The house felt strangely empty after Tyler’s parents drove off that morning. Their instructions had been clear: the renovations were already scheduled, and Vince the handyman would be working there for the next few weeks. Tyler, twenty and freshly back from college, had planned to enjoy the freedom. Sleep late. Swim. Scroll through his phone in peace. He hadn’t expected the low rumble of a truck pulling into the driveway so soon.

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Vince climbed out of the pickup looking every bit the seasoned worker. Early fifties, broad-shouldered and thick from real labor. His gray t-shirt clung to his chest in the rising heat. Tyler watched from the upstairs window, telling himself he was only curious about who would be tearing apart their kitchen and two of their bathrooms. The man’s arms looked strong, veins standing out as he unloaded tools. Nothing more than that.

By late morning the house filled with the steady sounds of work—hammer strikes, wood cracking. Tyler drifted downstairs, pretending he needed water. He stopped just outside the kitchen doorway, half-hidden by the frame. Vince had peeled off his damp t-shirt. His back was broad, skin glistening with sweat under the bright lights. Muscles flexed and shifted as he pried at old cabinets. A slow trickle of sweat ran down his spine and disappeared into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

Tyler’s mouth went dry. His eyes traced the powerful lines of Vince’s body, the way his jeans hung on his hips, the dark hair dusting his lower back. Heat pooled low in his stomach. His cock stirred against the thin fabric of his shorts before he could stop it. He knew he should walk away. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, heart pounding, wondering how long he could watch before Vince noticed.

Tyler shifted his weight, trying to ignore the growing stiffness in his shorts. He told himself it was just the lazy heat. Just the surprise of seeing someone so… physical in their usually pristine kitchen. But his gaze kept drifting back to the way Vince’s shoulders moved, the flex of his thick arms, the sheen of sweat making his skin look warm and slick. A faint, musky scent drifted toward him on the still air.

He took one cautious step closer, then another, pretending to look at something on his phone. His heart hammered against his ribs. Vince was focused on his work, grunting softly with effort as he yanked a stubborn board free. The motion made the muscles in his back and sides ripple. More sweat rolled down his skin. Tyler’s breath caught.

Why couldn’t he look away? He’d seen plenty of guys at the gym and on campus, but none of them hit him like this. None of them carried that raw, lived-in power. Tyler’s cock was fully hard now, pressing obviously against the thin material of his shorts. He pressed his thighs together slightly, ashamed and thrilled at the same time.

Vince paused, wiping his forehead with a large hand. For a terrifying second, Tyler thought the older man might turn around. But Vince only reached for his water bottle, tilting his head back to drink. The sound of his throat working made Tyler’s stomach tighten with fresh heat. He stayed frozen in place, pulse racing, wondering how much longer his luck would hold.

Tyler finally forced himself to back away, slipping quietly down the hallway toward the living room. His face burned. His erection throbbed uncomfortably with every step. He sat on the couch, trying to focus on his phone, but the image of Vince’s sweaty, powerful body kept flashing behind his eyes. He adjusted himself, biting his lip.

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He lasted maybe ten minutes before he was back at the doorway again. Vince had moved to a different section of the counter, now angled more to the side. Still no shirt. Sweat running down the broad planes of his back and the side of his chest. The jeans had slipped enough that Tyler could see the deep cut of his right hip and the heavy outline of his cock pressing against the front of the denim. Tyler’s own dick was leaking into his underwear by then. He knew how dumb this was. He stayed.

He knew this was risky. Stupid, even. But the pull was stronger than his shame. Tyler lingered longer than before, eyes tracing every ridge of muscle, every drop of sweat, imagining what it would feel like to touch. His breathing had grown shallow. He didn’t move even when Vince stretched, arms raised high, putting everything on display.

Vince’s stretch made the muscles across his torso stand out in sharp relief. The motion pulled his jeans dangerously lower, exposing the top of a dark, well-worn jockstrap. Tyler’s mouth went completely dry. From this side angle, he could see the thick outline of the older man’s cock resting heavily against the fabric of his jeans. It looked big even when soft. The thought sent a fresh pulse of heat straight to Tyler’s groin.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his own throbbing erection, trying to hide it, trying to will it down. It only made things worse. A small, needy sound almost escaped his throat. Tyler swallowed hard, eyes still glued to Vince’s body. The handyman smelled like salt and sawdust and pure man. The scent was intoxicating.

Just as Tyler was considering stepping back, Vince lowered his arms and rolled his shoulders. He reached for a rag and wiped his face, still unaware—or at least pretending to be. Tyler’s heart hammered so loudly he was sure the other man could hear it.

He finally tore himself away, retreating upstairs to his bedroom on shaky legs. Once inside, he locked the door and shoved his shorts down. His cock sprang free, painfully hard and already dripping. As he wrapped his hand around himself, Tyler pictured Vince’s sweaty back, those powerful arms, that heavy bulge. He came fast and embarrassingly hard, biting his lip to stay quiet. But even after, the ache didn’t fully leave him.

The afternoon dragged on in a hazy heat. Tyler tried to distract himself with video games and scrolling, but nothing stuck. Every few minutes his mind drifted back to the kitchen—the way Vince’s body moved, the heavy scent of his sweat, the unmistakable thickness in those jeans. His cock refused to stay completely soft. By late afternoon he was half-hard again, restless and frustrated.

He told himself he wouldn’t go back down. Not so soon. But the house felt empty. It was just him and the handyman. After another twenty restless minutes, Tyler found himself drifting toward the kitchen once more. This time he carried a glass, an excuse ready on his tongue. His pulse quickened with every step.

Vince was now working near the far wall, still shirtless, sweat pouring off him in the stuffy room. His back was turned, broad and gleaming. The jeans had slipped even lower, revealing the top of his firm, hairy ass. Tyler stopped in the doorway, glass forgotten in his hand. His breath grew shallow.

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The older man bent forward to grab a tool, the movement stretching the denim tight across his powerful thighs and ass. Tyler stared openly now, cock swelling rapidly in his shorts. He didn’t retreat this time. He couldn’t. The need to watch, to drink in every detail, overpowered everything else.

Tyler’s grip tightened on the glass until his knuckles turned white. He knew he was pushing his luck. If Vince turned around now, there would be no hiding the obvious tent in his shorts. Still, he stayed rooted, eyes tracing the curve of Vince’s ass as the handyman shifted his weight. Another drop of sweat slid down Vince’s lower back, disappearing into the shadowed cleft.

The sight made Tyler’s cock throb painfully. He could feel pre-cum soaking into his underwear. Part of him wanted to slip his hand inside his shorts right there, to stroke himself while watching. The risk both terrified and excited him. He had never felt this kind of raw hunger before.

Vince straightened up slowly, rolling his neck with a low grunt. The sound sent a shiver down Tyler’s spine. The older man’s body was a map of strength and age—solid, unapologetic, glistening. Tyler imagined those big hands grabbing him, that sweaty chest pressing against his back. The fantasy made his breath hitch.

He forced himself to take one small step backward, but his eyes never left Vince. The ache between his legs was worse than before. Jerking off earlier had done nothing to dull it. If anything, it had only made him hungrier. Tyler wondered how much longer he could keep pretending this was innocent.

Tyler froze mid-step as Vince suddenly spoke without turning around. “You gonna keep sneaking around like that all day, kid?” The handyman’s voice was deep, rough from the heat and dust, carrying a hint of amusement. “Or you planning on actually saying something?”

Tyler’s stomach dropped. His face burned hot. For a second he considered bolting upstairs, but his legs wouldn’t move. Vince finally turned, wiping his hands on a rag. His broad, sweaty chest faced Tyler directly now, dark nipples hardened from the work. Those sharp eyes flicked down, clearly noticing the prominent bulge in Tyler’s shorts.

“Cat got your tongue?” Vince added, one thick eyebrow raising. A slow smirk tugged at his mouth as he took in Tyler’s flustered state. “Been feeling those eyes on me for hours. Thought you might grow some balls and admit it sooner.”

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Tyler’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His cock twitched visibly in his shorts under Vince’s steady gaze. The older man’s eyes were dark, knowing, and completely unembarrassed. Heat flooded Tyler’s entire body—shame, arousal, and something electric that made his knees feel weak.

“I… I wasn’t—” Tyler stammered, voice cracking slightly. He tried to adjust his stance to hide his obvious erection, but it was hopeless. Vince’s smirk only deepened, his hairy chest still rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Weren’t what?” Vince asked, tossing the rag aside. He took one casual step closer, the movement making the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex. Sweat glistened on his skin. “Weren’t staring at my ass like you wanted a taste? Or weren’t getting rock hard doing it?”

Tyler swallowed hard. His heart pounded so fiercely he could hear it in his ears. He knew he should deny it, laugh it off, run. Instead, he stood there, trapped by the intense look in Vince’s eyes and the undeniable throb between his own legs. The air between them felt thick, charged, and far too warm.

Vince took another slow step forward, closing the distance until Tyler could feel the heat radiating off his sweaty body. The older man’s scent—strong, masculine, mixed with sawdust—filled Tyler’s lungs. “Don’t bother lying, college boy,” Vince rumbled, voice low and rough. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been creeping around all day. That pretty little cock of yours has been hard since the first time you walked in here.”

Tyler’s breath hitched. He was painfully aware of how close Vince was now, close enough to touch. His own erection strained desperately against his shorts, a wet spot blooming at the front. Shame burned through him, but it only made him harder.

Vince reached out, gripping Tyler’s chin with rough, calloused fingers, tilting his face up. “You want this, don’t you?” he growled, eyes dark with hunger. “Want a real man to show you how it’s done. Spoiled little rich kid like you needs to learn what a working man’s dick feels like.”

Before Tyler could respond, Vince’s other hand dropped down, palming the younger man’s throbbing bulge firmly. Tyler gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily into the touch. The contact sent sparks through his entire body. Vince chuckled darkly, squeezing just hard enough to make Tyler whimper. “That’s what I thought.”

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Liam hauled himself out of the water, chest heaving, water streaming down his lean, sculpted swimmer’s body. At twenty-two, he was one of the top talents on the college team, but his turns were still sloppy, and his underwater dolphin kick was inconsistent. The frustration showed in the set of his jaw.

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“Again,” Coach Harlan’s deep voice boomed from the edge of the private backyard pool. The fifty-year-old former Olympian stood with his thick arms crossed over a broad, hairy chest. His solid belly, powerful legs, and heavy shoulders spoke of years of disciplined training. “You’re hesitating on the flip. Lose that, and we’ll shave seconds off your 200 IM.”

Liam nodded, wiping chlorine from his eyes. These private sessions at Coach’s secluded house had been happening for two weeks now. No team, no distractions. Just brutal laps under the older man’s unrelenting gaze.

After another punishing set, Liam’s muscles burned. He climbed out and stood dripping on the deck, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hit the shower inside, then come to the massage table in the change room,” Coach said, clapping a heavy hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You’re tight as a drum. Can’t have my star athlete pulling something.”

Liam nodded again, too winded to speak, and headed into the pool house. The air inside was warmer and more humid. He peeled off his tight jammer, the fabric clinging to his wet skin, and stepped under the spray. Hot water cascaded over his aching shoulders and back, easing the burn in his muscles but doing nothing to calm the strange flutter in his chest. These private sessions felt different lately—more personal, more intense. Coach Harlan watched him with a focus that went beyond technique, and Liam couldn’t deny the way it made his pulse quicken.

He took his time drying off, wrapping a fresh towel low around his hips, and padded barefoot into the converted change room. The space smelled of chlorine, cedar, and something faintly masculine. The massage table stood ready under soft overhead lights, a bottle of oil glistening on the side table. Coach Harlan was already there, his thick frame filling the room. He had removed his shirt, revealing the broad, hairy chest and solid body that spoke of raw power softened by age and experience.

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“Drop the towel and lie face down,” Coach instructed, his voice calm but commanding. Liam hesitated for just a moment, then let the towel fall. He stretched out on the padded table, the cool sheet pressing against his bare skin. Coach’s large, oil-slick hands settled on his shoulders, thumbs digging in with firm, deliberate pressure. The touch was professional at first, working out the deep knots from the brutal workout, but Liam could already feel the slow heat building under his skin.

Coach’s hands moved with practiced expertise, kneading the tight muscles along Liam’s spine. Each press sent waves of relief through his exhausted body, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something more dangerous in the way the older man’s palms lingered on the dip of his lower back. “You’re carrying everything in your shoulders today,” Coach murmured, his deep voice close. “Breathe through it. Let me work it out.” The oil warmed under the friction, filling the room with a subtle, earthy scent that mixed with the lingering chlorine in the air.

Liam closed his eyes, trying to focus on the massage, but his awareness kept drifting to the weight of Coach’s presence beside him. Even middle-aged, Harlan was still imposing—broad, powerful shoulders carrying the remnants of his Olympic physique, a barrel chest dusted with graying hair, and hands that knew exactly how to break down tension.

Those hands slid lower now, working the glutes with firm, circular motions. The slow, rhythmic pressure was hypnotic, easing the burn from endless laps while building a different kind of heat low in Liam’s core. He shifted subtly on the table, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he felt under the coach’s unrelenting attention.

“You’ve improved a lot in these sessions,” Coach continued, voice low and steady as he poured more oil. “But technique alone isn’t enough. Your body needs to learn how to fully release. Trust the process.” The older man’s fingers worked deeper into the muscle, spreading Liam’s legs slightly for better access. The methodical strokes remained professional on the surface, yet Liam couldn’t ignore the growing arousal spreading through him and the way his pulse quickened with every firm press.

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Minutes stretched on like that, the only sounds the slick glide of oiled skin and Liam’s occasional soft groans. Coach’s abs brushed lightly against the edge of the table as he leaned in, his breath warm against Liam’s neck. The massage stayed thorough and deliberate, but the air between them felt thicker now—slow, charged, and building toward something neither had named yet.

Coach worked his way down Liam’s thighs with the same unhurried focus, thumbs digging into the overworked quadriceps and hamstrings. The pressure bordered on painful at times, but it melted into deep relief that made Liam’s whole body sink heavier into the table. Every stroke felt intentional, Coach’s large palms gliding over oiled skin, occasionally brushing the sensitive inner thighs in a way that sent sparks racing up Liam’s spine. He bit his lip to stay quiet, hyper-aware of how exposed he was, completely bare.

“You’re responding well,” Coach said softly, almost to himself. His voice had taken on a lower timbre, richer, as he poured a fresh stream of oil directly onto Liam’s lower back. The warm liquid trickled down the cleft of his ass, and Coach’s fingers followed it without hesitation, massaging the area with firm, sweeping motions. There was no rush, no sudden leap—just the slow, building heat of those strong hands exploring territory they had never quite touched before in these massage sessions.

Liam’s breathing grew shallower. The room felt smaller, the air thicker with the scent of oil and sweat. Coach’s muscular chest and heavy frame hovered close as he leaned in to reach deeper, the warmth of his body radiating against Liam’s side. A single thick finger traced along the sensitive skin just beside his hole, not entering, simply testing and teasing with deliberate patience. The touch lingered long enough to make Liam’s cock twitch against the sheet beneath him.

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The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional low hum of approval from Coach. Time seemed to slow as the massage continued its methodical path, each pass of those experienced hands pulling Liam further into a haze of reluctant lust and trust. Whatever line they were approaching, it was being crossed inch by careful inch.

Liam’s mind raced even as his body surrendered to the sensations. He told himself this was still just recovery—standard for elite athletes—but the way Coach’s fingers kept returning to the cleft of his ass, spreading the oil with slow, purposeful strokes, made denial harder.

A deep shiver ran through him when one calloused fingertip circled his entrance lightly, pressing just enough to hint at more without committing. Coach didn’t speak, letting the quiet amplify every touch.

“Easy, kid,” Coach finally murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Liam’s chest. He added more oil, letting it drip generously before both hands gripped and kneaded the firm cheeks, pulling them apart slightly. The exposure sent a flush of heat across Liam’s face and neck. The older man’s breath was steady and warm against his skin as he worked, the solid weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

Another long minute passed with nothing but the slick rhythm of hands on skin. Coach’s touch grew bolder, one finger pressing more firmly against the tight ring of muscle, rubbing in small circles that made Liam’s toes curl. His cock was fully hard now, trapped uncomfortably between his body and the table, leaking steadily. He fought the urge to rock his hips, clinging to the last threads of plausible deniability.

Coach seemed to sense the shift. He leaned closer, his broad chest brushing Liam’s back, and whispered near his ear, “You’re doing good. Just let it happen. This is how we build real endurance.” The words hung in the air as his finger continued its patient teasing, keeping the burn slow and intoxicating.

Liam sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath as Coach’s thick finger finally pushed past the tight ring, sliding in slowly to the first knuckle. The intrusion was slick and deliberate, stretching him open with careful patience that made his head spin. A low, involuntary moan escaped his lips, muffled against the table. Coach paused, letting him adjust, then began a gentle in-and-out motion, working the oil deeper while his other hand continued kneading the surrounding muscle.

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Sunlight poured through the tall windows of one of the two groom’s suites, warm and golden, catching on the scattered details of the day: cufflinks on the dresser, a pair of polished black shoes lined up like soldiers, and the faint scent of coffee and hotel shampoo lingering in the air.

