Kit’s hips jerked into his hand. Breath stuttering, Kit forced still, willing himself not to come without permission.
He didn’t have an exhibitionism kink. He had a ‘doing things for his boyfriends’ kink. What made this hot wasn’t the stranger outside—it was Holden, binding him in possessive words.
The guy outside left. Kit spent more time motionless than jerking off, because he was way too fucking close. It felt like Holden was taking forever, but probably closer to two minutes. Kit pressed the heel of his hand against his balls, trying to control himself.
“Are you done yet?” Kit hissed.
The door screeched open, and two sets of footsteps entered. “—just until I find it,” one man said, his voice hushed and tense. “I’m so fucking screwed.”
“I’m not shutting down the club.” The second man sounded annoyed. “I can’t even do that, even if I wanted to cause a fucking fire hazard. Can’t you just find it with the app?”
“I can’t use the app without my phone, can I?” the first man snapped back.
Terry. That had to be Terry. Unless someone else lost their phone tonight, but Kit didn’t believe in lucky coincidences.
Frozen, Kit glanced at Holden—who still looked completely calm. Holden mouthed something.
Unfortunately, Kit was shit at reading lips. Was that “Don’t stop,” or “No, stop”?
Holden just grinned at Kit’s stressed, horny confusion, and tucked the phone and wallet back into his pocket. Kit hadn’t noticed him folding the supplies back up. He must be done, which was great, except the target was literally right outside, and they needed to—
“Don’t stop,” Holden murmured, invading Kit’s personal space. He grabbed Kit’s hair again, tugging painfully sweet. The latex gloves intensified the pull. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Kit’s only answer was a breathy moan as Holden pushed his shirt up.
Right. The whole point was pretending to fuck in case Terry searched for his phone. Having Terry and his bartender boyfriend outside wasn’t a disaster; it was the plan.
Holden’s hand burned against Kit’s exposed stomach. Kit’s every muscle tightened. Fuck, he was close. But his own hand wasn’t enough for his needy cock. Almost, almost, not quite there.
“Look at you, so fucking perfect,” Holden said, his voice quiet, but god, the men outside could probably hear him. Just like theycould hear Kit’s poorly muffled moans. “Next time we’re alone, I’m going to fuck you.”
The low, urgent promise unraveled Kit. Like his orgasm was driven by desire, not his inadequate grasp. Not just release now, but the future release. The ending of the game Kit started—refusing to kiss Holden for a month—and Holden continued.
Bucking into his hand, Kit spilled over his fingers. He tried to catch everything, but cum landed on his stomach too, marking him with proof of his own need.
Outside the stall, the bathroom door creaked again. It shut on Terry’s stressed-out rambling, leaving Kit and Holden briefly alone.
“Did it work?” Kit asked.
“Perfectly,” Holden said, and dropped to his knees.
Kit let out an embarrassing squeak. Then a hissed, “Fuck,” as Holden carefully licked each drop of cum from his stomach. Each slow, wet lick felt like devotion, and Kit’s hypersensitive nerves wanted more.
Still on his knees, on the grubby bathroom floor, Holden caught Kit’s hand.
But Kit yanked it away. “No, gross, I touched the doorknob!”
Holden sighed and stood up, towering reassuringly over Kit. “Fine, I suppose you can wash your hands with soap.” He peeled the latex gloves off. “Hygiene first. Then we finish this.”
Giddiness rode the chill night air, quickening Kit’s breath. He felt like running down the street, bouncing with nervous exuberance. But Holden’s hot grasp on his wrist held him to a brisk walk.
“We did it,” Kit said, delighted.
Holden held Kit to earth like a balloon’s tether, but his voice sounded just as pleased. “It’s not over until we’re back in the van.”
‘Holden did it’ would be the more accurate assessment. Kit just jerked off in the bathroom. Holden was the one who installed the bug, then handed the phone to a random female bartender, saying he found it on the floor.
Kit assumed James was watching to make sure the rest went according to plan. Eventually Terry would learn his phone was at the bar. Then he and his bartender boyfriend would either break up or make up, none of Kit’s business, and carry on with their lives.
