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“You’re bigger than I thought.” He strokes me once. Root to tip. Slow enough that my hips lift off the couch on their own. “Figured you were a grower, but damn. Didn’t expect all this.”

“Are you… complimenting my dick right now?”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He twists his wrist right under the head, and a bead of precum wells up at the slit. He smears it down with his thumb, slicking me up. “This is a good-looking cock, Dyl. I mean it.”

“Bran, this is so weird.” The words come out in little puffs of air. “But it feels… so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” His thumb circles the head. “Then just let it happen. I’m gonna get you there. Just relax and let me take care of it.”

That snaps me back. This isn’t a favor. Brandon’s playing to win. If I come, I’m done. I’ll be on the floor in that maid outfit while he kicks back with his feet up, laughing his ass off. Fuck that. I grab his wrist.

“Hold on.” My voice comes out rougher than I want it to. “If we’re doing this, it goes both ways. You don’t get to jerk me off while you sit there with a hard-on the size of a submarine. Two can play this game, Bran.”

Brandon’s grin falters. Just a flash. “You were enjoying yourself just fine a second ago.”

“Yeah, and you will too.” I snap the waistband of his sweats. “Take these off.”

“You want to touch my dick, Dyl?”

“You started this. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

His eyes flare with that competitive fire I know too well. The same one that gets him into trouble as often as it gets him out.

“Fine.” He lets go of me and shoves his sweats down. No boxers. Of course. Brandon free-balls every chance he gets. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. The guy’s hung exactly how you’d expect a six-five linebacker to be.

My first thought is holy shit. My second is that I just volunteered to put my hand on that.

Did I think this through? No. But there’s no backing down now.

For a second, neither of us moves. Two guys on a couch with our dicks out, staring each other down. There’s a trace of are we really doing this buried under a whole lot of you’re not going to beat me.

Then we close the gap, knees knocking together. My knuckles brush his abs as I grab him, thick and warm and pulsing in my grip. At the same time, his fist wraps around me again.

Holding someone else’s cock is a trip. It’s familiar enough, the weight, the heat, the way the skin slides over the steel-hard core. But the angle is backward. Like driving a car on the wrong side of the road. All the controls are there. You just have to figure out how to make them work.

“Look at us,” Brandon mutters. He starts stroking me. Slow, firm, those rough callouses dragging against my skin in a way that makes my toes curl. “Is this a new low or a new high?”

“Both.” I match his rhythm. Tighten my grip. A groan punches out of him, from somewhere deep in his chest, and I feel it through the cushions.

“We’re insane.”

“Completely.” I twist on the upstroke.

“Fuck.” His head tips back. “You’re not bad at this.”

“I’ve had years of practice.” I drag my thumb over the head and it comes away slick. He’s leaking all over my hand. Just as bad as I am.

It’s probably just because I haven’t been touched in a week, but I’m way too into this. He knows what he’s doing. The right pressure, the right speed, that twist at the top that makes my back arch off the couch. I catch myself watching the muscles in his forearm flex as he strokes me. Those big hands, nails chewed to the quick, veins standing out under his skin.

I’m used to girls. Soft fingers, careful grip, always a little too gentle. This is nothing like that. Brandon’s got a man’s strength behind every stroke, and he’s not holding back. I arch into it without thinking, wanting more, leaking an embarrassing amount over his knuckles.

I speed up, trying to match his pace. I can’t let him think he’s winning. I watch his face, learning what works. When I hit the right spot, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. His thighs spread wider, giving me more room. When I use the slick leaking from his tip to ease my strokes, he swears under his breath, and his cock twitches hard in my fist.

This is a competition. That’s all it is. Make him come first. Don’t think about how good his hand feels. Don’t think about how close I already am.

“Christ,” Brandon hisses through his teeth. “You’re really going for it.”

“Can’t handle it?”