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Outside, the distant murmur of guests arriving drifted up from the garden—soft laughter, the clink of glasses being set out for the reception, the low hum of anticipation on what was supposed to be the happiest day of Alex’s life.

Inside the suite, the atmosphere felt heavier.

Alex stood in front of the full-length mirror, fingers clumsy on his cufflinks for the third time. His shirt was already sticking to his lower back with nervous sweat. Across the room, Marcus moved with that effortless, hyper-masculine confidence he’d always had. The best man rolled his broad shoulders, the fabric of his own white shirt pulling tight across his chest and biceps. A few dark strands of chest hair were visible where his top buttons were still undone. His jaw was freshly shaved, but the shadow was already returning, and when he stretched his arms overhead, the movement revealed the powerful lines of his back and the thick muscle along his sides.

He looked like pure sex wrapped in wedding-day politeness.

“Jesus, you’re quiet this afternoon,” Marcus said, voice low and rough as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. “You’re supposed to be the guy getting married, not heading to a funeral. What’s going on?”

Alex swallowed hard. His heart hammered against his ribs. He’d carried this secret for years—and today, of all days, it was clawing its way out. He stared down at his hands, then forced the words out before he could choke on them.

“I’ve never made him cum.”

Marcus’s hands stilled on his tie. He turned slowly, one thick eyebrow raised. “Come again?”

“Jordan.” Alex’s voice cracked. “In all the time we’ve been together… I’ve never made him cum. Not once. He gets hard for me. He moans, he arches his back, he says it feels good when I’m inside him or when I’m going down on him… but he never actually finishes. Not from anything I do. He always waits until he thinks I’m asleep and finishes himself off in the dark. Or he just pulls me close, kisses my forehead, and tells me it was perfect.” Alex let out a shaky breath, shame burning hot up his neck. “I’ve tried everything. Different positions, toys, taking it slow, going rough. Nothing. I’m failing him, man. On every fucking level. And today I’m supposed to stand up there and promise him forever when I can’t even give him that.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy in the sunlit room. Then Marcus let out a low, rumbling laugh—deep in his chest, more surprised than mocking. He stepped closer, close enough that Alex could smell the warm, masculine scent of his skin under the cologne. A heavy hand landed on Alex’s shoulder, squeezing once, firm and possessive.

“Never made your own fiancé cum?” Marcus shook his head, the smirk slowly curving his mouth—slow, sharp, and far too knowing. “Shit, Alex… that’s rough.” His fingers tightened just a fraction, thumb pressing into the muscle. “Don’t worry, bro. I’ll fix that for you tonight.”

Alex tried to laugh it off, a weak, nervous sound that died in his throat. “Yeah… funny.”

Marcus didn’t laugh with him. His dark eyes held Alex’s for a long beat, the smirk deepening as the weight of his words settled between them like a promise. The distant sound of wedding guests chatting and laughing outside felt suddenly very far away.

Alex’s stomach twisted. He searched Marcus’s face for any sign that it was just crude best-man banter, but the other man’s expression stayed steady—confident, almost amused, as if the matter were already decided. Heat crawled up the back of Alex’s neck. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

Marcus gave his shoulder one last firm squeeze before letting go, turning back to the mirror as if the conversation had been no more than a comment on the weather. He finished knotting his tie with practiced ease, the muscles in his forearms flexing. “Better get your head straight, man. Big day ahead.”

The words hung in the air between them. Alex nodded numbly, fingers finally managing to secure the first cufflink. Outside, the garden music swelled faintly—string quartet warming up, guests finding their seats. Jordan was probably downstairs right now, handsome and hopeful in his own suit, completely unaware that his future husband had just failed to defend his own marriage bed on their wedding day—too weak to claim his right to his husband on their first night together as a married couple.

Marcus caught Alex’s eyes in the reflection, that smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, best man. I’ve got you.”

Alex froze mid-motion, the second cufflink slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the polished floor. Best man. The words hit him like a slap. It was the first time Marcus had ever called him that. He wasn’t the best man—he was the groom. This was his wedding day.

But the way Marcus said it… it sounded like a demotion. Like Alex had already been quietly moved to the sidelines. His face burned with humiliation.

Marcus bent smoothly to pick up the fallen cufflink, pressing it back into Alex’s palm with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re gonna need steady hands for the ring later.” His voice was low, almost teasing, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

The power shift had already begun.

Alex swallowed thickly, cheeks hot. He wanted to push back, to remind Marcus who the hell was actually getting married today, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he fumbled the cufflink into place, pulse racing, shame and something darker twisting low in his gut as his cock gave a helpless twitch.

Marcus clapped him on the back once more—hard enough to jolt him forward a step—then headed for the door. “Come on. Let’s get you married… best man.”

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The walk down to the garden felt surreal. Sunlight dappled the stone path, flowers heavy with perfume, guests turning with smiles and murmurs of appreciation. Jordan waited at the end of the aisle—tall, handsome, his suit fitting perfectly, a soft, hopeful smile on his face when he saw Alex.

For a moment, the guilt hit Alex like a wave. This man deserved better. Deserved to be taken apart and put back together in pleasure, not left quietly unsatisfied night after night.

Marcus walked just behind Alex the whole way, close enough that his presence felt like heat at his back. During the ceremony, Marcus stood to the side as best man, the picture of supportive charm—holding the rings, clapping at the right moments. But every time Alex glanced over, Marcus was watching Jordan with dark, appreciative eyes. Sizing him up.

Claiming him already.

At the reception, the toasts flowed. Marcus gave the perfect best man speech—funny, warm, and full of stories that had everyone laughing. But when he raised his glass at the end, his gaze slid to Alex. “To the groom… and to making sure the honeymoon is everything it should be.” The smirk was small, private, meant only for Alex. The words best man weren’t spoken, but Alex felt them hanging in the air anyway.

Later, as the music played and Jordan pulled Alex onto the dance floor for their first dance, Marcus watched from the edge of the crowd, arms crossed over his broad chest, that same knowing look on his face. Alex’s stomach stayed in knots the entire evening.

The party stretched late into the night, golden lights strung through the trees, laughter and music spilling across the lawn. Alex smiled on autopilot—cutting the cake, posing for photos, kissing Jordan while guests cheered.

But every time he turned, Marcus was there: refilling Jordan’s drink with a lingering touch to his lower back, leaning in to murmur something that made Jordan laugh, low and easy as if they were sharing a secret.

Alex’s chest felt tighter with every passing hour.

Finally, the crowd thinned. Jordan’s hand found Alex’s as they said their goodnights, eyes bright with love and a hint of nervous excitement for the honeymoon suite waiting upstairs. “I can’t wait to be alone with you,” Jordan whispered against his ear. Alex forced a smile, the confession from that afternoon burning like acid in his throat.

They rode the elevator up together—three of them. Marcus had casually tagged along “to make sure you two lovebirds get settled.”

In the hallway outside the honeymoon suite, Marcus took the key card from Alex’s hand without asking. He opened the door, stepping inside first like he owned the place.

“Big bed,” Marcus noted approvingly, voice rough. He turned back to them, eyes flicking from Jordan to Alex. Then he looked straight at Alex. “Go sleep in the spare room tonight, best man. I got this.”

Alex stood there, stunned, the words slamming into him harder than they had that afternoon. Jordan blinked, glancing between them with a confused little laugh, clearly assuming it was some kind of bachelor-party-style joke. But Marcus’s expression stayed calm and commanding, one thick eyebrow raised as he waited.

“Go on,” Marcus said, softer this time but no less firm. He placed a large hand on Jordan’s shoulder, guiding him gently but unmistakably farther into the suite. “I’ll take good care of your husband. Promise.”

Jordan hesitated, looking back at Alex with a flicker of concern. Alex wanted to protest, to push past Marcus and claim the room that was supposed to be theirs. Instead, he swallowed hard, cheeks flaming, and gave a jerky nod. “It’s… it’s fine,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Marcus’s smirk deepened as he started unbuttoning his shirt right there in the doorway, revealing the broad, hairy expanse of his chest. “Night, best man.”

Alex turned and walked down the hall like a man in a daze, the spare room keycard heavy in his palm. The click of the honeymoon suite door shutting behind him sounded final. He stood in the small, impersonal room with its single bed and generic art on the walls, listening.

At first, there was only low murmuring—Marcus’s deep voice, Jordan’s softer replies. Then a laugh from Jordan, surprised and warm.

The first real moan came twenty minutes later.

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The road to the lake house wound through familiar pines, the late afternoon sun glinting off the water in the distance like it was mocking him. Seth gripped the steering wheel tighter, his stomach already twisting into knots.

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Two years. He’d managed to dodge this annual reunion for two whole years, citing work, citing distance, citing anything that kept him far from the one man who still haunted his late-night thoughts.

Uncle Ray. Not really an uncle, just Dad’s best friend since before Seth was born, but the title had always made the wanting feel dirtier.

And now here he was, twenty-two and no less stupid about it. He could still see that night on the dock when he was nineteen—drunk on cheap beer and summer heat, the words “I think I might be into guys… into you,” lodged in his throat while Ray’s big hand rested heavy on his shoulder.

Ray had just chuckled low in that gravel voice, told him he was a good kid, and walked away like it was nothing. Seth had jerked off furiously in the guest room that night, shame and lust burning through him in equal measure. The memory still made his face heat.

The driveway was already packed with cars when he pulled in. Kids shrieked and chased each other across the grass while aunts called out greetings from the porch. The air smelled of charcoal and pine and sunscreen, the familiar chaos of family that usually felt comforting.

Today, it felt like a trap. Seth forced a smile as he helped unload coolers from the trunk, keeping his head down, trying to stay invisible.

Then Uncle Ray spotted him.

The clap on his shoulder came heavy and warm, lingering just a second too long. “Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Ray said, that rugged, sun-weathered face breaking into a knowing smirk.

At forty-eight, he was still built like a man who worked with his hands—broad shoulders, thick forearms, salt threading through the dark hair at his temples. “You’re all grown up now, kid. Looking good.”

Seth’s pulse spiked. He managed a weak nod, aware of the other three men watching from near the grill: Vic, Marcus, and Derek—Dad’s old poker crew. All of them tall, solid, radiating that effortless older-man authority that made Seth’s skin feel too tight. Ray’s hand hadn’t left his shoulder yet.

The afternoon unfolded in a blur of familiar noise and forced small talk. Seth helped carry trays of burgers and potato salad, nodded through questions about his job and why he was still single, all while hyper-aware of Ray’s presence. The man moved through the crowd like he owned the place—laughing with Seth’s dad, flipping steaks on the grill, occasionally glancing Seth’s way with that same unreadable smirk. Every look landed like a touch.

By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the lake in molten gold, the “poker crew” had claimed their usual spots near the fire pit. Vic, the burly ex-construction worker with arms like tree trunks and a belly that only made him look more imposing. Marcus, the silver-fox lawyer who could charm the pants off anyone with a few smooth words. Derek, quieter and more intense, his ex-military posture still ramrod straight even in a faded tee.

All four of them in their late forties to early fifties, all radiating the kind of settled, masculine confidence that made Seth feel utterly hopeless.

Ray caught him lingering at the edge of the group and waved him over with two fingers. “C’mere, kid. You’re not hiding in the corner all night.” That heavy hand landed on Seth’s lower back as he guided him into the circle, the touch casual to anyone watching but searing through Seth’s thin shirt. The others greeted him with easy grins and appraising looks that lingered a beat too long.

“You’ve filled out nice,” Vic rumbled, eyes drifting over Seth’s shoulders. Marcus chuckled. “Still blushing like you did at nineteen, though. Cute.” Derek just watched, quiet and assessing. Ray’s fingers flexed once against Seth’s spine before dropping away, but the heat of it stayed.

As the sky darkened and the family started drifting inside, Ray leaned in close, voice low enough for only Seth to hear. “The real party’s later. Boathouse. Midnight. Just us.” His breath brushed Seth’s ear. “You should join us this time. Bring that pretty face… and nothing else you don’t want ruined.”

Seth’s heart slammed against his ribs. Warning bells screamed in his head, but his mouth was already forming the words.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of forced laughter and cold beer. The barbecue stretched long into the warm summer night, strings of lights flickering over the deck while classic rock played low from someone’s speaker. Seth tried to stay on the edges, but the four older men kept pulling him back in—comments about how he’d “finally grown into those shoulders,” teasing jabs about how he was still single and clearly not bringing any girls around. Each remark landed heavier than the last, laced with something knowing that made his skin prickle.

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Ray was the worst of it. He found excuses to touch him constantly: a guiding hand at the small of his back when Seth reached for another drink, ruffling his hair like he was still a teenager, pressing a fresh beer into his palm, and holding eye contact just long enough to make Seth’s throat go dry.

The others noticed. Vic’s low chuckle, Marcus’s raised eyebrow, Derek’s quiet, watchful stare—they all seemed in on some private joke Seth wasn’t sure he wanted explained.

Later, when the family noise had mostly died down, Ray cornered him alone on the old wooden dock. The lake lapped gently at the pilings, the air thick with the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke. “You still curious like you were at nineteen, kid?” Ray asked, voice low and rough, stepping close enough that Seth could smell his cologne mixed with grill smoke.

Seth stammered something incoherent, cheeks burning. Ray just chuckled darkly, clapped him on the shoulder again, and walked away, leaving Seth hard and humiliated in the dark.

He drank more than he should after that. Slipping upstairs to the guest bathroom, he locked the door with shaking fingers and shoved his shorts down, wrapping a hand around his aching cock. It only took a few frantic strokes before he came hard, biting his lip to stay quiet, Uncle Ray’s voice and those rough hands playing on loop in his mind.

The shame hit immediately after—hot and heavy in his chest. What the fuck is wrong with me? He cleaned up quickly, splashed cold water on his face, and tried to pretend the ache was gone.

Midnight crept closer, the house finally quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant call of loons on the lake. Seth lay on the guest bed staring at the ceiling, heart hammering so hard he was sure it would wake someone. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He snatched it up, the screen lighting his face in the dark.

Boathouse. Now.

Bring that pretty face and nothing else.

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The brutal South Carolina sun had turned the grinder into a furnace, but it wasn’t the heat making Private Alex Thompson’s chest seize with panic. It was the way Drill Sergeant Harlan Reyes stared at him—like a wolf that had finally grown bored of the chase and decided it was time to feed.

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“Thompson!” Reyes’ voice cracked across the formation like a rifle shot. “Front and center, maggot! Move!”

Alex’s stomach dropped. Nineteen years old, and he still felt like a scared kid caught in the hallway by the meanest teacher in school. He was the quiet one in the platoon. Head down, mouth shut, boots polished until they could blind someone.

He never fucked up.

At least, he didn’t think he had.

But the way Reyes was staring at him now said otherwise.

He double-timed it out of the third rank, boots pounding the scorched asphalt, sweat already carving tracks down his back beneath his uniform.

Every eye in the platoon followed him. He could feel their collective tension, the silent better you than me hanging in the thick, humid air.

He slammed to a halt directly in front of Reyes, boots locked, spine straight, chin up, eyes locked forward. The Drill Sergeant stood inches away, close enough that Alex could smell the sharp scent of his aftershave and the faint trace of chewing tobacco on his breath.

Reyes didn’t speak right away. He just let the silence stretch, his dark eyes crawling over Alex like he was inspecting a piece of meat.

Whatever was coming, Alex knew one thing for certain.

It wasn’t going to be good.

Reyes leaned in until his chest nearly brushed Alex’s nose, towering over the young recruit. His dark eyes bored into him—cold, unreadable, and hungry. When he spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly growl meant for Alex’s ears alone.

“You and I are gonna have a little talk about discipline tonight, boy.” His breath was hot and wet against Alex’s cheek. “After lights out, you will report to the equipment shed behind the armory. 2100 sharp. Come alone. You don’t speak a word of this to anyone. Not one fucking soul. If you’re even one minute late… I will make the rest of your time in basic a living hell. Do you understand me, recruit?”

Alex’s throat felt like sandpaper. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

His pulse roared in his ears. He’d heard the whispers about that shed—ugly stories traded in the barracks after lights out. Recruits who went in for “extra training” and came out bruised, hollow-eyed, and strangely silent for days afterward.

No one ever gave details.

No one ever dared.

A cold knot of dread twisted deep in his gut.

Reyes straightened to his full height and took one deliberate step back, his face snapping back into that familiar mask of cold authority. Then, loud enough for the entire platoon to hear, he barked, “Get back in formation, maggot. And pray I’m in a forgiving mood tonight.” The words carried the unmistakable promise of pain to come.

The rest of the day blurred into a punishing haze of drills, runs, and weapons training. Alex moved on autopilot, his body obeying while his mind remained trapped in that equipment shed. Every time he blinked, he saw the dim light, the shadows, and Reyes’ wolfish stare. Even the scorching Carolina heat couldn’t burn away the icy fear crawling under his skin.

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By the time chow was over, and the platoon walked back to the squad bay for evening routine, Alex felt like a ghost haunting his own body. He brushed his teeth mechanically. Folded his uniform with robotic precision. All while worst-case scenarios played on loop in his head—bruised ribs, broken pride, or worse.

Lights out came too fast.

By 2045, the squad bay was heavy with the deep breathing and occasional snores of exhausted recruits. Alex lay rigid in his rack for a final few seconds, then slipped out as quietly as he could. His heart pounded so violently, he was convinced the sound alone would wake half the platoon. He dressed in the dark—uniform blouse, trousers, boots—every rustle of fabric feeling deafening.

