“Weird,” Kit said innocently. “I could have sworn Plan B was me dragging you into a bathroom stall, so we can pretend to fuck while you install the bug.”
Holden froze. Then he let go of Kit’s ass—bad. Then he grabbed Kit’s jaw—good.
“I fucking love you.” Holden stole a harsh, sweet kiss. “Let’s do this.”
Ducking his head to hide his stupid grin, Kit followed Holden to the bathroom. Their fingers intertwined, palms heating together.
Entering the bathroom muffled the noise. Everything was gray and red inside. There were other guys, which Kit had somehow failed to anticipate. Skin crawling with embarrassment, Kit avoided eye contact, but Holden showed zero shame as he steered Kit to the farthest stall.
The stall door shut with an awkwardly loud crash. God, anyone could hear them. This was extremely different from Kit’s restaurant murder date with James. That had been a private bathroom.
Then Kit couldn’t think about anyone else, because Holden shoved him against the tile wall and drank every breath from his lips. Kit whimpered, caught with an insistent grip on his hair.
Could James still see him? Kit tried to remember if any of the camera feeds showed the bathroom. That would be a gross violation of privacy, but that didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t. Kit didn’t think there were any—he probably would remember witnessing said privacy violation—
Holden’s thigh shoved forward, splitting Kit’s knees apart. The weight and friction against Kit’s cock drove every last thought away.
“Beautiful, gorgeous, perfect,” Holden whispered in Kit’s ear. He sounded reverent, but far more controlled than Kit. “Unzip your jeans, then touch yourself for me.”
Kit reached obediently, then paused with his fingertips at his zipper. “Wait,” he said, struggling to drag himself back to the mission priorities. Terry was out there in the club, presumably noticing that his phone was missing. “We don’t have time. You need to—”
“Yeah, I’m gonna do that.” Holden’s grip on Kit’s hair loosened into a caress, then fell away. His wicked smile lingered like a touch. “While you touch yourself.”
Kit’s breath hitched.
“You want it to sound real, right?” Holden murmured. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on as he instructed. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear your cute little noises.”
Submission coursed hot through Kit’s veins. His cock ached.
Holden left Kit slumped and trembling against the wall. “One more thing,” Holden added, drawing out his wallet of supplies. “Don’t stop touching yourself—but don’t come.”
21
Human ego was the easiest thing to hack.
Pulse thrumming hot, Kit struggled to unzip his jeans. His fingers were clumsy, his cock pressing hard against the fly. He felt uncoordinated, messy, in contrast to Holden. The jerk was as calm as ever laying out his supplies.
A thin cloth mat on the toilet tank. Small shiny tools. The target’s phone.
Kit forced his jeans and underwear down enough to draw out his cock. Air prickled against his heated skin, and the cracks in the stall door seemed enormous. Anyone could see what he was doing.
He thought of cameras, suddenly. A jolt of bad-fear. But he breathed through it, fixated on Holden’s upper back. Muscle and bone moving beneath his gray t-shirt. Holden was here, and the fear melted into the good sort of hyped-up nerves.
If he really wanted to stop, Holden would never let him continue.
Kit teased the underside of his cock, each different sensation amplified by his arousal. Taut skin near the base. Looser foreskin pulling back. Reaching his head, the gentle touch became electrifying. Too unbearably good. An involuntary moan caught behind Kit’s teeth, and he circled his cock in a tightergrip. Almost painful, but that was easier to withstand than the feather-light touches.
Holden had the phone dismantled already. He hadn’t looked back. But his attention was another ghostly hand wrapping around Kit.
Outside the stall, the sink ran. Then turned off. Paper towels ripped from the roll. Footsteps.
Kit moved his hand, so good his knees shook.
The door creaked open, music swelling from the dance floor. Another creak, the laughter of two people almost colliding in a doorway. Then the door shut and new footsteps entered. Paused, then headed for the urinals.
Did they see how many shoes were visible under the stall door? Did they hear the faint whine of Kit’s breath? They had to. Kit wasn’t being fucking subtle right now.
“That’s it, darling,” Holden murmured from an entire agonizing foot away.
