I feel my jaw lock. It’s a micro-expression. Almost nothing, really. If you weren’t watching my face with the obsessive focus Miles is currently bringing, you’d miss it.
Miles doesn’t miss it. But he says nothing.
It takes around three more strokes for me to realize something: it’s not Walker’s hand that’s making my cock pulse like this. Walker’s hand is just a hand. It’s warm, it’s got the technique down, and that’s fine—whatever.
That’s not the trigger.
The trigger is thefour of them.
It’s the way they’re all staring at me while I give them nothing back. There’s something about it—being the only object in the room that isn’t reacting while everything else is—that brings heat to my core, something I’ll have to unpack later, when my brain is back online.
“Let me try,” Grant says, pushing Walker away.
He isn’t gentle. He grips me with the confidence he brings to everything physical, adding a slight twist on the stroke, searching my face for a crack.
Nothing from my face.
My dick, however, is being loud as hell.
“This is the most unhinged shit I’ve ever seen,” Grant mutters. When he shifts, I notice—because his crotch is inchesfrom my face and I’m not blind—that he isn’t exactly unaffected. He squeezes his own junk, quick, like he’s hoping no one sees it.
I see it.
I go back to Idaho.
Finn kneels up, elbows digging into the cushion next to my hip.
“Dude.” I look at him. He’s radiating that weed-high energy that means he’s going to say something, and there’s no stopping it. “If you don’t move, I’m gonna rail you. No joke.”
“Whatthe fuck, man?” Walker barks, looking at him with huge eyes.
“What? He’ll move if there’s real danger. I don’t wanna pay his rent, man.”
I should probably be disgusted, because that’s a gross thing to say. I should be getting up off this couch right now.
The only thing that moves is my dick, though, jumping once in Grant’s grip.
“I feel like,” Miles says carefully, from his crouch by the couch, “this has escalated.”
“It has escalated,” Grant agrees. His hand doesn’t move from me.
“He can say stop, though,” Finn points out. “He could’ve called it before Walker even—”
“He can call itright now,” Walker says, looking me dead in the eye. “You can say stop whenever, man. We can just call it a draw.”
I don’t move.
“Hold on,” Grant interjects, his voice dropping into a careful tone. He’s still got my junk in his hand, his knuckles glazed with all the drool my shaft is seeping.
He scans my face for a long moment.
“Kit,” he says, and I meet his gaze. “If you want us to stop, blink twice.”
The room goes completely quiet.
I look at Grant, catching the flick of concern underneath his usual jock energy.
I don’t blink.