The night air outside was fragrant like asphalt and warm, wrapping around him like a second skin. He moved quickly but carefully, hugging the shadows between buildings, head low. Crickets chirped relentlessly in the grass. In the distance, the low crash of waves rolled in from the coast, punctuated by faint shouts from night training somewhere across the depot.

The equipment shed loomed ahead—a squat, weathered cinderblock building tucked behind the armory. A single dirty security light buzzed overhead, casting long, sickly shadows. Alex stopped a few feet from the heavy metal door, palms slick with sweat. His stomach twisted violently. For one desperate second, he thought about running.

Then he raised his fist and knocked twice.

The door opened almost instantly.

Drill Sergeant Harlan Reyes filled the doorway, his massive frame backlit from a light within. He’d stripped off his blouse and cover, standing in his olive drab undershirt. The thin fabric clung to the hard slabs of his chest and shoulders, revealing thick, veined arms corded with muscle. His expression was stone-cold, unreadable.

“Get inside, recruit,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

Alex hesitated half a heartbeat, then stepped past him. As soon as he was inside, the heavy door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang. The sharp click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the small space like a lock on his fate.

Alex’s breath caught, his heart racing wildly.

There was no turning back now.

The shed reeked of gun oil, canvas, and aged wood. Stacks of footlockers created narrow, claustrophobic corridors, while a single bare bulb swung overhead, casting harsh shadows across the concrete. Alex stood at rigid attention, eyes locked forward, his lean frame tight with fear. His pulse hammered in his throat.

Reyes began to circle him slowly, heavy boots thudding against the floor. He stopped directly in front of the recruit, so close Alex could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You’ve been wondering all evening what this is about, haven’t you, Thompson?” Reyes’ voice dropped into a low, dangerous rumble. “Let me make this crystal fucking clear. In here, you don’t hesitate. You don’t talk back. You don’t even breathe without my permission. You disobey me once, and I will destroy you. I own your ass for the rest of basic training, and I can make every single day a living hell. You understand?”

Alex swallowed hard. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“Now strip off that blouse and get on your knees.”

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There was no real choice. The thought of quitting—of crawling home defeated while his so-called friends laughed and said I told you so—was far more terrifying than whatever Reyes had planned. Alex would rather break here than prove them right.

His hands trembled as he unbuttoned his blouse, fingers clumsy with adrenaline. He folded it neatly and dropped to his knees on the cold, rough concrete.

He kept his gaze down at first, then slowly lifted his eyes, waiting.

Reyes stared down at him with dark satisfaction. “Back straight. Hands behind your head. Elbows wide. Chin up. This is the position you will assume every time you enter this shed. Do it. Now.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Alex obeyed without hesitation, locking his fingers behind his head and flaring his elbows until his shoulders tensed. The pose arched his lean, shirtless torso and left him humiliatingly exposed under the stark overhead light.

Reyes took one deliberate step forward, his heavy boots stopping just inches from Alex’s knees. He loomed over the kneeling recruit, eyes dark with raw hunger.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “So quiet. So fucking obedient. On your knees, elbows out like a perfect little bitch.”

A large, calloused hand reached down and seized Alex’s chin, tilting his head up with firm, unyielding pressure. Reyes’ thumb dragged roughly across Alex’s lower lip, tugging on it slightly. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this, Thompson.”

Alex’s breath hitched sharply. A rush of unwanted heat flooded through his body, pooling between his thighs as he fought to hold the strict position.

“Tonight,” Reyes growled, “I’m going to teach you what real discipline feels like, boy.”

While his left hand kept Alex’s chin locked in place, his right hand moved to the front of his trousers. He palmed the thick, growing bulge there slowly, deliberately, letting Alex see exactly what was coming. “You will hold this position until I say otherwise. Eyes on me at all times. When I give you an order, you answer loud and clear. Understand?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Alex barked, his voice strained but obedient. His arms trembled from the effort of keeping his elbows flared wide, his exposed torso tight with tension. He kept his gaze locked upward, unable to look away from the older Marine’s intense stare.

Reyes smirked, clearly pleased. “Good boy.”

The sound of leather sliding through belt loops cut through the silence. Reyes unbuckled slowly, then pulled down his zipper. He reached in and freed his thick, heavy cock, already half-hard and growing thicker under Alex’s wide-eyed stare. It hung heavy and intimidating just inches from the young recruit’s face.

“Eyes stay up,” Reyes ordered, voice dropping even lower. “Mouth open.”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Alex’s breath hitched sharply. His face burned with shame as he parted his lips, staring up at Reyes with wide, nervous eyes. He had never done anything like this. Never touched another man. Never even kissed anyone. But the crushing weight of fear and a confusing, shameful need to obey kept him locked in position.

Reyes gripped the thick base of his cock and tapped the heavy head against Alex’s tongue a few times, smirking down at him.

“That’s it. Just like that, maggot. You’re going to take every inch I give you tonight.”

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Ethan knew he was the smaller one. At 5’6” and 135 pounds after a good bulk, he was lean, wiry, and devoted in a way that bordered on religious.

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For two years, he had worshipped Marcus like a god carved from marble and testosterone. Marcus was 6’3”, 245 pounds of dense, vascular muscle, the kind of physique that turned heads at the gym and made straight men do double-takes in the locker room.

His chest was a shelf, his arms thicker than Ethan’s thighs, and his cock … well, Ethan had spent countless nights choking on it, tears streaming down his face, trying to prove he could handle what his man needed.

But lately, it wasn’t enough.

It was a rainy Thursday night when it all cracked open. They were in their apartment, the one Marcus mostly paid for with his tech salary and modeling gigs. Ethan was on his knees between Marcus’s massive quads; his lips stretched obscenely around the thick head of his boyfriend’s cock. He’d been at it for twenty minutes already, jaw aching, throat raw, but Marcus still hadn’t cum. The big man’s hand rested lazily on Ethan’s head, not even guiding him anymore, just resting there like an afterthought.

“Fuck, babe,” Marcus finally sighed, voice deep and slightly bored. “You’re trying so hard … and still doing a pathetic job.”

Ethan pulled off with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to the glistening shaft. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know I’m not … big enough. Or strong enough. Or—”

Marcus tilted his head, looking down at him with that calm, predatory patience that always made Ethan’s stomach flip. “Say it.”

Ethan’s eyes filled with tears. He hated how easily they came these days. “I can’t satisfy you anymore. Not the way you need. Your size … your stamina … I’m too small. I get tired. I can’t take it like those guys at the gym look like they could.”

The silence stretched. Marcus’s cock, still hard and heavy, twitched against Ethan’s cheek.

Then Marcus smiled, slow and dangerous. “You’re right. You can’t. But I’ve got an idea that might fix that.”

That’s how the arrangement began.

The first time, Ethan thought he might actually throw up from jealousy. Marcus had picked a guy named Tyler, a thick-chested powerlifter with a beard and arms that rivaled Marcus’s own. They’d made eye contact in the free weights area, exchanged a few words, and Marcus had simply jerked his head toward the locker room.

Tyler had grinned like he’d won the lottery.

Ethan sat in the driver’s seat of their SUV in the gym parking lot, hands clenched on the wheel. Marcus had told him the rules clearly:

“You drive me here. You wait. Either in the car or in the locker room corner, like a good little bitch. When I’m done, you clean me up with your tongue. Every drop. Then you thank me for letting you serve.”

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Ethan had cried in the shower before they left. Now he sat there for forty-five agonizing minutes, imagining every thrust, every grunt, every time Marcus’s huge cock split Tyler open in ways Ethan could never handle. His own dick was painfully hard in his shorts, which only made the shame worse.

When Marcus finally emerged from the gym, hair still damp from sweat, he looked freshly fucked and radiant. He climbed into the passenger seat, shut the door, and immediately reached over to grip the back of Ethan’s neck.

“Drive behind the gym. Park in the back lot where it’s dark.”

Ethan’s hands trembled on the wheel as he obeyed. The gym’s rear parking area was mostly empty and poorly lit at this hour. As soon as the SUV was parked in a shadowed corner, Marcus spoke again, voice low and commanding.

“Backseat. Now.”

Ethan quickly climbed between the seats into the back. Marcus followed right behind him, his massive frame making the car rock slightly as he settled into the backseat and spread his thick, powerful legs.

Marcus shimmied his gym shorts off his hips and pulled out his still semi-hard cock. It hung heavy between his legs, slick, shiny, and carrying the unmistakable scent of another man.

“Lick.”

Ethan hesitated only a second before leaning in. The taste hit him immediately—salt, musk, the faint bitterness of cum, and something else, something that made his stomach clench with humiliation. He dragged his tongue along the thick vein, cleaning every inch while Marcus watched him with hooded eyes.

“Good boy,” Marcus murmured, running a hand through Ethan’s hair. “Tyler came twice. Said I ruined him for other tops. You’re gonna thank me when we get home.”

That night, the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside their window. Ethan had barely closed the front door before Marcus grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him toward the bedroom.

“Strip,” Marcus ordered, already peeling off his own shirt to reveal his massive, pumped chest and thick abs. “On the bed. Ass up.”

Ethan’s hands shook as he obeyed, peeling off his clothes until he was completely naked. His own cock was painfully hard, smaller and thinner than Marcus’s, even when fully erect. He climbed onto the bed on all fours, arching his back the way Marcus liked.

Marcus stood behind him, stroking his heavy cock back to full hardness. It was still slightly slick from the earlier cleanup Ethan had performed in the car.

“Look at you,” Marcus said, voice deep and mocking. “So eager even after I just wrecked a real man at the gym. Tyler took every inch like it was nothing. You? You tap out after five minutes.”

Ethan whimpered, face burning with shame. He felt the heavy weight of Marcus’s cock slap against his ass cheeks a few times before the thick head pressed against his hole.

“Please, Sir …,” Ethan whispered.

“Please, what?” Marcus growled, gripping Ethan’s narrow hips with both huge hands. “Please fuck you like I fucked him? You know you can’t handle that.”

He pushed forward anyway. The fat head of Marcus’s cock breached Ethan’s tight ring, forcing a sharp cry from his throat. Even after two years, the stretch was brutal. Inch after thick inch sank in slowly, stretching Ethan far beyond what felt comfortable.

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“Tell me, Tyler … do you always experience uncontrolled leakage when you’re being examined?”

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Dr. Elias Hawthorne delivered the question in his usual calm, professional tone, as if it were just another routine item on the sports physical checklist. The words hung in the sterile exam room, clinical and precise. Yet the effect on the young man seated on the table was immediate and unmistakable. Tyler Grant, the same athletic boy the doctor had treated since he was twelve, gripped the edge of the paper-covered table, his broad shoulders tightening as a visible shiver ran through him.

For thirty years, Dr. Hawthorne had been Millford’s most trusted conservative physician—steady, traditional, and impeccably proper. Parents trusted him completely. He had watched Tyler grow from a gangly kid into a strong, college-bound eighteen-year-old with a powerful build honed by years of track and football. But today, during this final pre-college physical, something had shifted. The doctor’s standard questions about urinary function and genital health were no longer landing as routine.

Tyler’s cheeks burned red. His breathing grew shallow. Beneath the thin white jockstrap he’d been asked to wear for the hernia check, his cock had thickened noticeably, pressing against the fabric. A slow, betraying wet spot began to form at the tip, darkening the material as the young man fought—and failed—to hide his body’s humiliating response.

Dr. Hawthorne adjusted his glasses, keeping his expression neutral even as he registered every detail. This wasn’t ordinary nervousness. This was a very specific medical fetish, and Tyler had just revealed exactly how deeply it affected him.

He remained perfectly still, his face a mask of professional detachment. Inside, however, his mind was racing. He had performed this exact physical on hundreds of young men, yet none had ever reacted with such raw, involuntary honesty. Tyler’s jockstrap was now visibly damp, the growing wet patch betraying him with every heartbeat.

The doctor’s years of clinical training told him to move on, to pretend he hadn’t noticed. But something deeper, curiosity mixed with an unexpected authority, kept him rooted in place.

“Interesting,” Dr. Hawthorne said quietly, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Your chart shows no history of this issue. Yet here we are.” He stepped closer to the exam table, his tone measured and deliberate. “When did this start happening during medical exams, Tyler? Be honest. I need details if I’m going to document this properly.”

Tyler swallowed hard, his muscular thighs trembling slightly. His voice came out small and strained. “A … a couple of years ago, sir. It just … happens when you ask certain questions. The way you say them. Like you’re really checking.” Another bead of precum soaked through the fabric as he spoke, his cock now fully outlined and twitching under the doctor’s steady gaze.

The older man nodded slowly, as if this were simply another diagnostic puzzle. He adjusted his stethoscope unnecessarily, buying himself a moment. “I see. Then, for the sake of a thorough exam, I’ll need to continue. Any pain or discomfort when you’re fully erect like this?”

The question was delivered with clinical precision, but both of them knew it had gone far beyond standard protocol. Tyler’s breath hitched sharply, and the wet spot on his jockstrap spread wider.

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Dr. Hawthorne set his clipboard down on the counter with deliberate care, the soft click of plastic against Formica filling the quiet room. “Let’s be precise about this. I need you to describe exactly what triggers it. Is it the questions about your genitals? The hernia check? Or is it simply being exposed and measured in front of an authority figure?” His voice stayed low and even, every syllable carrying that familiar doctor’s authority that had always made Tyler feel small and examined.

Tyler’s face burned deeper crimson. He shifted on the table, the paper crinkling loudly beneath him. “All of it, sir,” he whispered, barely able to meet the older man’s eyes. “Especially … when you talk like that. Like you’re really studying me. Like something might be wrong down there.” As the words left his mouth, his cock throbbed visibly, forcing another thick drop of precum to soak through the already drenched jockstrap. The fabric was now almost sheer, clinging obscenely to every ridge and vein.

The doctor’s eyebrows lifted slightly, though his expression remained composed. He reached for a fresh pair of gloves, snapping them on with slow, methodical movements. “I understand. For medical accuracy, I’ll have to perform a more hands-on evaluation. Stand up, please. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind your head.” The instructions were delivered in the same tone he’d used for thousands of routine checks, yet they now carried a heavy, intentional weight.

Tyler obeyed without hesitation, rising on shaky legs. The soaked jockstrap tented obscenely as he assumed the position, arms locked behind his head, powerful chest rising and falling rapidly. Dr. Hawthorne stepped in close, his gloved hands hovering just below the young man’s waist. “Good. Now try to hold still while I check for any abnormalities. And Tyler … if you leak again, I expect you to tell me exactly how it feels.”

Dr. Hawthorne’s gloved fingers brushed lightly against the waistband of Tyler’s jockstrap, pulling it down just enough to fully expose the young man’s throbbing erection. The cool air of the exam room made Tyler twitch visibly. “Breathe normally,” the doctor instructed, his voice steady and clinical. “I’m going to palpate the area now. Tell me if you feel any unusual sensitivity.” His fingers wrapped around the base of Tyler’s cock with professional detachment, as though this were simply another hernia check, yet the slow, deliberate squeeze said otherwise.

Tyler let out a shaky gasp, his muscular arms trembling behind his head. “It … it feels too good, sir. When you touch me like you’re checking for something wrong.” A thick bead of precum immediately welled up at the tip and dripped down the shaft, landing on the doctor’s gloved fingers. Tyler’s face burned with humiliation, but his hips gave a tiny, involuntary push forward.

“Fascinating,” Dr. Hawthorne murmured, maintaining his composed demeanor. He stroked upward in a slow, measuring motion, as if evaluating length and firmness for his notes. “No signs of swelling or irregularity so far. But you’re producing quite a bit of fluid. Is this amount normal for you during medical examinations?” He tightened his grip slightly at the head, milking another heavy drop free.

“Yes, Doctor,” Tyler whimpered, eyes squeezed shut. “Only when it’s you. Only when you talk to me like I’m your patient … like I need to be thoroughly checked.” His cock pulsed hard in the older man’s hand, leaking steadily now, the clear fluid coating the doctor’s fingers and dripping onto the floor.

Dr. Hawthorne released him momentarily and picked up his clipboard again, making a few deliberate notes. “Patient exhibits strong arousal response to clinical questioning and genital manipulation. Significant precum production observed.” He looked back at Tyler, still standing exposed and trembling. “Turn around and bend over the table, please. I need to complete the prostate screening. And this time, Tyler, I want a full description of how it feels when you start leaking again.”

Tyler turned slowly and bent forward over the exam table, his strong arms resting on the crinkling paper as he presented himself. His muscular ass flexed with nervous tension, the soaked jockstrap pulled down around his thighs. Dr. Hawthorne stood behind him, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves with a sharp latex sound that echoed in the small room. “Good position,” he said calmly. “I’m going to perform a digital rectal exam now. This is standard for a thorough sports physical, especially with your reported sensitivity.”

The doctor applied a generous amount of cool lubricant to his gloved finger, then placed his other hand firmly on Tyler’s lower back to steady him. “Relax your muscles as much as possible,” he instructed, his voice low and authoritative. Slowly, he pressed his slick finger against Tyler’s tight entrance and began to push inside with clinical precision. Tyler gasped sharply as the finger slid deeper, breaching him in one smooth, deliberate motion.

