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“Bullshit.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his arm. “You’ve been giving me weird looks all week.”

“Maybe we should just call it a draw,” I say, face burning. “We’re both losing it.”

He sets the jug on the counter with a thud. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I want to see you in that outfit too much to quit now.”

“That’s not weird at all, Bran.”

“Shut up.” He crosses the room in two steps and stops right in front of me, towering over me where I’m sitting. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Just saying what I see. You’re not sleeping. I hear you every night, tossing around in your bed.” He looks down at me. “I almost have you, Dyl. I can feel it.”

He’s close. Too close. His crotch is right there, inches from my face, and I can see him thickening behind the fabric. Getting hard while he stands over me, talking shit. Total power trip. All that competitive energy with nowhere else to go.

And that shouldn’t be hot. But this new version of me, the one that licked his precum off my fingers on this very couch, wants to be cornered by him. Wants to be the little deer he’s stalking through the woods. It’s insane. But I’m way past logic. My body is running on instinct and all it wants is to get him out of those sweats.

So I do the stupidest thing I’ve done yet.

I open my mouth, rest my tongue on my bottom lip, and look up at him.

“The fuck are you doing?” His voice drops an octave.

I don’t answer. Just keep looking up at him, mouth open, tongue out, waiting.

“Stop it, Dyl.”

I lean forward. Slow. Until my lips are hovering over the fabric of his sweats. I can feel his heat through the cotton. Feel how hard he is. The smell of sweat and musk fills my nose. I breathe against him, giving him one chance to step back. To shove me away and tell me what a pathetic piece of shit I am for begging for it.

He doesn’t.

“Fuck.” It hisses out through his teeth.

Then he shoves his sweats down, and his cock slaps across my cheek. Hard and flushed and already leaking.

6

I’ve never put anything in my mouth with this much urgency. I’m stuffing myself full of dick, which is a thing I’ve done exactly zero times before, but I can’t give Brandon, or myself, time to think. I need the taste of him, the feel of him in my throat, before either of us realizes how fucked up this is.

I’ve been imagining this for days. What he’d feel like in my mouth. The weight, the texture, the heat. But nothing prepared me for how thick he actually is, stretching my jaw to its limit. The skin sliding over the steel-hard core as I work him. The salt-slick of precum spreading across my tongue every time I swirl it around the head.

There’s no way I’m good at this. I’m running on instinct, bobbing my head up and down his cock, taking as much as I can before my gag reflex kicks in. My teeth scrape him once, and he grunts, but he doesn’t pull back. Both hands thread into my hair and grip tight, holding my head where he wants it.

“Fucking hell, Dyl.” It comes out wrecked. “What are you doing to me?”

I have no idea. Absolutely none. But I can’t stop. I need more. More of his cock filling my mouth. More of his hips rocking forward to meet me. More of those broken little noises he’s making, sounds I’ve never heard out of him in two years of living together.

I hollow my cheeks and think about what girls have done to me that made my eyes roll back. Tongue flat against the underside. Hard suction on the way up. I try both at once, dragging my tongue along the thick vein as I suck my way up to the tip, and the groan that rips out of him probably reaches the next floor. His fingers twist in my hair and yank. Good sign.

I grab the backs of his thighs, slick with sweat, and dig my fingers into the muscle. Force my head down, pushing past the resistance, until the head of his cock hits the back of my throat and drool spills from the corners of my mouth. My body fights it. Gag reflex screaming at me to pull off. I breathe through my nose instead and focus on the wrecked sounds pouring out of Brandon, on the fact that I’m inches away from swallowing him whole. My best friend’s entire cock about to be buried in my throat, pumping precum straight down my gullet.

Some distant part of me is watching this from the outside, jaw on the floor. The guy with his face buried in Brandon’s crotch doesn’t give a fuck what that part thinks.

I pull back, gasping, strings of spit stretching between my lips and the angry head of his cock. He looks down at me, chest heaving, brow pinched, pupils blown so wide there’s no hazel left.