Adrian circles back behind Lance, voice dropping low against his ear. “Eye contact is what locks them in. The movement gets their attention. Find him. Don’t fucking break it.”
Lance turns his head. His gaze crashes into mine.
I don’t move or breathe.
“Your eyes keep it,” Adrian says softly. “You’re doing this for one person. He feels it. You feel it. Don’t look away.”
Lance doesn’t look away. His hips keep that hypnotic roll while he stares straight at me, pupils already blown. This isn’t for the room anymore. It’s for me.
Adrian reaches around and starts slowly unbuttoning Lance’s shirt, one at a time. Lance lets him, eyes never leaving mine. The fabric parts, revealing smooth skin and the hard lines of his abs. Adrian pushes the shirt off Lance’s shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.
Then Lance turns slightly, reaches back, and tugs Adrian’s shirt up and off in one smooth motion. Adrian chuckles softly, surprised, lifting his arms to help. Now they stand right in front of me, both shirtless. Lance’s chest rises and falls with each breath, smooth skin stretched over muscle, nipples tight.
Adrian presses in close behind Lance again, fingers touching Lance’s chest down to his abs, guiding the rhythm. Lance leans back into him just enough to use Adrian as an anchor while his own hips roll forward in a deep, filthy wave. They move together in perfect sync, a slow, seductive dance aimed entirely at me. Bothof them watch me now. Lance’s stare is raw and hungry. Adrian’s is dark and knowing, an open invitation.
Adrian reaches around and pops the top button of Lance’s jeans, then slowly drags the zipper down. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and peels the denim down over Lance’s narrow hips, low enough to reveal the black boxer briefs and the sharp V of muscle disappearing beneath it.
My fingers dig into the edge of the couch until the fabric creaks under my grip, every muscle locked down so I don’t fucking haul Lance forward and ruin the performance. The need to grab him, pin him against me, and take what those rolling hips are offering rides me hard, feral and barely held back.
Adrian stays pressed close behind him, and pushes him forward.
Lance rolls his hips harder now, ass flexing, abs contracting tight with every filthy thrust as he dances straight for me. His eyes never leave mine.
“Hands,” Adrian says. “Put them somewhere you want them to be.”
Lance raises his hands toward me. The space between us crackles. He holds there for a while, palms open, letting me feel the intention. Adrian guides him the last inch forward.
Lance’s hands land flat on my chest, hot through my shirt. His fingers grab hard into the fabric like he’s barely stopping himself from ripping it off me.
Adrian stays pressed tight behind Lance. He leans in and whispers something against Lance’s ear that I can’t hear. Lance’s lips part, breath hitching.
Lance lifts his right foot and plants it on the couch between my spread thighs. His bare toes then drag deliberately over the hard length of my cock, pressing and rubbing slow, teasing circles.
Holy fuck. The friction feels so fucking good I almost groan out loud.
He sets his foot to the outside of my thigh, spreading his own stance wider so his hips open right in front of my face. His jeans hang obscenely low around his hips.
Adrian’s voice cuts through, smooth and easy-going. “George, you’re not allowed to touch. You know the rule—no touching the dancer unless he says so.”
I narrow my eyes at him. My jaw tightens. Both hands fist hard at my sides. Every instinct wants to pull Lance the rest of the way in, but I stay rooted in place. That rule feels extremely inconvenient right now.
Lance threads his fingers into the back of my hair, gripping tight. He then yanks my face forward until my mouth is pressed against his crotch.
The sudden move knocks the air out of me. My hands shoot up instinctively to the sides, fighting the overwhelming urge to grip his ass and hold him there.
He rolls his hips in a deep, filthy wave, grinding his thickening cock right against my face through the thin black fabric. The metal zipper teeth bite into my cheek, but I don’t pull away. I breathe him in—warm skin, clean sweat, pure Lance. His dick grows harder with every slow grind, heavy and hot against my lips.
A low, broken moan escapes Lance’s throat.
I’m fucking dying.
“Stand up,” Adrian orders me.
I reluctantly stand, already missing the heat between Lance’s thighs.
Adrian positions Lance between us. Me in front, and him behind. His hands stay on Lance’s hips, rocking him forward in that same slow rhythm. Lance tilts his head back against Adrian’s shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted like he’s lost in the feeling of being crushed between us. His hand rests on my shoulder. His hot breath fans across my neck. That bare throat is right there. I want to sink my teeth into it.
“Can I fucking touch him now?” I rasp, voice thick with greed.