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The front door clicked shut behind Mom, and just like that, the house felt different. Smaller. Hotter. Charged with something I couldn’t name but had felt building for years.

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I stood at the top of the stairs watching my stepdad, Mark, as he carried her suitcase out to the Uber. His broad shoulders strained against his faded black t-shirt, the same one that always clung to his thick chest after a workout. Two weeks. Just me and him. No Mom. No buffer. The thought sent a nervous thrill straight down my spine and into my stomach.

Mark closed the door and turned to look at me. At 52, he was still ridiculously handsome—greying beard, strong jaw, and those deep brown eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

“Guess it’s just us, kid,” he said, his voice low and rough like gravel. He gave me that half-smile that made my knees weak. “You gonna behave while she’s gone?”

I forced a casual laugh, but my heart was hammering. “Yeah. Of course.”

If only he knew how badly I wanted to be anything but good.

That evening, Mark didn’t waste any time. He came downstairs in a tight white tank top and gray gym shorts that hung low on his hips, showing the deep V of his lower abs. “We should make use of the time,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Get you stronger. I’ve seen how you slouch over that laptop all day. Come on down to the gym.”

I followed him downstairs, trying not to stare at the way his powerful thighs flexed with every step. The basement gym was small but well-equipped—weights, a bench, and a large mirror that covered one entire wall. The air already smelled faintly of his sweat from earlier that afternoon. Mark spotted me on the bench press first, his big hands hovering just under the bar, ready to catch it. Every time I pushed up, his fingers would brush lightly against my sides or my chest to “correct my form.”

“Chest up, Alex. Don’t arch your back like that,” he murmured, his voice close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin. I was already half-hard in my shorts by the third set, praying he wouldn’t notice. But when I sat up after the last rep, flushed and breathing hard, his eyes flicked down for just a second before meeting mine again.

“Looking good, kid. We’ll make a man out of you yet.”

By the time we moved to squats, I was struggling to focus. Mark stood behind me, his massive frame filling the mirror as he guided my posture. His hands settled firmly on my hips, thumbs pressing into the small of my back.

Every time I lowered down, my ass brushed against the front of his shorts. I could feel the heavy warmth of him there; thick, solid, impossible to ignore. My face burned as I tried to steady my breathing.

“Easy,” he said quietly, his grip tightening slightly. “Control the movement. Don’t let it control you.” His voice had dropped even lower, and I wasn’t sure if he was still talking about the workout.

We finished with core work on the mat. I was on my back doing reverse planks while Mark knelt beside me, one large hand pressed between my shoulder blades to keep me steady. I kept stealing glances at the thick outline in his shorts, now even more obvious up close. My own cock was throbbing painfully against the thin material of my gym shorts with no way to hide it.

“Ten more seconds,” he growled, his hand sliding slowly down my spine. “You’re doing good, Alex. Real good.” The praise hit me somewhere deep and dirty. When the plank finally ended, I collapsed onto the mat, chest heaving. Mark didn’t move away. He stayed right there, looking down at me with an unreadable expression, his eyes dark.

“Hit the shower upstairs,” he finally said, voice low. “I’ll clean up down here.” As I stood on shaky legs, I could feel his gaze follow me all the way to the stairs. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. The way he’d touched me tonight felt different. More intentional. More hungry.

I barely made it to my room, heart still racing. My cock was aching as I stripped out of my sweat-soaked shorts and underwear. I knew I shouldn’t, but the second I wrapped my hand around myself, all I could picture was Mark; those strong hands, that thick bulge, and the way he’d looked at me on the mat like he wanted to devour me.

I stroked faster, biting my lip to stay quiet as filthy thoughts flooded my mind. What if he came upstairs right now? What if he walked in and saw me like this? I grabbed my phone and opened a private tab, quickly pulling up one of my favorite videos—a muscular older man fucking a younger guy hard from behind, growling “good boy” with every thrust.

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I turned the volume low and matched my strokes to the rhythm on screen, imagining it was Mark’s thick cock stretching me open instead.

I was getting close, hips bucking into my fist, when I heard it; the soft creak of my bedroom door opening.

My hand froze mid-stroke as my eyes flew open. Mark stood in the doorway, still in his tank top and gym shorts, a glass of water in one hand. His gaze dropped slowly from my flushed face to my hard cock, still wrapped in my fist, then to the sounds of rough grunting coming from my phone.

The video was still playing; the older man slamming into the younger one, calling him “son.”

“Fuck—” I gasped, yanking my hand away and scrambling for a pillow to cover myself. My face burned with humiliation. “I—I thought you were downstairs. I’m sorry, I—”

Mark didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at me with those dark, intense eyes. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Finally, he stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

“You don’t have to hide that from me anymore, Alex,” he said, his voice low and rough. He set the glass of water down on my dresser and took another slow step closer. His eyes flicked back to my phone, where the video was still playing; the older man pounding deep into the younger guy while calling him “son.” My stomach twisted with shame, but my cock twitched traitorously under the pillow.

“I … I didn’t mean for you to see that,” I stammered, barely able to meet his gaze. My heart was pounding so hard I felt dizzy. Mark’s presence filled the room, his big frame towering over my bed, still radiating heat from the gym as he looked down at me with dark, intense eyes.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I’ve known for a while, kid. The way you look at me during workouts. How you get hard when I put my hands on you. I’ve been trying to ignore it … but I’m done pretending.”

My mouth went dry. “You … you knew?”

Mark nodded, his eyes locked on mine. “Been fighting it since you turned eighteen. Every time you’d stare at my chest or my cock in my tight shorts. Thought I was imagining it at first. But tonight, watching you on that mat with your ass pushing back against me … I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the pillow away from my lap, exposing my still-hard cock. I didn’t stop him. His gaze dropped to it, dark and hungry, and he let out a low sound that made my stomach flip.

“Looks like you’ve been needing this for a long time,” he murmured, his voice dropping even deeper. “So tell me the truth, Alex. You want your stepdad’s cock?”

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It was grey, overcast, and pissing down outside. Another rainy January on the Pacific Northwest in the dreary seaside metropolis of Seattle. I’d honestly prefer it to snow here instead.

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At least, that would brighten things up a bit.

But I was used to it, having lived here all my life. I had been looking forward to getting away to somewhere like California to study, but the decision to stay in my hometown to attend university was made without question because I wanted to stay close to my best friend, Logan.

Logan and I had been thick as thieves since kindergarten when he’d pushed me over in the playground, taken off with my backpack, and encouraged me to chase him.

When I caught him, he pummeled me.

Best friends for life.

Logan had only been invited to attend the University of Washington. So now, here we were, years later, renting an apartment together near campus—third year running.

Living at home with our parents had been out of the question. Logan had insisted he wanted freedom to explore the sultry side of campus life. I agreed with him in principle.

So far, I hadn’t partaken of that perk; instead, I had been annoyingly bearing witness to Logan bringing home one girl after another. I’d taken to wearing headphones and listening to music to block out the sounds of his groaning and grunting, travelling through our thin walls.

Don’t get me started on the sounds the girls made.

My man, Logan, must be hung or at least good at what he was doing. None of them stuck around, though … until recently. My best friend had fallen in love … and it was nauseating.

I smiled as I scrolled through the streaming guide, looking for a movie to watch. I was honestly happy for him. He deserved someone who would put up with him. I liked his girlfriend, except when she tried to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends. I’d nearly run out of excuses.

I had a girlfriend for most of my years at high school, but broke things off with Mandy right after our senior prom. I didn’t want any entanglements, and honestly, I hadn’t been fair with her.

It had been easy to date the girls, who flocked around my good looks, to keep suspicions at bay. Dark curly hair and grey-green eyes were my weapons, but I had secrets not even Logan knew.

I hadn’t meant to keep it to myself, my gradual reckoning with the reality that I wasn’t interested in the girls I walked with, hand in hand, down the school hallways, my entire teenage life. Now that so much time had passed, I felt awkward bringing it up.

I knew I had to tell Logan. I wanted to start dating and bring home the guys I got messy with in the dark corners of the university dorms and the student union pub washroom.

I ran my hand through my hair and shut off the television. It was Thursday evening, my day off, and I really should be studying. My mood was in the dumpster, though.

Needing to move to shake it off, I decided to go for a run. When I came back to the apartment, Logan was standing in the living room facing someone I could only see the back of.

The unknown visitor’s hair was blond and wavy above his broad shoulders; he was tall and muscular, and he had a lush ass that I could get lost in, face-first, for hours.

I cleared my throat to get their attention.

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I took a step back when they turned to face me.

Oh, Jeezus.

It was Logan’s younger brother, Shaun, who had made my cock take notice. A rush of heat flooded my face, leaving me parched. I never would have recognized him from the back. He lived exclusively with his dad in Portland, but out of the blue started at UW in Seattle this semester.

Logan and I hadn’t seen Shaun around yet. We were already three weeks into classes, but Logan and Shaun weren’t close because Shaun moved away when he was ten. After his first ten years, I’d only seen Shaun a handful of times during the odd summer vacation.

Understatement—he’d changed.

While Shaun had grown into this beast of a man, I had missed out entirely.

Logan had been surprised to hear his brother was coming back to our corner of the rainforest. For some reason, Shaun had decided to move in with his and Logan’s mom in Seattle and switch universities. Something had gone down between Shaun and his dad. Not sure what.

Even Logan didn’t know.

“Hey, Connor, long time, no see.” Shaun reached out his hand to me.

“Yeah … yeah … it’s been a while.” The pressure of his firm grip on my hand went straight to my dick, and my mind buzzed through all sorts of scenarios that involved him riding my cock.

Stop it.

Focus, Connor.

I crossed my arms. “You settling in all right at school?”

“Finding my way around.”

I almost licked my lips while watching his form words. “And your mom?”

Shaun laughed. “She’s glad to have me there since Logan abandoned her.”

Logan chuckled. “I did not. I just didn’t want to subject her to my debauchery.” He smiled as Shaun gripped his shoulder and gave him a jovial shake.

“Mom says you have a girlfriend, Logan.”

“Yeah. Carly.”

I swear to God, his eyes went all swoony. My buddy was sunk.

“And you?”

It took me a second to realize Shaun was talking to me. I shook my head. “Nah, living the single life for now. I’m focused on my studies. Plenty of time to be nailed down later.”

Logan laughed. “He lives the life of a saint. Haven’t seen him with a girl since high school.”

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Shaun blinked at me, and his gorgeous brow furrowed a little. His gaze lingered on me long enough that I began to feel like he was unwrapping my tightly guarded truth.

“So ….” Shaun clapped his hands. “What’s for dinner?”

“God, I can’t believe you’re staying with us for the weekend,” Logan said, surprising me. He hadn’t mentioned house guests of the brotherly kind. “You’re going to eat everything in the place.”

“Not my fault, I have good genes.”

“Yeah, of the gladiator variety.” Logan grabbed Shaun’s arm and hauled him toward the kitchen. I hung up my waterproof coat, kicked off my wet sneakers, and followed, leaving a trail of water on the floor. Thursday was pizza night, and I wanted to avoid a pineapple caper. One thing I remembered about Shaun is that he shared his brother’s gross affinity for the stuff on pizza.

Logan pulled me aside. “Hope you don’t mind. Shaun showed up at the coffee shop. I felt all brotherly and asked him over. When you walked in, I’d just asked him to stay with us.”

“You should have run it past me first.”

Mainly because having Shaun in our apartment made me want to take up tree climbing. The guy easily had four inches on me, and I wasn’t lacking in the height department.

“I know, sorry.” He grasped my bicep. “Is it all right?”

I grinned at him. “Only if I get a whole large bacon and pepperoni to myself.”

Logan clapped my shoulder. “Done.”

With the pizzas ordered, I dashed off to my room, bath towel in hand, dried my rain-soaked hair, and pulled on grey sweatpants—commando, a sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks.

It didn’t feel like I’d ever warm up.

A hot shower was in my future. One where I would be imagining Shaun pressed up against the glass of the enclosure while I fucked his ass until he called my name and came hands-free.

My dick was far too eager for me to follow through, but I went to the kitchen instead, grabbed myself a beer, and joined Logan and Shaun in the living room.

The pizzas arrived thirty minutes later, while we were still looking for a movie to watch, and the entire time we were eating, Shaun’s attention kept lingering on me, then flitting away after a cheeky smile when I caught him staring. Fuck, he was beyond gorgeous.

The crinkles in the corner of his crystal-blue eyes before he turned away had me shifting in my seat, begging my cock to take a goddamned break.

“How’s Dad?” Logan asked as he lifted another slice of ham and pineapple.

Shaun shrugged. “Same as always. Rigid to a fault.”

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“You two argue?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Shaun nodded, then used his thumb to rub some tomato sauce off his lips. He popped his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it. His gaze connected with mine, and he smiled.

Logan was oblivious to the subtleties Shaun was throwing at me and barged ahead.

“What about?”

Shaun cleaned his fingers with a napkin. “Told him I’m gay.”

I swear, Logan and I coughed and nearly choked at the same time. Logan, because he obviously had no idea his little brother was gay. Me because … well, it seemed Shaun had been flirting with me since I walked in the door. And I hadn’t exactly shut him down with all my not-so-covert adjustments to persuade my twitching dick to heel.

Then, like the stupidest big brother ever, Logan asked, “Since when?”

I rolled my eyes. “Really, Logan?”

Logan lifted his hands and shrugged. “What?”

“People are born gay, you idiot.”

Shaun nodded. “Connor is right. Always been gay. Just got tired of hiding it.”

“And Dad was upset?”

Shaun tipped his head then shook it. “It’s not like he’s a homophobe or anything. He just needed time to think and wrap his head around it. I decided to give him his space.”

“And Mom?”

“She’s cool with it. Strict rule about not bringing guys back to the house, though.”

Logan picked a few random pineapple pieces off the bottom of the pizza box and balanced them on his latest slice. “That’ll cramp your style a bit, I’m sure.”

“Yeah ….” Shaun looked at me. “Sucks when you can’t be yourself.”

And then the lumberjack-sized fucker winked at me.

Jeezus fuck.

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I almost groaned with need for him. And was lost in the rapid pounding of my heart when Logan announced, “I’m off to have a shower.”

Shaun smiled at me. “We’ll amuse ourselves while you’re gone.”

We both watched Logan go, and when the shower started up, Shaun left his seat, crossed the living room, and knelt at my feet. He brushed his hands up my thighs. “Well?”

My cock throbbed, fully tenting the front of my sweats. “Well, what? Do it.” I pushed my hand into his hair and gripped onto a thick clump so I could guide his beautiful mouth. I lifted his chin, and his sultry eyes met my gaze of absolute frenzy. “Suck my dick.”

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Sitting on the sofa in the cramped studio space, I fiddled with the torn edges of my jeans at the knees. I’d finished my filmed interview portion of the gay porn video I’d agreed to do.

Now, I waited until they were ready for me in the room they’d be filming in. I brushed my hand across my firm abs. I’d been working out more while building up the courage to do this.

The deciding factor was that I’d lost my job at Sports Club and needed rent money. A buddy of mine made a few videos for cash. The $500 per scene was too tempting to pass up.

How hard could it be?

The interviewer asked me about my hobbies, work, and previous relationships. He’d been super excited to learn I wasn’t gay and had never been fucked.

He especially loved how muscular and tanned I was. He’d had me pull up my shirt and show off my abs for the camera; then turn away from him and caress my ass.

I jumped when someone called my name.

“Colin, come with me, please.”

I followed the guy dressed in all black into another room. He pointed at a curtained area.

“You can get undressed there. Leave the jockstrap we told you to wear on.”

I pulled the curtain aside and entered a small dressing room with hooks on the walls. I stripped down and hung everything up. There was a stool in the corner. I sat and waited.

“You ready in there?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I drew the curtain aside and stepped out. The guy gave me an appreciative look after his gaze wandered all over me.

“The cameras will be filming as soon as we walk out there.” He pointed at another curtain. “Follow my direction. Don’t say a word. The only sound we want out of you is moaning.”

I swallowed. “Got it.”

The filming area was chilly as the guy led me into it. I tried not to look too bewildered as I took in a black plywood wall with a built-out section where I assumed I would be lying. I was very conscious of the fact that I was on camera with my cock the only thing covered.

The guy pointed to the bed. At least it had some cushioning. Black like everything else. There was a step. I used it to climb onto the bed and sit on it. The guy motioned for me to lie down.

I did as I was told, lay on my back, and put my legs through an opening at the far end.

The guy motioned for me to move down.

I guess no one spoke.

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I shuffled down further. Off to the left, I spotted a camera. Another one to my right. And one above. Red lights on, recording. The space was brighter than I expected.

I felt utterly exposed.

The guy took one of my arms, raised it over my head, put a thick handcuff on it, and clipped it in place on a wall behind me. I’d signed a waiver agreeing to being restrained. He lifted and secured my other arm.

Then disappeared.

I gasped when someone lifted my legs, grabbed me around my thighs, and tugged me further through the opening. Probably the same guy. A curtain that came down onto my belly meant I couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of the wall.

His fingers slipped beneath the bands of my jockstrap and removed it. I wasn’t sure if I’d be permitted to keep it on. But I knew it wasn’t my choice. I’d agreed to the whole thing.

I’d consented to be a fuck hole for men.

