise. Like he’d never been called anything that made him feel wanted before. His hand pumped the base in sloppy strokes while his mouth worked the rest.

Spit dripped from the corner of his mouth.
He was a mess.
My mess.

"Fuck, Wes—" I growled, tugging his hair, trying to pull him back.

But he fought it. Shook his head. Mouthed deeper onto me like he wanted it. Like he needed to finish what he started.

Watching him — Watching my college bully gagging on my dick, struggling to take me deeper, choking and still fucking trying— It did something to me. And then his throat tightened around my cock, when I felt the hot clench of him swallowing me down—I lost it.

My whole body shuddered.
Heat tearing through me like wildfire.
My cock throbbed deep inside his mouth.

After a while, he popped off, gasping. Spit stringing from his lips to the head of my cock before it snapped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chest rising and falling hard. His cheeks were flushed deep red. His hair was a mess where I’d been gripping it.

He caught his breath — then huffed a small, wrecked laugh.

"Damn," Wes said, voice hoarse.

"That's a new feeling."

I just stared at him. At the boy who once made my life hell, now kneeling there like he’d been built to fall apart for me.

Wes pushed himself up, slow, still breathing heavy. And then he sat back onto the bed. Legs spreading wide. Arms resting loose on his thighs.
Casual. Open. But his eyes stayed locked on me the whole time. Hungry. Waiting. Daring me to make the next move.

Without a word, I dropped to my knees.

Wes's eyes locked onto mine, his breath quickening as the towel barely hung on, the tension between us so thick you could taste it.

I looked up at him, a grin tugging at my lips. “Think you can handle my throat, big guy?”

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