He stayed there, breathing slow, letting the frustration simmer, not ready to go back to the group and face Harper’s indifferent smirk or Riley’s little side-eyes. Jack ran a hand through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck, trying to will the tension out, but it only seemed to settle deeper. The loneliness of the hollow pressed in, thick and private. For a moment he wondered if he could just whip it out here, beat off in the woods and clear his head for five minutes. The idea was tempting as hell, but he knew Cole’s voice would carry if he called for them, and besides—Riley had been glancing at him weird all day, like he was waiting for Jack to fuck up.
Jack was lost in the fantasy when he heard the branch snap behind him. He twisted on the rock, jaw set for trouble, and saw Riley coming down the slope in a controlled slide, hands in his vest pockets, mouth pulled into that shit-eating half-grin. “Hey,” Riley said, not breaking stride, “you okay?”
“Fine,” Jack lied, turning away. “Just needed a minute.”
Riley didn’t buy it. He circled the boulder, never quite facing Jack head-on, taking in the lay of the land with eyes that missed nothing. “It’s nice here,” Riley said. “You can hear yourself think.”
Jack snorted. “Who says I want to?”
Riley perched on the edge of the rock, close enough that their knees almost touched. The two of them sat in silence, the only noise the hiss of wind through the pines. Jack pretended to watch an eagle spiral above the ridge, but he was hyper-aware of Riley’s presence, the heat radiating off him in subtle waves.
After a minute, Riley said, “She’s not interested, you know.”
Jack didn’t move. “You don’t know that.”
“I know women,” Riley said, matter-of-fact. “That’s not an insult, by the way. It’s a skill.”
Jack grunted, picking at a scab on his knuckle. “So what? You come out here to tell me I’m not man enough for her?”
Riley turned, propping his elbows on his knees, all easy confidence. “Nah, I came out here because you looked like you were about to bust with pressure.”
Jack let out a grudging laugh. “Accurate.”
Riley shrugged, then let the silence grow, thick and intent. Jack felt his own pulse jump as he noticed Riley looking at the crotch of his jeans. Not a stare, not obvious, just a flicker, a point made.
“Want a cigarette?” Riley offered, fishing a crumpled pack from his vest. “Don’t tell Cole. He thinks nicotine makes me unreliable.”
Jack took one, more for the distraction than the buzz, and cupped his hands for Riley to light it. The tip flared, and for a second their fingers touched—just the barest scrape, but Jack flinched all the same.
Riley noticed. He smiled, slow and loaded. “Relax, Carson. You’re not my type.”
Jack blew smoke, trying to look unimpressed. “What is your type, anyway?”
“Right now?” Riley’s eyes glinted. “Desperate straight guys with blue balls and nowhere to go.”
Jack barked a laugh, but it was hollow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Riley said. He let his hand fall onto the rock, pinky brushing Jack’s thigh. “But you should.”
Jack stiffened, a prickle running down his spine. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Riley turned, his voice low and direct. “It means, if you want to stop thinking about Harper and just get off, I can take care of it. No questions, no jokes, no weirdness after. Just a nice, wet, deep, and sloppy blow job and then we both get on with our lives. Nobody ever has to know. I’ll suck and worship your cock like no woman ever has.”
For a second Jack didn’t register the words. Then they detonated in his skull, hot and impossible to ignore. His cock jumped, betraying him instantly. Riley saw it—Jack knew he saw it—but didn’t look away.
Jack’s mouth worked for a response. “I’m not a faggot.”
“Never said you were,” Riley said, not missing a beat. “You’re just a guy who’s been shot down for four days straight and probably hasn’t came since you left home to come here. You want relief, I want to give it. You don’t even have to touch me.”
Jack went still, weighing the shame against the want. The want was winning. His skin felt hot, his chest tight. His cock was rock hard now, the fabric of his jeans doing nothing to hide it.
Riley leaned in, lowering his voice to a velvet murmur. “It’s not gay to use a mouth, Jack, a mouths a mouth. That’s what they’re for. You’d be shocked how many ‘straight’ guys these days have figured that out.”
Jack stared at the ground, but he couldn’t stop his body from reacting. The idea—the possibility—lit up every circuit in his brain. He was so horny he could bust just at the thought of a wet tongue curling around his thick, throbbing shaft and now Riley was right there, ready to suck and swallow and never say a word.
He gripped the edge of the boulder until his knuckles bleached white. “You’d really do it?” he said, voice rough.
Riley shrugged, a flick of tongue wetting his lips. “I’d love to.”