The guy lowered my legs but came back quickly and lifted one. I felt rope being wrapped around my thigh a few times, then lifted higher and tugged tight. I’d suspect I’d been trussed to the wall.

He repeated the restraint on my other leg.

I jumped when he peeled my soft cock free from my balls, then sucked on it. I couldn’t stop my body’s response if I wanted to. He left me with a hardening dick.

Thick anklets were put around my first ankle, and I was spread wide, my ankle attached to the wall high above and over to the left of my head. Then my other ankle, making a perfect V.

My ass and hole; exposed and on display to the room on the other side. I couldn’t struggle free of what was going to happen to me even if I wanted to.

The guy came back to my dick and pumped it a few times, then left me to wait for what was going to happen next. It felt like I waited forever.

Someone brushed their hand down my thigh and across my balls. Then a finger down my crease. A hot gust of air preceded the feel of a tongue. My cock pulsed, and I whined.

No one had ever touched me there like that.

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I sat beside my husband, Carlos, in bed as he typed away on his laptop. He was entering the specifications on a real estate website for the type of home we were looking to buy. It was a weekly ritual every Saturday morning. Look at all the houses we couldn’t yet afford.

“Oh, I like that one.” I pointed at a three-bedroom, two-bath craftsman-style house. Carlos opened the listing and flipped through all the interior and landscaped yard photos.

It was a gorgeous house.

It’s a bit of a moot point looking for a home yet. We were still miles away from saving the amount we needed for a substantial down payment. Still, we could dream.

I sipped on my coffee as Carlos zipped past the listings we had seen already. We both had good jobs as lawyers, but we wanted to keep our monthly mortgage payments down.

Carlos snapped his laptop closed. It was almost eleven in the morning, and we needed to get our day started. We were both booked for haircuts and shaves, and we needed to pick up our tuxedos for tonight’s award dinner and ceremony, for which my firm had been nominated.

Shower first. Carlos went into the bathroom and started the water. I joined him once he was standing in the large, tiled shower stall. We each had our own showerhead, but I joined him under his and pressed his chest against the wall. His hole was still loose from this morning’s pounding.

I slipped right in; my cum from earlier acted as lubricant. Carlos grunted through every upstroke and whined when I jammed up high into him and made another deposit.

I wanted his hole oozing and wet for the rest of the day. I plowed him twice last night and twice this morning before getting into the shower. I had the stamina of a stallion.

I retreated to my side of the shower and started with my hair. Carlos would be aching and throbbing inside his chastity cage. I’d allowed him to cum once last night. It would be days before he would be permitted to cum again. I liked to keep him on the verge of climaxing.

Edging was one of our love languages.

After we were showered and dressed in jeans and t-shirts, we headed to the barber’s for a bit of pampering and to ensure our appearance was entirely on point. People sometimes commented on us as a couple. Apparently, we were both stunning and looked like brothers.

We weren’t, but even I could see the similarities. High cheekbones, sultry full lips, piercing green eyes, and sleek black hair—God had been kind to us.

When we finished at the barber’s, we stopped for a late lunch. There would be a lot of food at the ceremony, but we didn’t want to be seen eating too much.

Illusion was everything. Carlos and I worked out every day to keep our bodies sinfully toned and sculpted. We did it for ourselves and each other to keep our immense desire alive.

“What do you think, Ronan?” Carlos stood in front of our full-length mirror, critiquing himself in the perfectly fitted tuxedo. He looked good enough to devour.

I’d have to wait to get him home to follow through on my hunger. His ass looked tight, muscular, and round. I’d be starting with his sweaty cum-coated hole.

We’d had sex before we dressed ourselves in tonight’s finery. Carlos was wearing two pairs of underwear to keep from staining his tuxedo pants.

To arrive in style, I’d arranged for us to be picked up in a limousine. It was well stocked with champagne, so we started with that. We’d finished a bottle by the time we arrived at the hotel where the ceremony was being held. I proudly walked Carlos inside with him on my arm.

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My husband had the upper hand on me. Where I was handsome, he was beautiful. Exotic with his darker skin tone. Heads turned as we entered the room filled with round tables seating six, white tablecloths, and extravagant floral centerpieces. We found our names on the head table for our firm, along with all the partners. I was being considered for partner.

We took our seats, and I poured each of us a glass of wine. I wasn’t going to sit through this thing sober. It would be long and tedious. Someone rang a bell, and everyone who had been mingling took their seats. One of the partners, Spencer Sullivan, sat beside me.

We awkwardly shook hands, and Spencer leaned forward to look past me.

“Nice to see you here, too, Carlos,” he said.

Carlos wasn’t the talkative type, but he managed a “Best of luck to you tonight.”

We were up for three awards. Firm of the Year, Diversity and Inclusion Champion, and Managing Partner of the Year, for which Spencer had been nominated.

We were expected to clean up on all three of them. We usually did, which made the ceremony even more boring. There was no tension. No excitement.

While we were still picking at our dinners, the host for the evening took the floor up front. He started with some stupid jokes that I had heard a hundred times before.

“What’s the difference between an accountant and a lawyer? Accountants know they’re boring. What do you call a lawyer with an IQ of 50? Your Honor. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a liar? The pronunciation.” And the most tiring joke of all. “What do lawyers order to drink? Just-ice.” The crowd was polite, laughing and groaning at the guy’s efforts.

As expected, we won all three of the categories we’d been nominated for. Spencer’s speech was longer than I had patience for. As soon as he finished and I congratulated him again, I nudged Carlos. “I want to head to the washroom. You coming?”

“Sure. I could do with a whizz.”

All the way there, I kept looking over at my husband. He looked so good in that tuxedo; I was considering buying one for him to wear during our role-play sessions.

When we reached the washroom, it was empty. I grabbed Carlos and backed him up against a wall. I’d been watching his lips on occasion as he spoke to the person beside him.

I wanted them.

I descended on his mouth and took control of it, devouring and forcing his tongue to behave and let me taste it. I was aware of movement behind me, so I released him.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

It was Spencer, and he was standing with his dick out at the urinal. Carlos went into a stall to relieve himself. The chastity cage made it challenging to pee. It was best if he sat down.

I took a place beside Spencer, and my stream hit the back of the urinal. I caught his head moving to check out what I was packing. He lingered with his gaze.

“Your husband looks good tonight,” he said.

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I chuckled. “Carlos always looks good. Can’t keep my hands off him.”

Spencer tucked his cock away. “You still saving up for a house?”

I exhaled. “Yeah. It’s going slow, though.”

Spencer turned to face me. “I have a proposition for you.”

I tucked my dick and did up my zipper. “What kind of proposition?”

“The kind that will give you enough money for a down payment.” Spencer went to the sink to wash his hands as I raised my eyebrows.

Intriguing.

“Ask Carlos to go back to the table so we can talk.”

I soaped up my hands as Carlos emerged from a stall. What could Spencer possibly want to talk about that required me to be separated from my husband?

Carlos joined us at the sinks as Spencer, and I finished up. “Hey, babe, could you head back to the table without me? Spencer and I have some boring business to discuss.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

Once Carlos was gone, Spencer and I waited as a few men came and went from the urinals. Spencer walked to the rear of the washroom and motioned me over to him.

“So, what’s this proposition?”

Spencer kept his voice low. “Your husband is beyond hot.”

Yup.

“I know.”

“I want to fuck him.”

I took a step back, my heart hammering. I’m sure my eyes looked like stunned saucers. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I needed to hear him repeat it.

“I’ll pay you.”

“To fuck my husband?”

“$250,000”

Holy fuck.

“You’re not serious.” Sure, Spencer had more money than God himself, but why would he want to spend it on sticking his dick in the man I loved?

“One catch, though,” Spencer said. “You have to watch.”

My dick twitched as I briefly imagined what that would look like. Carlos being fucked by another man as I watched them. My husband—fucked by my boss for money.

“You don’t need to decide now. Talk it over with Carlos. I want him to be willing.”

A lump formed in my throat. I wasn’t sure what to say, even if I could speak. I didn’t hate the idea, but Carlos would need to be fully on board. We didn’t have an open relationship.

Spencer patted me on the shoulder and left the washroom, leaving me to think about what I was going to say to Carlos if he asked me what I wanted to do about the proposition.

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I felt uneasy as I sat beside Spencer at the table, reaching for and holding Carlos’s hand beneath the tablecloth. The ride home in the limousine was quiet.

Thankfully, we were exhausted when we got home. I drilled Carlos from behind, gently and lovingly, before we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I wasn’t very talkative over breakfast, and Carlos kept looking at me with concern etched on his gorgeous face. I decided to spit it out. “Spencer had a proposition for me—for us.”

“Anything to do with becoming partner?”

“No, to do with adding another $250,000 to our bank account.”

Carlos furrowed his brow. “Is it legal?”

I huffed out a laugh. “Sort of.” Prostitution was illegal in our state, but I felt like this fell under a different category; Carlos might not see it my way.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“He thinks you’re hot.”

“And?” Carlos frowned at me. I think he knew where this was going.

“He wants to fuck you.”

That caused an immediate peak in Carlos’s eyebrows. “He what?”

“Wants to fuck you … for money.”

“He wants you to pimp me out.”

“It would be a one-time thing.” I reached for his hands and took them. “$250,000, Carlos. Imagine it. We could finally buy a house.”

Carlos didn’t speak. He just looked at me. “Do you want me to do it?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want. The decision is up to you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Carlos shook his head. “This is a decision we make as a couple.”

“Okay, then are you considering it?”

“I need to know what way you’re leaning.”

I sighed. “It’s a lot of money for one night. You love being fucked. Whether it’s me or someone else, I think you’d be all over it. We’ve talked about making our marriage open.”

Carlos pulled one of his hands free from mine and rubbed his lips. He was considering it. I could see it in his expression. He was deep in thought.

I had one more thing to add. “The deal is off the table if I don’t agree to watch.”

Carlos’s eyes grew wide, and his breathing became more pronounced.

“That would be so hot.”

“You think we should do it?” I asked. “Take Spencer up on his offer?”

“I’m liking it more and more as I think about it. Spencer is a good-looking guy.”

I lifted my phone from my pocket. “Should I call him?”

Carlos rose from his seat, came around to my side of the table, and kissed me with such passion I knew the idea was turning him on. Once he left the kitchen, I made the call.

We were doing it. My boss was going to fuck my husband while I watched.

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We’d decided to meet in a fancy hotel room paid for by Spencer. No way could we afford this place. The space was split into two rooms. A living room and a bedroom.

The bed was enormous. Plenty of play space, and there was a chair in the corner as if they knew why we were here. I was riding a bit of a high, thinking about what was going to happen.

Carlos and I poured ourselves a drink from the bar and took a seat on the sofa to wait for Spencer to arrive. I sucked in a breath when he opened the door and walked in.

He was dressed in a sporty, expensive, and casual way. He looked good. I couldn’t wait to see him naked—naked and plowing my husband’s hole.

Spencer poured himself a drink and sat across from us in a plush chair.

“Are we still on to do this?” he asked.

“Looking forward to it,” I answered.

Spencer looked at Carlos. “And you?”

Carlos nodded. “Fully on board.”

Spencer clasped his hands together. “Excellent. How about you get undressed while I finish transferring this money into your account. I’ve cleared it with my bank already.”

As Carlos peeled off his shirt, I showed Spencer our banking details. By the time Carlos was undressed, $250,000 had been deposited into our savings account.

My husband stood facing Spencer. I could see that he was filling his chastity cage, flesh pushing through the openings. He was so into this; he’d been doing some growing in his pants.

It put me at ease that he was turned on.

Spencer motioned for him to come closer to him. My cock perked up when my boss grasped Carlos’s cage and flicked it to jump a few times, causing Carlos discomfort.

“You’re a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” Spencer said. “All caged up like that.”

Carlos shivered. He loved dominant talk. He was a perfect submissive.

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Our ninth wedding anniversary had been a day filled with long walks, cozy restaurants, and awesome sex. It was in the afterglow of the reckless night before that our boring, everyday lives started to seep back in, filled with responsibilities, appointments, and to-do lists.

I rolled out of bed and groaned—my back and thighs ached when I stood. Pushing fifty wasn’t doing me any favors, but Kane and I refused to let it impact our sex lives.

We were like a couple of twenty-somethings. Going at it hard, any time of day, we had spare moments where we could get away with it. At home, of course. But Kane’s car wasn’t off limits. Just last week, I’d given him a blowjob while we were going through a car wash.

That wasn’t the extent of it. His office—check. In our gym’s locker room showers—check. In our apartment elevator—check. And last night, on our balcony in the cool night air—check.

It had been thrilling being naked outdoors, twenty-seven stories up. Kane fucking me as I clung to the railing. Made us yearn for a backyard private enough to be clothing-optional.

In the spirit of being au naturel, I headed for the kitchen to start the coffee. I had my back turned to the room as I measured out the grounds when someone cleared their throat.

Not thinking, I spun around, my bare dick leading the charge. On one of the chairs facing the dining table in the corner of the kitchen was Kane’s youngest son, Jared. At twenty-two, he was the picture of innocence. He’d never had a girlfriend. Never been in trouble. My stepson was a good kid.

And right now, he was staring at me, his gaze bouncing between my cock and my eyes.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I let myself in.” He looked at the floor while his knee bounced like a drummer playing the bass drum. “I should know better than to do that.”

I was going to finish what I was doing. He’d already seen everything. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get this coffee on, then I’ll save your eyesight and go get dressed.” I turned back to what I’d been doing, measuring out the coffee and filling the water reservoir.

“Whatever,” Jared mumbled behind me. “Don’t hurry on my account.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. He had his eyes closed, and he was shaking his head as though he had said something he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. My dick perked up at the prospect of having been admired instead of tolerated. I made an ‘um-hm’ and returned to my task.

Two heartbeats later, my better half hurried down the hall fully dressed in a suit and tie. “Gregory, hun, I need to dash. I know we were going to have breakfast together, but ….”

Kane’s gaze had landed on his son.

“Jared, what are you doing here?” Then Kane looked at me and frowned. Apparently, my nudity wasn’t appreciated at the moment. I would’ve left, but I wanted to know, too.

“Mom threw me out,” Jared blurted and crossed his arms. “For a few days anyway.”

“Why?” Now Kane’s arms were crossed. This had to be something epic for Kane’s ex-wife to tell Jared to leave and go to his dad’s place. “What could you have possibly done?”

Again, the floor garnered Jared’s attention. “I had a friend over.”

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Kane tipped his head to one side. “And …?”

Jared’s voice came out high-pitched and so rapid I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “I was dressed up like Lucy from Fairy Tail. The wig … and everything.”

I shook my head. I had absolutely no idea who that was. But judging by Jared’s expulsion of air and crimson cheeks, I guessed that it was some character who wore a skimpy skirt.

I knew where this was going.

“She caught me … on my knees.” Jared ran his hand through his dark hair. “And, you know.”

To Kane’s credit, he remained calm. “Are you trying to tell me you’re gay?”

Jared groaned and ran both of his hands through his hair, and leaned on his knees. “I don’t know what I am other than so fucking confused about everything.”

I stepped into the conversation. “Can we go back to your mother kicking you out?”

“She didn’t kick me out … not exactly. I just stunned her so much she wanted some space.”

“How much space?” Kane looked at his phone. “Damn, I have to go. We can talk later, Jared.”

“I’ll be here,” he replied.

“Me, too.” Then I went in for a quick kiss from my husband. He lingered, then remembered he had to go, and I was naked in the kitchen in front of his son. He pulled away and put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll hold down the fort until I get home in a couple of hours?”

“Meeting?”

“Last-minute merger potential.”

“Uck.” I shooed him away. “You go do you. I’m hopping in the shower.”

Coffee first.

After Kane left, I poured myself a cup and headed to our ensuite bathroom. I took a few sips as the water heated up in the shower. I took my coffee black. It would still be hot when I got out.

After shampooing my hair, I lathered up my hands with soap and ran them over my chest and under my arms. Then down to my balls and stiffening cock. My dick was remembering Jared glancing at it. And his comment to not hurry. I gave it a few strokes to see if we had liftoff.

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I leaned back against the shower wall as my thick shaft hardened in my hand. I closed my eyes and jacked it beneath the warm water, then twisted and caressed the head. Again—and again in a perfect rhythm. I opened my eyes and looked down. The fat cap was crimson and firm.

I imagined Jared’s face looking up at me, waiting for me to spill my cum on his lips. My legs quivered, and my hand stopped moving when I heard my name being spoken beyond the glass.

“Gregory?”

I turned toward the hot and steady spray so only my back and ass were visible from where Jared was standing. “Jared, what are you doing in here?”

“I was wondering if I could have my friend over?”

“You couldn’t wait until after I had my shower to ask me?”

Jared cleared his throat. “I needed to be sure.”

“Sure about what?”

There was a long pause. “Were you thinking about me when you were jacking off?”

My cock that had been waning perked right back up. I slipped my hand onto it, took it in my fist, and started stroking it slowly. “What if I was?”

“Then we’d have something in common.” I sensed movement behind me. Then Jared tapped on the glass. “I think about you, too.”

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I had expected my daughter, Aurora, to be a mess after her boyfriend of two years ended their relationship. But she was fine. Apparently, it hadn't been going as well as I assumed.

The last time we spoke about Caden, they'd been in love, and living together was fulfilling every hope and dream they'd been nurturing since meeting in a first-year college Biology course.

Then, suddenly, it was over, with Caden saying he no longer loved her.

I knew how that felt. My wife had walked out on me six years ago with very little explanation other than she had fallen out of love with me. The kicker was that she had fallen right back in love within months of leaving me. Pretty sure she had been seeing the guy behind my back.

A fresh cloud of rain nearly obliterated my ability to see out my windshield. The last term of college was about to end in a couple of days, and I had promised to drive the five hundred miles to pick Aurora up and take her home. She'd accumulated too much stuff in her apartment to fly.

I found the motel I was looking for in the rainy dark and pulled in off the road. Aurora had insisted I stay at her place on the sofa, but I needed more privacy than that. I was a terrible sleeper. Snoring and mumbling in my sleep. Never knew what was going to come out of my mouth.

I'd spent many years in the military, and I suffered from PTSD. Much of what I mumbled or sometimes shouted was related to some of the more frightening and ugly missions I'd been on.

I parked my car and took off across the parking lot on foot, lifting the back of my coat to try to keep the rain from soaking my hair and clothes. I was unsuccessful.

The office I entered was dingy, as I had expected of the cheapest motel in town. I tapped the bell a couple of times and waited for someone to emerge from the back.

Oh, shit.

A familiar face appeared, and then he approached the desk.

My pulse did a little dance.

"Caden … I didn't know you worked here."

"Only been here a few weeks. Since Aurora and I broke up."

"I thought you were working at the college pub."

"Not much to do there when classes wind down. I needed something more regular."

I nodded my head as my slow gaze wandered over him. Dark hair pulled back, and a face that could entice the chaste, I'd always thought Caden was a catch visually.

Correction.

The guy was beyond gorgeous. He was sex incarnate, and I'd had dreams about him that no dad should be having about his daughter's boyfriend.

The dreams, night and day, started when Aurora first introduced me to Caden. I'd nearly stumbled when he held out his hand to me to shake. Then I started sweating.

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Aurora and Caden stayed in my house for four days and three excruciating nights. Knowing he was in the house, in a bed, maybe half-dressed—maybe nude, had done my head in.

I'd been a nervous, sleep-deprived mess their entire visit.

"Did you find a new apartment all right?" Why was I asking him that? He'd broken up with my daughter. I didn't really care whether he'd found new accommodation.

"I have a room here. One of the perks."

My heart sped up a little as I watched his lips form words. To my shame, I'd imagined those lips around my cock more than a dozen times. It filled me with guilt.

I cleared my throat. "I'd like a room. Two nights."

Caden tapped away at the ancient computer on the desk. "You picking up Aurora?"

"Yeah, she has a lot of stuff to bring home." Thankfully, the apartment came furnished, or I would have had to rent a moving van. Aurora had decided to finish her degree at our local college.

"I have the perfect room for you." Caden turned toward the back wall and lifted down a key with a massive plastic fob. No key cards here. I was really slumming it.

He set it on the desk. "That'll be fifty-five a night. I'll need your credit card details."

I dug my card out of my wallet and handed it to him. He manually typed it into the computer. I shook my head. I was frightened to see what my room looked like.

It was worse than I could have imagined. I hoisted my small bag onto one of the two double beds in the room. The covers had seen happier times, or maybe they'd bought them that old.

Beyond the threadbare material, a headboard straight out of the 70s. And a side table to match. Across from the foot of both beds, a dresser with a fairly new television on top.

I wrinkled my nose. There was an unmistakably musty scent that grew more prominent as I approached the bathroom.

Oh, my god.

The tilework in the shower appeared as if someone had given up trying to clean the grout lines. The toilet looked original to the building and probably was. I turned on the sink tap.

Of course, the water pressure was horrible.

A part of me wished I had brought surgical gloves on my trip. I was afraid to touch anything in the room. It would have to do. Fifty-five dollars a night was all I could afford.

I sat at the end of the bed and tried to convince myself it wasn't that bad. I hadn't noticed before, but beside the dresser was a door to what I assumed was a connecting room.

I went to check it out. When I turned the handle, I was satisfied it was locked. Even when I twisted the locking mechanism on the handle to the other position, the door remained locked on the other side. No one would be getting in here.

I relocked the door and picked up a pamphlet listing restaurants within walking distance. I looked out through the window past the stiff orange curtains. It had stopped raining.

Deciding to try the nearest diner, I set out to get a late dinner. Aurora and I could go out for a meal tomorrow night. Right now, I needed comfort food at a bargain price.

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I was led to a well-worn booth. Red pleather that had indents where thousands of bums had probably sat. I was sipping on a cup of decaf coffee when I heard my name.

"Hey, Mr. Fisher, you're eating late."

Caden placed both his hands on my table and leaned on them. Where his arms had been bare in the office, he was now wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket with steel buckles.

It was a look I liked.

"I didn't stop for dinner on the road," I replied.

"Their meatloaf is good here." Then he dropped down onto the seat across from me for reasons I could not fathom. I was his ex-girlfriend's dad. He'd broken up with her.

On any planet, that meant I was the enemy.

"Also, their pancakes are good if you're into breakfast for dinner." He folded his hands, set them on the table, and smiled at me with those pouty crimson lips of his.

I stared at his mouth, imagining kissing him, and at the thickness of his dark lashes surrounding his deep brown eyes that could seduce the coldest of men like me.

It wasn't until Aurora brought Caden home that I was forced to acknowledge my growing attraction to men. Sure, it had always been there, but it was ravenous now.

Caden scooted closer and dipped his head down.

"Did you notice the connecting door in your room?" he whispered.

I furrowed my brow and hesitantly answered, "Yes."

"My room is on the other side of that." Then he winked at me, sending my sudden, rapid, thundering pulse to occupy my ears. I wasn't sure I'd seen what I'd seen.

I swallowed.

"Sometimes, I don't lock my door," he added.

Okay, that was a definite pass. I leaned back and adjusted my pant leg. My cock had decided it was time to play. My brain had other ideas, but my body wasn't listening.

A perky young woman approached my table. "Decide on what you'd like to eat?"

My cheeks felt tight and hot. There was plenty I wanted to eat right now, but none of it was on the menu. He was sitting across from me and had invited me to a taste test.

I cleared my throat. "I'll have the meatloaf."

"Good choice." She scribbled on her little notepad, then sashayed away, headed for the passway into the kitchen. I clutched the table when Caden rose to his feet.

"I'm just here to pick up." He was almost past me when he stopped and put his hand on my shoulder. "The invitation is open … up to you."

He squeezed my shoulder and walked away. I turned in my seat to watch him. He was flirting with the server, making her laugh and blush. She passed him her notepad, and he wrote something on it. Probably his cell number. I grunted and returned to my coffee.

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It was ten at night when I returned to the motel. I had trouble taking my attention off the door that separated my room and Caden's. Had he been serious?

I stripped down to my underwear in preparation for going to bed. Aurora wanted to meet me for coffee before her last exam. I'd need to be up by seven to shower and be there on time.

It wasn't as dark in my room as I liked. The motel sign shone a neon light into my room, cutting through what darkness there was. I sat up. And illuminated that damned door.

It was like a beacon, calling me.

I whipped the blanket off and walked over to the door. Not sure how long I stared at the handle. I touched the cool metal, then took a deep breath and unlocked it.

It didn't make a sound when I turned the handle and opened it. Caden had kept his promise and unlocked his side of the door. His television was on, and he was sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard, holding a remote, flicking through the channels.

Jeezus.

He was naked, his knees bent, his cock hanging semi-hard between his legs.

Caden smiled at me. "Wasn't sure you'd be brave enough."

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It was a night like any other weekend I spent in the college dorms. Stuffing myself full of ramen, sunflower seeds, and green tea while studying for classes, I felt certain I was likely to fail.

I wasn't the best student. Not for lack of trying. I spent every night with my nose buried in a textbook, making notes. My parents often voiced their disappointment at my performance.

I was passing. That's all I cared.

I looked over my shoulder at my roommate's bed. He was out partying down at the student union pub. As usual, he had invited me along. One of these times, I might agree to go with him.

Not being one for raucous noise, I had avoided it so far this semester.

Head down, reading, I was surprised when my door opened and my roommate, Marcus, walked in. Even more surprised when three other guys followed him into our tiny dorm room.

They all sat on the edge of Marcus's bed, looking at me.

I turned in my chair. "What's up? Did they run out of beer at the pub?"

"Nah," Marcus replied. "Nothing like that." He looked along the row of guys. "The guys and I got talking about the fact that you're gay. And you pretty much stay cooped up in our room."

I frowned. "And?"

"Do you ever date or hook up or anything?"

I crossed my arms. "Not really any of your business."

One of the guys cleared his throat. "We were wondering … do you ever get horny?"

I looked back and forth between the guy and Marcus. "What's he talking about?"

Marcus raised his hands, palms facing me. "You can totally say no. But we were wondering if you'd be into hanging out with us tonight." Air quotes on hanging out.

My eyebrows rose as my cock twitched. "You want to have sex with me?" I looked along the line of guys. "All of you. You all want to have sex with me … like tonight."

"That's what we were hoping," Marcus answered.

My dick plumped as I thought through the implications of agreeing. These guys would never look at me the same way again. Not that I even knew them. I might get a reputation for being easy.

But who was I kidding? I was easy.

My heart rate escalated as pure animal lust overtook me, and I made my decision.

"It'll take me at least twenty minutes to get ready."

Marcus leaned forward. "That's a yes? Seriously, Connor … you're saying yes?"

"Yes, to sex … but not to any kind of public humiliation or anything."

"Is rough and dirty all right?" one of the guys asked.

I smiled at him. "Bring it on."

Marcus clapped his hands together. "Right, do you need us to leave the room?"

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"No, I need the bathroom for this part." I slid open the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieved what I needed to ensure the pipes were clean. I rose from my seat.

"Back in a few."

As I shut the door, the sound of laughing and cajoling filtered through. Their objective tonight was to get their dicks wet, and they didn't care who was providing the hole.

Luck would have it, I was good at providing holes to be used. Even though it had been a while. My cock stiffened as I used an enema bulb to prepare my body. It took a few times through until I was satisfied we wouldn't have any accidents. I gathered my supplies and headed back.

Marcus and another guy were seated on his bed—one on mine. One in my chair. I wasn't going to waste any time with pleasantries. I stripped off my shirt.

"Fuck, we're really doing this," one of the guys muttered.

I ignored him, pulled off my sweats, and discarded them. I was flying commando today, so there was no underwear to slow me down. I was all in at this point. They better not back out.

I stood before them in all my muscled glory. During my first year of college, I started working out. Now in my fourth year, I was built. And my cock was rock solid in anticipation.

After sinking onto my knees, I went hands and knees and waited. One of the guys was brave and lifted his semi-hard dick from behind his fly and shook it to catch my attention. He had it. His cock was beautiful. I smirked. All cocks were beautiful in my eyes. Thick and fat, long and thin, micro, cut and uncut … every dick had merit. I crawled toward him and parked myself.

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My day started like any other morning. Sugary cereal and far too much coffee often left me poised on the edge of serious jitters. A body response I could do without.

After over ten years of working as a plumber, I still suffer from anxiety when going into customers' homes. As the day progressed, it would ease. By the end of the day, I was fine.

Dispatch had given me this morning's job. It was a simple pipe replacement beneath a kitchen sink. It should only take me an hour or so. The strange thing was that the customer had specifically requested me.

I didn't recognize his name, but apparently, I had been recommended by my most recent ex-boyfriend of all people. We hadn't exactly split amicably, but sufficient time had passed.

Maybe he wasn't pissed at me anymore. I had broken up with him, citing feeling smothered. My ex-boyfriend had been a lot. He never left my side when we weren't at work.

Smothered was an adequate description. He made me feel like I couldn't breathe. I knew he loved me and simply wanted to spend time with me. But those feelings for him never came for me.

Daniel was a nice guy. Kind, considerate, funny … beautiful. He was the whole package, with everything I was looking for in a partner. Just not someone in my face 24/7.

He even abandoned his friend group because of me. That never sat right. I wanted him to have a life outside of me. His own interests and hobbies. His own adventures that he could come home and tell me about. Something that would make him interesting. But he had nothing.

Smothered and bored summed it up.

I pulled up outside the customer's house and took in the entire property. It was a beautiful house. Modern build. Immaculate landscaping. I wondered what had gone wrong with the kitchen sink in a house as new as this one. Time to find out.

I hauled myself out of my truck and retrieved what I would need for the job from the back. When the guy opened the door, my eyebrows rose of their own accord.

He had serious sexy beast vibes. Hairy, gorgeous, and tall. He had a moustache that bled into a glorious shade of dark stubble as if he had just crawled out of bed.

My mind hummed along, taking him all in. His chest was bare, and he had a pair of grey sweats slung low on his hips. It was obvious he was going commando.

His cock was at half-chub. He was either coming off an erection or headed toward one. He smirked at me when I turned my attention back to his face. Even his eyes were smiling at me.

"You must be Joseph," he said.

I cleared my throat, which had suddenly almost closed over. "Yes." I reached forward, and we shook hands. "And you must be Luke with the funky sink."

Luke laughed. "That would be me." He stepped back from the doorway, allowing me to squeeze past him into the house. The insufficient space he allowed me meant our chests had to touch. Even felt his hardening dick against my thigh as I passed. It was an obvious pass.

One, I wasn't sure what to do with it. If Luke knew Daniel, I didn't want to get mixed up with him. Word would get back to my ex-boyfriend if I hooked up with this guy.

I followed him into the expansive kitchen, watching every contraction of his full ass as he walked ahead of me. Those glutes of his had serious thrusting power.

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My cock began to harden despite me sending messages to it to calm the fuck down. I was here to do a job. Luke opened the door under the sink. He'd placed a plastic tub beneath the plumbing.

"It's leaking," he said.

"Yeah … weird." I set my toolbox down and sank to my knees as he stepped aside. The plumbing looked pristine. "Can you turn the tap on for a second?" I called up to him.

He crowded up against me, his thigh on my shoulder, and turned on the water. It immediately started spurting from the join before the bend. I fiddled with it. The adhesive had been cracked.

"Did you touch this?" I asked him. "Try to unscrew it or something?"

"Honest truth … I broke it on purpose." Luke touched the top of my head.

My heart thundered with realization as to why I had been called here. I took a deep breath and slowly released it. "And why would you do that?"

"Daniel told me about you … in great detail."

I knew exactly what that meant. And how dare Daniel share my secrets with someone? It was difficult enough dating, knowing eventually it would lead to sex. I never jumped into random sexual encounters. I had to know the guy well first, so it might lessen the chance of him bolting.

But this guy knew.

Luke dragged his fingers through my hair, and I melted against his thigh. Today, I was the needy one. I left no doubt that I was interested when I rubbed my cheek on his leg.

He was warm against the coolness of the air-conditioned room.

"That's it," he purred. "Daniel said you might be hungry."

I closed my eyes and shuffled my knees to face him. I inhaled his scent first, then brushed my nose and lips up and down the stiff tent in his sweats. His cock was thick and long.

The opposite of me. But then, most men were. And as luck would have it, Daniel had found me a man who had a fetish for what I had to offer. So few men appreciated me.

I had suffered my share of ridicule over the years, starting when I was a teenager and first realized I didn't look like the other guys in the shower room at school. I'd been quick to turn away, focused on the spray of the water as I faced the wall. Waited there until everyone else left.

My reaction had come too late. Some of the boys had seen my cock. Even flaccid, they could tell something was up with it. The teasing started immediately.

The words clit-dick had become their mantra around me.

Luke turned to face me, and I buried my face in his fragrant crotch. I pulled the band of his sweats tight against his stomach and mouthed his cockhead while humming.

He touched my chin. "Let's leave that for now. I want to get a look at you."

I rose to my feet and took a step back. The open cabinet door stopped me from being able to retreat too far. "You're sure I'm what you're looking for?"

"Micro-penis with a penchant for being fisted?"

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I swallowed. He knew exactly what he'd be getting. In a stiff wind, I was lucky to get three and a half inches. That half was important. Like a little kid who was trying to impress you with how old they almost were. That was me. Striving for four inches.

And not just short but slim. Clit-dick was an accurate description.

I stood still as Luke unlatched my belt and removed the bottom half of my clothing. The way he growled when he saw my dick made me feel sexy and adequate.

He clung to my hips as he sank to his knees.

"Such a pretty little clit."

I groaned, letting him know I appreciated the dirty talk. I clung to the counter with a death grip as he enveloped my minuscule dick with his mouth and twirled his tongue around the base.

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I lost the coin toss to start the night as the ambulance driver. My partner, Kieran, climbed into that seat and buckled up. I reached for the radio.

"KR 130, good evening."

"Good evening, KR 130," the dispatcher replied. "Ready for a good one."

I smiled. "I sure hope so. But it's Saturday night, so we're expecting a lot of drunks falling over and hurting themselves or beating each other up calls."

"Our bread and butter," Kieran chimed in.

"I'm hoping for little old ladies with minor complaints who just want company."

"Damian loves to fuss over them," Kieran said.

I laughed. "They love me." Time to be serious. "We're ready for calls, dispatch."

"Excellent. I have one for you. Category 2. Been waiting an hour. An eighty-three-year-old male has fallen in the bathroom and broken his ankle. Sounds like an open fracture."

The screen on our dashboard lit up with more details, and the map with the address.

"We're on it. Thank you, dispatch." I clipped the radio back on the dash. Kieran pulled the ambulance out of the yard and onto the street. It wasn't a lights and sirens call, so we drove silently to the address of our first casualty. Along the way, we discussed what we might find.

"I wonder if he was climbing out of the shower and slipped," Kieran said.

"He might have hit his head, too. We'll need to assess for that."

"If he didn't slip, what caused him to fall? Heart attack? Stroke? Loss of consciousness."

"Low blood sugar."

Kieran nodded. "Yeah, maybe he's diabetic."

We arrived at the address, parked, and hauled a load of gear out of the ambulance's side. We approached the front door and let ourselves in.

"Ambulance!" Kieran shouted.

"Upstairs," a frail voice answered.

We heaved our equipment up the stairs and found the bathroom. It looked like a massacre had occurred in there. There was blood all over the floor. We crowded into the room.

An old fella in obvious pain was flat out on the floor. It distressed me that he'd been waiting for an ambulance for an hour like that. We were stretched thin. It couldn't be helped.

The poor guy was naked, except for a towel over his private area. A woman who must be his wife poked her head into the doorway. She would have made the 911 call.

If she'd tacked on that her husband was having trouble breathing or had chest pains, an ambulance would have been dispatched sooner. A simple fracture, even though it could have been life-changing, was triaged as a low priority.

"Hey, I'm Kieran, and this is my partner, Damien." He smiled at the man. "You'll need to excuse him. He hates blood. Not sure why he's a paramedic."

"Ha-ha. Don't listen to him."

"What's your name, young man?" Kieran asked.

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I liked how Kieran comforted the casualties by trying to put them at ease with a bit of joking. Set the stage that they weren't in serious trouble, even when they were.

"Henry."

"Nice to meet you, Henry," I said. "Tell us the story of how you got here."

"I was getting out of the bath. I forgot to put the bathmat down. Stepped out and went down."

"Did you hit your head on the tub edge?" Kieran asked.

"A little."

"Did you lose consciousness? Do you remember the entire fall?"

"I don't think so."

I turned to the woman at the doorway. "Hi, what's your name?"

"Beth," she answered. "I'm Henry's wife."

"Beth, was Henry alert when you found him?"

"Oh, yes. And I was here as soon as he fell. I was in the next room."

Kieran felt the back of Henry's head. "Tell me if anything hurts." He felt his way down Henry's neck. "Does any of this hurt?"

"No, it's fine."

I produced a cervical collar. You couldn't be too cautious. Old bones were brittle and easily breakable. Demonstrated by the odd angle his ankle was at and the protruding tibia bone.

Kieran fixed the collar in place. "Try not to move your head."

He put a pulse oximeter on this finger and went back to feeling his way along Henry's body, looking for other injuries. I prepared the portable ECG machine while he was completing that. Kieran touched the affected foot. "Can you feel this?"

"A little."

"Can you wiggle your toes?"

Henry frowned. "No."

"That's all right. We'll reset that ankle in a second. Just have a few other things to check. Make sure you didn't fall for other reasons as well as slipping."

He attached the electrodes to his chest and legs. "Hold still for us."

Within a few seconds, I had a readout that looked fine. "Looks good."

"Can I take some blood from your finger?" I asked.

Henry nodded his head.

"Don't move your head," Kieran reminded him. "Say yes or no."

I moved closer to Kieran and bent down to reach Henry's hand. My body lit up, as it had lately, whenever I was near Kieran. We got on so well that I would have made a move on him.

One problem.

He was my stepbrother. We'd been raised together since we were fourteen. When he'd decided to become a paramedic, it sounded like something I'd like to do as well.

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After graduating and completing our training, the ambulance service, in an attempt to foster a sense of family and community, had paired Kieran and me as partners.

Spending 12 to 13 hours together three nights a week had started to present challenges. We'd never been particularly close as kids. Now, getting to know him so well was bringing out all sorts of feelings. Feelings of the bending him over and fucking him sort.

I pricked Henry's finger and used the blood sugar monitor. "Six point eight."

"Okay, good," Kieran said. "How is your pain level, Henry? On a scale of zero to ten. With zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain you've ever felt."

"A solid seven."

Kieran turned to me. I was already getting out the supplies to start an IV. I kneeled on Henry's good side and reached for his arm. "I'm going to put an IV into your arm so we can deliver you some pain relief. Is that all right, Henry?"

"Please … yes."

"I'm going to start with morphine." I tapped a possible vein. He had good ones for an elderly gentleman. "Okay, small scratch." I slid the needle into his vein on the inside of his elbow.

Henry released a long breath. He'd been holding it.

Once I had the canula set up, I drew up some morphine and gave him 5 mg. "The morphine is going to make you feel funny. If you start to feel sick, holler at me. I'll give you something."

"Let's take a look at this break," Kieran said.

It was nasty and would need us to reset it to re-establish blood flow.

"We need to reset your ankle, Henry," I said. "I'm going to give you some ketamine so we can do that. You won't remember the pain or us manipulating your ankle."

"Okay," Henry whispered.

I organized the bandaging supplies and drew up the ketamine while Kieran positioned himself to pull Henry's foot back in place. Once Henry was out of it, Kieran hauled on his foot until the tibia bone disappeared back to where it should be. I bandaged his foot to keep it in place.

Kieran stepped out into the hallway and retrieved a blow-up splint. After we had his leg packaged up, I went back out to the ambulance to retrieve a spinal board and put the bed just outside his front door. A few gentle rolling maneuvers, and we had Henry ready to be taken down to the ambulance. Stairs were always tricky, but we soon had him in the ambulance.

His wife followed us.

"Beth, we're taking Henry to St. Joseph Hospital," I said. "Are you going to drive there yourself, or do you want to come with us?"

"I'll come with you."

"Okay," Kieran said and held out his hand. "Watch your step getting up here."

Once he had Beth settled in a seat with a fastened seatbelt, he leapt out of the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors closed.

I returned the pulse oximeter to his finger, took another ECG reading, and listened to his chest. All the readings came back without concern.

"Are you good back there?" Kieran asked from the driver's seat.

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"All good."

Kieran pulled away from the curb, and I made small talk with the couple. Asking how they had met. How long they'd been together. The standard questions. I made a few jokes about my single status. How impossible I was to live with. Asked what their secret was.

When we arrived at the hospital, we took Henry inside and waited in a hallway for almost an hour until the emergency staff could see him. Kieran gave them the handoff details.

We climbed back into the ambulance's cab.

"Nice couple," I said.

"Very sweet together. Unlike you and your relationships."

I laughed. "Fuck off."

"Just sayin'." He eased away from the hospital. "You're only interested in one thing."

"And it's a good thing. There are always lots of men who want to ride my cock."

Kieran snorted as he laughed. "My luck, I like women. They're not as hungry as men."

"Your loss." I picked up the portable radio. "Hey, dispatch. KR 130 is ready for another job."

"Busy at the hospital?"

"Had to wait an hour to hand him off."

"Was it a bad break?"

"His foot was practically hanging off," Kieran answered.

"Ew."

"Really nice guy," I added. "He and his wife were adorable."

"Perfect. Okay, I have another job for you. Late 20s male. Bar fight."

Kieran groaned, and the sultry sound made my cock perk up. It was going to be a rough night if he kept groaning like that. I reminded myself that we were stepbrothers and Kieran was straight.

The rest of the night unfolded like that. In total, we attended eight calls. We made it back to the ambulance station with plenty of time to wash the ambulance and restock it.

We were ass to ass as we replenished what the next crew would need into the cubicles. They'd be here in about twenty minutes. Even Kieran's scent was driving me crazy. All innocent and pure with the residual smell of his natural pine soap and sweat from working tonight's jobs.

I was so worked up, I couldn't stop myself. I leaned back against him. Shoulder blades to shoulder blades. The back of my head touching his.

When he hummed and increased the pressure between us, I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

"Kieran …."

"Yes, Damien …." He reached back and touched my thigh. "And I mean … yes."

Jeezus.

I wasn't sure if I was interpreting him correctly. Did he mean what I thought he meant? I'd been having fantasies like this. My stepbrother and me in the back of the ambulance.

"The electricity has been crackling between us for months," Kieran said. "Hard to ignore."

"But you're straight."

Kieran laughed. "That's where you go first? Not that we're stepbrothers."

"We're not blood."

"Mm …. Well, I'm not entirely straight. At least I don't think so."

I turned to face him. He stayed where he was. His shoulders were broad and masculine. He stood a few inches shorter than me. Curly brown hair.

I touched his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck. A rippling tremble went straight down his back, and he whined. It was the most incredible sound I'd ever been in the presence of.

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I couldn't believe he had walked out on me without looking back. Broke off a nine-year relationship. Just like that. Like I meant nothing. Without more than an, I don't love you anymore.

What the hell did that mean? When had he stopped loving me? Yesterday. Last week. Last month. Almost a year ago … when? Had I done something? Had I not done something?

He'd given me nothing. Only that we could discuss it another time. He'd collected a suitcase full of clothes and told me he'd be back for everything else in a week. When I wasn't home.

I cuddled our cat, Fluffy, against my chest. My cat, Fluffy. Darrell better not have any ideas about taking the cat. I'd had him long before I met my husband.

"Now, I'm going to have to go through a divorce," I mumbled against Fluffy's head.

Fluffy didn't care. Didn't even meow his condolences at me. I knew he'd prefer to go with his other parent. From day one, he'd taken to Darrell. Grew to like him best.

"Sorry, dude, you're stuck with me." Fluffy squirmed in my arms, so I set him down. "Fine … be like that." I dusted the long white strands of fur off my dark slacks.

Couldn't believe an entire week had gone by. I had Darrell's things packed in boxes and waiting by the door. He'd texted me to tell me to gather what I thought was his.

Picking through the clothes we sometimes shared, décor, mementos, and pictures tore at me as if I were shredding something sacred. We'd been married for seven of those years.

Summoned back to the here and now, my phone buzzed. It was the office. My heart was broken, but life was going to go on, regardless. I hadn't told anyone. Put on a brave face.

"Peter," Valerie said, bluntly, sounding annoyed.

Damned, I'd opened the call but not said anything. "Yeah, sorry … I'm here. What's up?"

"Robert wants you to check out the progress of the Hamilton property tomorrow."

"Why me? That's Neal's territory."

"You didn't hear? Neal was in a car accident. He's out of commission for six weeks."

How the hell had I missed that? I didn't like the guy, but he was good for the company. My mind had been elsewhere. I hoped I hadn't missed anything else important.

"Sure … right … forgot."

"Honestly, Peter. Not sure what's gotten into you lately."

"I'll tell you over coffee the next time I'm in."

"You'd better. So … the demolition crew is mostly finished. There might only be a couple of guys there. The entire block needs to be ready for renovations to start next Thursday."

"I'll stop there on the way into the office tomorrow morning."

"Perfect. Check in with Robert when you get here. He's chomping at the bit."

"It'll be fine. I'm sure Neal had it under control."

"Here's hoping. See you tomorrow."

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"Bye, Val."

I had my own projects on the go. Our company bought defunct properties and either sold them or renovated them into high-end apartments. I'd been working for them as a project manager for almost fifteen years. I had an architectural degree and construction experience from my youth.

Right now, though, I needed to get out of my suit and relax. In my comfiest sweats and t-shirt, I poured myself a finger of whiskey and climbed into my recliner.

After hours of watching my favorite emergency room shows, I fell asleep. I hadn't slept in the bed since Darrell left me. Too many memories of our time together there.

Sleeping, cuddled up against him, and in the throes of incredible sex. I must have dreamt about the sex because I woke up the next morning with a raging boner that I dealt with in the shower.

I hadn't been to the Hamilton property before. It had been created by preserving the centuries-old façade while completely gutting the interior. They'd be ultra-modern apartments.

I grabbed my hard hat from the back seat along with my tablet. I looked up the project details and skimmed through Neal's notes. The building had originally been a clothing manufacturer circa 1824. It was three stories high and mainly contained open spaces.

There were only two pickups parked outside. Val had been right. There weren't many workers here. I found the construction manager's cell number and called him. He told me he was on the second floor, the far west corner. He was talking to a worker as I approached.

My, oh my.

The worker was delicious. He wore a tight white shirt and glistened with sweat in the summer heat. Dark hair and a chiseled jaw. My attention didn't stray from him as he finished his conversation. Especially fixated on his ass. Bubble perfection. I watched him walk away.

"You here to do the final inspection?" the construction manager asked me.

I snapped my focus from the drool-worthy worker to the manager.

"Yeah, I'm filling in for Neal."

"That gave me quite the scare."

My eyebrows dipped. "What did?"

"His accident."

"Oh, right … yes. It was terrible." I needed to get the scoop from Val as to the details of Neal's accident. I felt like a heel not knowing. "He'll be back in six weeks, though."

The guy nodded. "Meanwhile, where do you want to start?"

"Let's start on the ground floor. Work our way up."

It didn't take much time to tour the demolition that had been completed. As expected, Neal had been on top of what was happening in the building. It felt redundant to check what he'd already signed off on. But my boss, Robert, wanted a full report. He'd be getting one.

When we reached the third floor, the space opened up. They had kept the bolts of cloth up here. Subsequent owners had divided the area into offices. The walls had all been torn down.

At the far end, the sexy workman was finishing up, exposing the studs and brick.

"Do you need anything else from me?" the manager asked me.

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"No. I'm going to finish up my notes here. Beats being in my hot car."

After a quick handshake and pleasantries, the manager left me alone with the young man who had caught my attention. He had to be at least fifteen years younger than me.

I wandered to within earshot of him. "Do you think you'll be finished today?"

He rested the metal end of his sledgehammer on the ground, turned to face me, and used the back of his arm to clear the sweat from his forehead. "That's what I'm hoping."

"Last man standing." I couldn't stop myself from perusing his body. He was manly perfection. So appealing, swinging that sledgehammer. I wanted to lick him all over.

The guy tipped his head slightly. "Something like that." He looked at the floor and then looked up at me, a gleam in his eyes. "You taking over for Neal? I heard about his accident."

Of course, he had. It seemed I was the only clueless asshole.

"Just doing the final inspection." I walked closer to where he'd been working as if I were inspecting what he was doing. That's not why I was there on this side of the building.

It seemed all my staring had not gone unnoticed.

"We're all alone up here," he said.

I spun to face him. "Yes, we certainly are."

"Was that on purpose?"

"Yes. I was hoping to corner you."

"Consider me cornered."

"You can let go of that," I pointed at the sledgehammer. He released the handle, and it hit the floor with a thud. I licked my lips. "Lift your shirt for me."

With one hand, he grasped the bottom of his shirt and exposed his gloriously ripped abs.

Damn.

I ambled closer and squatted in front of him. Gripping his hips, I angled my head and dragged my tongue across the slick, salty, pungent flesh.

He tasted exquisite.

I kissed his belly button and then rose to my feet. "Lift your arms."

He was so obedient, my cock surged past any inhibitions. We were completely exposed to anyone who might step into this area of the building. The danger drove my lust higher.

I held his arms at his elbows, kept his arms high, pressed my nose to his underarm, and inhaled the scent of his sweat-stained shirt. I dragged my tongue across the damp material.

Fucking glorious.

Scent was a huge turn-on for me. The more fragrant the better. I loved the scent of pure man. I'd often gotten myself off, my face buried deep in Darrell's pubes as I stroked my cock.

This guy, though … a manual laborer. This was heaven.

I released his arms after getting my fill of both his pits. My next target was lower down. He jerked with the force of my undoing his buckle. I jammed my hands into the underwear at his hips and slid them and his dirty pants down to his feet. His hard, luscious dick sprang free.

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We reconnected quite by accident. My best friend from high school, Lawrence, had been phoning around construction companies looking to arrange quotes for his kitchen renovation.

As luck would have it, my company was the one he contacted.

I recognized his name on the appointment sheet and called him back. We spent the next forty-five minutes attempting to catch up.

That was four years ago.

We slipped back into being best friends. Nights out at the pub for trivia night or bowling. Watching sports at his place or mine. Meeting for a quick lunch on busy days at work. It was like old times.

It was like we'd never had the twenty-five-year gap. Not sure why we parted ways. Probably because we went to college on the opposite sides of the country. We'd texted for a while, but new friends and experiences took over. And the addition of women in our lives took precedence.

Four years after graduating from college with a business degree, I married the woman who had come into my life like a tidal wave. Left the same way, too. Quickly receding waters.

Nora and I had been separated for two years. After a year, I'd dipped my toe in the dating app pool and discovered it wasn't for me. I needed to meet someone organically or not at all.

My ex-wife and I had two kids together, both of whom are now launching careers after college. Suri was a registered nurse, and so was her brother, Sarson. I was immensely proud of them both.

I checked the time on my phone. I was meant to be at Lawrence's for a backyard barbecue at three. Spring was making way into summer, and the weather was nice enough to dine outdoors.

He was having quite a few people over. People from work and people whom we met through our many nights down at the pub. Guys and women we'd formed trivia teams with.

Lawrence had been excited to tell me his son, Daniel, would be home for a few weeks. He was taking a break before starting his summer job. He was currently in medical school to become a surgeon—specialty undecided. His dad couldn't speak highly enough about him.

I was looking forward to meeting him.

Pulling up to his house, I arrived early enough to secure a spot in his driveway. It was a potluck, and I had spent the time making potato salad. I thought it looked pretty good. Lots of eggs for texture and slices of radishes for color. Even a few capers to make it look fancy.

I let myself in and headed for the kitchen. I wasn't sure if we were sticking stuff in the fridge for now or what the plan was. There was a young man with his back to me, slicing tomatoes on a cutting board on the counter. He heard me come in and turned around.

Jeezus—fuck.

I almost dropped my bowl of potato salad. Instead, pretty sure I stood there looking crazily stunned, ready to stutter. Never in my life had I encountered anyone that beautiful in the wild.

Sure, in fashion magazines and Hollywood … but in real life—never.

He was speaking to me, but I was too busy staring. I'd gone an entire lifetime without uncovering any attraction toward men. But this young man … he was exquisite, far beyond gender.

His wild, wavy hair was the color of rich dark chocolate, his skin tanned to perfection, crystal blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes, and the poutiest pink lips I had ever been in the presence of.

Stunning. Absolutely fucking stunning.

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I was startled when someone pounded me on the back.

"I see you've met my son, Daniel."

I swallowed slowly to clear a lump in my throat as Lawrence went over to his son and threw an arm around his shoulders. "I'm keeping him busy in the kitchen, so the women leave him alone." He laughed. "The poor boy was getting swarmed out there. He's so damned personable."

Daniel smiled. "Dad, stop." He tipped his head to one side, then stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm guessing you're Dad's friend from high school, Warren."

I cleared my throat, hoping my voice still worked. "That would be me."

His warm and firm hand shook mine. "It's nice to finally meet you. Dad's been giving me the running commentary on your antics since you've reconnected."

"It's been great getting back together," Lawrence said. "Hasn't it."

I nodded as I threw Lawrence a glance. "It has, Lawry."

"Okay, I'm just here to grab some drinks." Lawrence yanked open the fridge and collected a few bottles of beer, completely oblivious to the fact that I was having an existential crisis.

I almost followed him when he left the kitchen.

But I couldn't. I was fixed in place; Daniel's face was inquisitive as he looked at me.

I may have read too much into it when he winked at me.

"Better get back to this very important tomato cutting." Daniel shifted and turned toward the counter, retaking his spot. I tried … but I couldn't pry my attention away from him.

He was tall and slender, but muscular. Well defined, like he worked out every day. His tanned bare shoulders moved with each slicing motion. I'd never appreciated a tank top as much as I did just now. And his tight red shorts. They barely covered his round, firm glutes.

I needed to stop staring.

Daniel looked over his shoulder at me. "Liking what you're seeing?"

That snapped me out of it. My ears heated as my face flushed with warmth. I mumbled something, not sure what, and surged toward the fridge and placed my potato salad inside.

I turned quickly after grabbing a beer, needing to get the hell out of that kitchen. For the entirety of my adult life, I had built a stack of sexually straight cards I thought represented who I was inside.

Then, within a few short moments, Daniel had come along and knocked the whole structure of carefully placed cards down with four simple words.

Liking what you're seeing?

I did—in fact, I liked it a lot.

I took a sip of my beer. I was in a canoe and suddenly lost my paddle. I was headed toward a bank I'd never visited before. Never had a reason to visit before.

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"You feeling all right?" Lawrence stood beside me on the deck, looking out over his landscaped yard, and patted my back.

"Just tired. Didn't sleep well last night." I slept for nine hours. Solid.

Maybe I shouldn't be here.

"Stress?" Lawrence asked.

"Yeah." I rubbed my jaw. "Nora is giving me grief. She wants a divorce."

"That's what you want, though, right?"

I shrugged. "Somewhere deep in my mind, I felt like we needed to reconcile for the kids."

"Your kids are fine. They're all grown up. You gotta think about you. And what you want."

My stomach felt as if it flipped right up into my chest.

I couldn't deny it.

I knew what I wanted—who I wanted.

But I couldn't do that to Lawrence. Daniel was his son. Daniel was the same age as my two kids. I shouldn't be thinking what I was thinking. Desiring what I had no right to desire.

I set my beer down on the railing. "I think I'm going to head home. I'm not feeling great."

"No." Lawrence frowned at me. "We're going to miss you. Daniel is playing the guitar and singing for us tonight. Voice of an angel." He smiled. "He hates when I say that."

I nearly groaned. Beautiful and pleasing to the ears. Just my luck. For a brief second, I imagined what he might sound like in the throes of carnality.

Probably perfect.

"I'll catch him another time." A brief shake of Lawrence's hand and I was out of there, absconding through the back gate. I didn't want to go through the kitchen. I didn't want to feel the draw toward someone I could never have. My night was going to be long and sleepless.

It took me a few days to calm down and regain some control over my imagination. I felt secure as I pulled into Lawrence's driveway. I had arranged to pick up my dish and watch a bit of football with him. Have a few beers. Return to some normality. Daniel was going to be out of the house for the afternoon. I wouldn't have come over if he had been there.

So, you can imagine how my heart dropped when I found Daniel in the family room in a hot pink Speedo on his way to the swimming pool in the backyard.

"Oh … um … didn't know you'd be here," I said.

"Had to stick around for the dogs. Mom and Dad went to the hospital. Gran isn't doing well."

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"Oh, I'm sorry." I wandered closer to him. "Is she going to be all right? Should you be there, too? I can watch the dogs so you can be there with your family."

He bit his bottom lip, looking all kinds of sultry, then stepped closer to me and tugged on the front of my shirt. He set his hand on my chest. "That's so nice of you, Warren, but Gran will be fine. I'll go to see her once she's home again."

He was so close, I found it hard to swallow. His eyes at this distance were mesmerizing.

Fucking hell.

Daniel undulated his body forward until he was clinging to me and breathing softly in my ear. "She had a fall, but nothing serious. The ambulance took her in as a precaution."

He brushed his lips up and down the curl of my ear, making my heart thrum wildly enough to succeed in escaping my chest. The rapid rise in my pulse made my fingertips tingle.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore my body's response.

Oh, my god.

My plumping cock had other ideas.

"They'll be gone for hours," he whispered, then kissed my earlobe.

Suddenly, Daniel and his body were the only things that occupied my mind. All arguments disappeared. I should have walked away—but …

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I rolled down the window on my pristine 1959 Ford F-100 to get some airflow. I'd forgotten how hot it got in Arizona in the summer after living in Oregon for the past twelve years.

Gripping the steering wheel, I kept my attention on the road. I didn't feel like looking around at the familiar scenery. I was going home with my tail between my legs.

My construction business had failed. A feat considering the housing shortage in Oregon. I was skilled, but I sucked at managing employees. Retaining them had become impossible.

With my grumpy attitude, I couldn't run a company on my own. My brother had suggested I come home, and we could work together. Start a small two-man firm.

I'd reluctantly agreed to return to the small town I'd sworn I'd never step foot in again. I'd been an asshole, obnoxiously verbal about escaping when I left.

I pulled into my parents' driveway. A house I'd grown up in and hadn't returned to. Even to visit. A house I'd be staying at until I get settled.

Until I started making money and could afford a place of my own. At thirty-two, it was embarrassing to be moving back home. My brother, Warren, had offered me a room at his place.

I'd turned him down. He had a wife and three kids. I didn't like chaos. The thought of children running around screaming, interrupting my solitude, was a no-go.

Unbelievably, staying in my childhood room was preferable.

My mom was out the front door before I even shut off the engine. She rushed to my driver's door and clung to me, squeezing me as I stepped out of my truck. I couldn't help but smile as I hugged her back. "Good to see you, Mom." I looked around. "Where's Dad?"

My mom patted my chest. "He took a run down to the store. I forgot to buy potatoes for dinner. I have a pot roast in the oven. Can't have a roast without potatoes."

I shook my head. "Mom, you didn't need to make me dinner. I told you I'd figure something out. I grabbed a burger a couple of hours ago."

"Nonsense. A fit, young man like you can always consume more calories."

There was no point in arguing with her.

She furrowed her brow. "I forgot dessert."

"Mom." I laughed. "I just got here, and already you're trying to make me fat."

She stepped back and looked me up and down. I'd been working out and had filled out a lot since she'd seen me three years ago. She and my dad had come out for a visit.

"Tristan, I doubt you could put an ounce of fat on all that muscle."

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I rolled my eyes. "Tell Dad to avoid anything with too much whipped cream."

My mom gripped my arm. "Your dad forgot his phone. It's sitting on the kitchen counter. Could you nip into town and find something for dessert?"

Great. Speed up the time between arriving and running into someone I knew from my adolescence. I had hoped to keep a low profile for at least a few weeks.

I climbed back into my truck. Maybe she'd be happy with fruit salad. The grocery store wasn't busy when I arrived. I searched the small parking lot for my dad's truck. I must have missed him; passed him on the road without noticing. Or maybe the old truck had died.

Heading toward the bakery department, I scanned the aisles to see if I could spot him. Mom would be upset with fruit salad. I began picking through the different cakes and pies. At least pies had fruit in them. Dad loved chocolate, though. I picked out a tiramisu tuxedo cake.

"Tristan?"

I swear, I almost shivered with fear, his voice still affecting me. I turned to face the guy who had tormented me for much of my young life. Rick was one of the reasons I moved to Oregon. I had hoped I would shake him when I started college in the next town over.

No such luck … he'd started school there, too.

And he continued to be an aggressive asshole to me. Rick figured out before I had any idea that I was gay. In grade five, I was unsure of the words he was calling me. I asked my mom, and she told me to ignore him and that he didn't know what he was talking about.

Not satisfied, I looked up what faggot meant. That led to the word gay. An attraction to men. I knew immediately the definition fit me. Every crush I'd ever had was on a boy.

I crossed my arms. "What do you want, Rick?"

"Haven't seen around town for years."

"That's because I moved away."

His gaze wandered all over my body, making me feel uncomfortable.

"You here for a visit?"

"No, I've moved home. Oregon wasn't for me. Too much rain."

Rick nodded his head. "I've heard that. Where are you living?"

Fuck, this was embarrassing.

"Staying at my parents' until I find a place."

"That must be more than a little limiting."

"Don't know yet. Just arrived in town an hour ago."

Rick tipped his head. "I have a place where you can stay. It's not much. Just a studio suite with a kitchenette above my garage. Was using it as my man cave. But you're welcome to it."

I nearly choked on my tongue. No fucking way was I going to stay anywhere Rick had available. "I'm fine at my parents'. Thanks, though."

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Rick shifted his weight. His gaze became even more uncomfortable. "Why don't you give it a look before you decide? Since my wife and I split up, I haven't needed the space."

I stared at him. What was he up to? Did he want to entice me close to him so he could pick up where he left off and torment me from the comfort of his own property?

A fiery discomfort flared up in my core. He had a lot of nerve. What the hell did he think I was going to say? Yeah, sure … I'll walk right into your trap.

Rick gripped my shoulder. "Look, I know our history isn't great. I was an asshole to you. I'm sorry I ever harassed you." He tipped his head. "I really am. Let me make it up to you."

Not sure why, but the sound of his voice speaking those words softened me.

I thought about my old room at my parents'. My mom had redecorated, but it was still a small room with a twin bed. I scrubbed the back of my neck. Was I really considering this?

Rick's expression was contrite. He meant what he was saying. It would be nice to have my own space. Cook my own food. Relax at my leisure away from the constant conversation with my parents while I was trying to watch television. Invite men back to my bed to fuck.

That last one was a big deciding factor. There likely weren't a lot of gay men in town, but the ones I found would be open to a steady arrangement.

"I'm short on money at the moment," I said.

Rick shook his head and released my shoulder. "Not a problem. Wasn't looking to make money off the deal. I owe you. Honestly, it's the least I can do after the way I treated you."

"I will be paying you. Once my brother and I find some work, I can pay rent and utilities."

"Sure, of course. What type of work are you and your brother looking for?"

I crossed my arms. "I had a construction company in Oregon. Hoping to pick up the same kind of work. Building houses is where we both excel."

"Cool. I'm sure you'll find some of that to do. We're becoming a bedroom community. Lots of families are looking for housing out this way."

"That's what I'm hoping."

"So, you'll take a look at the studio?"

"Sure … when?"

Rick shrugged. "How about now?"

I looked at the cake in my hand. I could buy it, nip by Rick's quick, and check out the space. Send my mom a text to let her know I'd be a few minutes.

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I held up the cake. "Just let me pay for this."

"I didn't find what I was looking for. Give me your cell number, and I'll text you the address."

My chest clenched, still apprehensive. But I took his phone and typed in my number.

He smiled at me. There was that uncomfortable feeling again. He typed into his phone, and mine dinged. I looked at the address. I knew the area well.

For the second time, he gripped my shoulder. This time, he dragged his hand down my arm before he let me go. My brow dipped as I looked at him, unsure why he was touching me.

Was he coming on to me, or was I imagining things?

"See you in a few minutes," he said, then turned and left me to analyze what the hell had just happened. I paid for the cake, hopped into my truck, and looked at my phone.

I almost abandoned the whole idea, but the temptation of my own space was too much to ignore. Rick seemed to be sincere in his apology. Maybe this was an opportunity to reconcile.

I texted my mom to say I'd be at least 30 minutes.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up outside Rick's house. It was older but had been renovated. And as promised, there was a new garage with what was an obvious suite on the second floor.

Rick was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to it. There was a parking spot beside the garage. I eased into it and shut off my truck. Gathering my anticipation for this to be a workable solution, I met Rick and followed him up the stairs. He unlocked the door and stood back.

I entered ahead of him. The room was larger than I had assumed it would be, and the finishings were well done. It was clean and bright. There was a kitchenette with a fridge, sink, microwave, and toaster oven down one side to the left of the door.

To the right a queen-sized bed tucked into an alcove, offering some privacy. In the center of the room was a couch facing a television. Off to the corner, a small dining table.

At the far end, what was probably the bathroom.

It was perfect.

I turned to face Rick. "I'll take it."

He grinned at me. "Awesome." Then he walked toward me and crowded me against a wall. "One last thing before you take it, though." He placed his hand on my chest.

My heart thundered in my chest. He'd definitely been coming on to me in the grocery store. My mind zigged and zagged all over the place, scanning through our history.

It all fell into place. All the torment. All the vile words.

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Rick pressed his chest to mine. Then his hips. I closed my eyes and groaned. His cock was so hard it must be uncomfortable in his jeans. I had an overwhelming desire to help him with that.

"This isn't why I'm offering you this space," he whispered across my lips. "You can say no, and my offer still stands." He reached around and grabbed my ass. "I've always wondered."

My mind sluggishly came back online. My circulation had descended to my dick. "Wondered what? Wondered about fucking me … or just men in general?" Maybe Rick had been closeted all these years. Maybe he simply wanted to experiment. He had stumbled across an easy target.

Rick swept his hand into my hair and cradled my head. "Wondered about you." He hesitated; his brow furrowed. "And men in general. I've never felt comfortable enough to try."

"But you are with me."

"Yes," he whispered.

Jeezus.

His hard cock was riding mine, throwing all doubts and fears out of my mind. He tipped his chin up, sending my heart into overdrive with anticipation. I sighed as he closed his lips over mine. I wrapped my arms around his body and pulled him closer, diving into his mouth.

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The thrumming of the music in Club D reached the depth of my bones. Add in the dark recesses of the club, and I was in my element. It was almost midnight Friday night, and the place was crowded. Filled with men. Many without shirts. Some with chests confined by harnesses.

I leaned against the table where my friends and I were. Four of us guys in all. Every one of us young, hot, and looking for fun. Me moreso than the rest of them.

I was shameless.

Catching the eye of a guy at the next table, I played with the straw in my drink with my tongue, then sucked it into my mouth. I threw him my most smoldering gaze as I drew on the straw.

He cocked his head toward me to let his friends know where he was going, then pushed off from his table and wandered over to me. He looked me up and down as I set my glass down.

"You want to dance?" he shouted.

I nodded, then followed him to the edge of the dance floor. We found a gap in the packed, writhing bodies and headed for it. I couldn't have kept any distance even if I'd wanted to—men on all sides.

Swaying my hips to the music, I raised my hands over my head and danced right up against my dance partner's body. He licked his lips and placed his hands on my hips, riding them.

His scent filled my senses as I brushed my lips along his cheek. His cologne was intoxicating and sent a corkscrew of warmth to my cock. He tightened his grip on me. I grinned against his skin, then spun away from him, keeping the sway happening in my hips.

I backed up against him, humming as my ass found his thickening dick. He wrapped one arm around my hips, securing me to him, and the other up the front of my throat. He growled in my ear as he put me in a chokehold. I didn't skip a beat. I kept dancing, enticing him to take it further.

He released me, gripped my arm, and dragged me off the dance floor. He looked toward the opening to the backroom. It wasn't for everyone.

Public sex.

But I was all over it.

"Lead the way," I shouted.

I had to angle through the crowds to keep up with him, his blond hair, and his muscular shoulders. Hopefully, there would be space in the back for us. The lights were dimmed in the room I knew as well as my own bedroom.

The size of my large living room, the walls were painted deep purple. There were some partitions made of black fabric on frames. But most of the room was open. The door that had shut behind us muffled the music enough that one could hear the groans and curses of men in the throes of some truly animalistic activities. We found an open space against a wall.

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