Reid is slow because he’s paying attention.
He touches my ass a lot before he does anything else. It’s never just quick-and-dirty foreplay. He touches it because he genuinely likes doing that, I guess. He’s obsessed with palming it, spreading me open, and pressing into the rim with his fingers. He’ll eat me out for so long that by the time he finally slides his cock inside, I’m so far gone I nut immediately. That’s not supposed to happen. My body has way more discipline than that.
Except with Reid, it keeps happening.
Three times in the last two weeks, I’ve come hands-free just from him going down on me. It’s the attention, I think. Or the way he talks—low and vibrating against my skin. It bleeds through the doll mode in a way most things don’t.
The downside to coming that hard is that the plumbing needs recovery time. Miles built theMaintenancestatus for exactly this, and I’ve toggled it more in the last month than in the entire period before. Finn noticed and made exactly one comment about my hole being out of commission before Grant told him to mind his business.
“You good?” Miles asked one day, nodding toward the tablet where theMaintenancelight was glowing for the third time that week.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just sore.”
Miles looked at Reid across the room. Reid didn’t look up from his plate. Miles looked back at me with an expression I didn’t totally know how to receive.
“Cool,” he said, and dropped it.
I don’t mind being sore. I’ve always had a high tolerance for it—it’s part of the trade-off—but I used to view it as a neutral physical inconvenience. Now, I’ll be sitting in a lecture, shifting in my seat to ease the ache, and I can feel exactly where Reid’s hand was the night before.
It makes me feel electric. Like the soreness is a reminder of something good rather than just a side effect of being used.
And holy fuck, I’m so whipped it’s actually embarrassing.
I’m not going to pull the trigger on anything, though. I don’t have the right words, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know what they were trying to say. I just know that Reid falls asleep in my chair sometimes, and he takes his time on my body in the dark, and he tells me about his life while we sit by the window.
When I think about those three things, they all hit the same spot in my chest.
Which I’mnotdoing.
I’m looking at the rotor on my desk.
I’m absolutely not thinking about Reid.
I keep thinking about Reid.
13 Loads
Reid’s got a thing for sleeping inside me.
No, he’s not hammering away all night. He uses me as a straight-up cockwarmer onStandbynight—cock buried in me, one arm around my waist, face pressed into the back of my neck, and we’ll sleep like that.
Being a human cockwarmer is actually top-tier comfort. I don’t know the science of it—I’m an engineer, not a biologist, and even if I was, I don’t think there’s a peer-reviewed study on why sleeping with a dude’s log parked in your ass makes your whole body feel good.
The whole thing barely feels real.
It started maybe a week after the welcome party. He used the doll one night and just stayed plugged in when I expected him to pull out and go to his own bed. I was offline so I didn’t react, butdeep under the doll act, a part of me wentoh,and then stayed very still for a completely different reason.
He does it almost everyStandbynight now. I fall asleep full of him, his arm heavy across my waist, his breathing evening out against my shoulder, and it’s good. I like it a lot. I actually sleep better those nights.
Most mornings, Reid’s still half asleep when Walker comes in for his usual routine, and they have the most surreal low-voice conversations over my body while I’m technically awake and technically not supposed to be acknowledging any of it.
Walker’s gotten used to it, though. He’ll see Reid there, pull his shirt off, stretch his shoulders, and just wait. Reid slips out, Walker rams right in, and the day begins. It’s a handoff. The other guys would find this completely normal, because for us itis.
This morning starts the same way.
Reid’s inside me, arm heavy over my waist. The early light’s coming through the gap in the curtain, and I’m in that warm half-place of not quite asleep, but not awakened either.
The door opens.
