StoriesByTroy

Three months have passed since that unforgettable night in Paris. Troy stands at the window of his apartment, gazing out at the golden city lights stretching across the Seine. The view still takes his breath away every single time. He has started a part time job at a charming local patisserie, a place that perfectly suits his creative side. Between serving fresh pastries and coffee, he sketches on napkins and captures quiet moments of his daily life. On the side Troy has become more open wi

By the time the sun dipped behind the hills, the place had that pre–wedding hush. I wandered in late, half an excuse to grab dinner, half an excuse to scope the room. The ballroom was almost ready for tomorrow night’s rehearsal dinner, chairs lined up just so, flower arrangements already half–fluffed, a couple of staff giving it those last loving touches before locking up. I slipped out before anyone could rope me into helping, but not before my eyes found him. Calvin. He caught my glance a

By the time we reached the flat, the night was quiet again. The kind of quiet that made everything feel more intense, like the world was holding its breath just for us. Theo’s car door clicked shut and before I could even brace myself, he was around the front, opening mine. He didn’t speak. Just bent slightly, slipped his arms under my knees and shoulders again, and picked me up. I didn’t protest this time. I didn’t even look away. His grip was firm. Not rushed. Not awkward. Like

Thank you Paul. Next episode will release on 5/19, yes.

“You stripped for us yesterday. But today? You strip because you’re one of us. Almost.” That was the only warning I got before I let Lucas pull my tank top off over my head and tossed it across the room. I obliged and nodded. The rest came off with it; my thong, already damp and stained, peeled down my thighs like it wanted to stay. I stood there, bare, flushed, hard. Every guy watching. Lucas stepped forward, holding a paddle. Not a frat-style joke paddle. This was wood. Real. Polishe

Thank you so much Mochi. Hoping to update on here as often as I can. Thank you <3 Only time will tell. I usually write happily ever afters… but you never really know what’s going on in my mind.

By the time Matteo texted again, I should have known better. I had told myself that night at his apartment was a one time thing, a ridiculous performance for an audience of one. Jessica had played her role perfectly too, pretending not to care while studying us like she was preparing for an exam. When I left, I felt drained, like I had been holding my breath the whole evening. But Matteo’s message came again the next sunday, short and casual, as if nothing about that night had been strange.

By the time we made it back with wine, half the wedding party was already drinking whatever they found on the table. A few of the guests were still eating, plates of grilled salmon and chicken were being passed around, the clink of cutlery filling the air, and someone had clearly decided “lunch” was a loose concept because half the table was already on their third mimosa. “What took you guys so long?” the maid of honor asked, eyebrows raised as we set the bottles of wine down on the table.

When Matteo Romano, a straight Italian charmer, asks his best friend Adrian Cole to pretend to be his boyfriend,...just a simple plan to get his jealous ex off his back. But what starts as an easy favor soon turns into something far more complicated: nights that last too long, touches that linger too naturally, and a tension that neither of them can laugh away. Playing Boyfriends follows two friends who thought they were only pretending, until the lines between act and attraction blur beyon

When Matteo asked me to be his boyfriend, I laughed. Not because it was funny, exactly. More because I thought it had to be a joke. Matteo jokes about everything. He’s the kind of guy who flirts with waiters just to make them blush, then tips them like he’s doing penance for it. So when he leaned across the café table that morning and said, completely straight-faced, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” I nearly spat out my espresso. He didn’t even flinch. That was my first

When Matteo Romano, a straight Italian guy, convinces his best friend Adrian to pretend to be his boyfriend to keep his ex away, things get complicated fast. What starts as a harmless favor turns into late nights, lingering touches, and the kind of tension neither of them can keep pretending about.

I woke up to the sound of snickering. Not an alarm. Not sunlight. Just two voices: low, bratty, playful; right above me. Brett and Lucas. Laughing. Grinning. Lucas tossing something small in the air and catching it like it was no big deal. Like this was any other morning in the frat house. “Rise and shine, pledge,” Brett said, already opening my drawer and pulling out a red thong. “Task three’s ready.” Lucas caught the thing he was holding and held it up: A plug. Red. Sleek. With

Ralph stepped closer, calm as ever, like walking in on a man getting his ass eaten was just another Tuesday for him. Calvin finally lifted his head from between my cheeks; his face wet from all the drooling, beard a little messy, eyes half-lidded and looked up at him with a lazy grin. “Oh. Hey, Ralph,” he said, as if his mouth wasn’t just in my ass. “You want some of this?” He spread my cheeks wide with both hands, exposing me shamelessly. “Or you want the usual stuff?” I blinked. The

I woke up giggling. I don’t even know why. Maybe it was the way my throat still ached. Or how my lips still felt slick. Maybe it was because I could still taste him. Jace. Jace. His cum. Jesus. I sucked off the hottest guy on campus. In my bed. And not just sucked him off, I swallowed every fucking drop. Like some obedient little pledge. I turned over, pillow still damp from sweat and spit. My jaw was sore. My ass was sore, even though he never fucked me. I was just that sens

The old cellar door creaked of the estate open like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence. “Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.” I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth