Ronan rolled his eyes, starting to look a bit fed up with Josh’s complaints. “Small knives, Josh. I love you—I really do, but maybe it would be better for you to sit this out?”
Dorian shook his head and gripped Josh’s shoulder hard. “We’ll be right back.”
He steered him toward the hallway with a firm hand between his shoulder blades, guiding him out of the living room like a parent escorting out a misbehaving child. Josh went stiffly, the muscles in his back clearly tensed.
Right before they turned into the hallway, Dorian said over his shoulder, “Please don’t start without us. It’ll be just a minute.”
Then they were gone.
A few seconds later, it sounded like someone had been slammed against a wall.
As a collective unit, everyone in the room leaned slightly toward the doorway.
From the hallway came Josh’s voice, already rising. “Babe, you know I already struggle with just knowing you hurt people. I don’t want to have to experience it. Please, let’s just go home.”
Dorian’s voice was much quieter. Which, unfortunately, meant we all had to lean farther to hear him. In a hissed whisper, he threatened, “You’re going to go back in there and keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll fucking bend you over that table and make you come sobbing like the little whore boy you are in front of everyone here.”
“Damn,” Hudson mouthed.
“But—” Josh’s whine was cut off suddenly, a choked breath of air rushing from his lungs.
“Get on your knees.”
“What?!”
Dorian repeated coldly, “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
There was a pause, then a thud.
“Okay, uh, I don’t think we should be listening to this,” I whispered to the group.
Oliver evidently agreed with me, already halfway across the room and moving fast.
And yet no one else followed.
Even when the wet slapping sounds started.
“You don’t have to—fuck—participate,” Dorian growled harshly, his words interspaced with grunts. “But you’re going to sit there and watch me hurt those men.” Loud, desperate choking noises almost drowned out Dorian’s voice. “I support—fuck, yeah, work that throat—I support your hobbies, so you’re going to fucking supportmine.”
Lane leaned into Greyson, hiding his face in his chest, and whispered, “Will you fuck my throat later too, Daddy? Pretty please?”
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
God, why was I still standing here?
I hastily retreated, finding myself standing next to Oliver at the window.
“I think I’ll need to bleach my brain after tonight,” I told him, grimacing.
“Same.”
I looked down at him, reminded of what Josh had said earlier. In a hushed tone, I asked, “Are you okay with all this? I can get you set up at the TV downstairs if you want. I know my nephews can be…pushy… but you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”
He tilted his head up, a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you. I think I’ll be fine, though. And I don’t want to disappoint Ro.”
My brows lowered. “Hey, you wouldn’t be disappointing any of us. Especially Ro. He wouldn’t want you to be forced into anything.”
