Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Uh, yeah. But I mean, this guy. He doesn’t. Give me five minutes to send him a text. I have to get the wording right.”
There’s more knocking—no, more like banging—on the door now. “Brady Francis Talon. Open this door now,” Kit says, and I know I’m in trouble.
You know people are serious when they make up a middle name for you.
I open the door a crack. “Francis?”
Kit shrugs. “I didn’t know your middle name, so I went with his.” He points to Prescott.
“Your name is James Francis Prescott? You almost sound as snooty as my cousin, Noah Huntington the Fourth.” Am I stalling? Why yes, yes I am.
“Can you let us in?” Kit says, his tone soft and soothing.
“Umm, no. Very important breakup going on in here.”
Prescott catches on before Kit does. His lips twitch. “You’re cleaning your room, aren’t you?”
“No? My room is always immaculate. Why do you ask?”
Prescott turns to Kit. “Think you can handle a little mess?”
“For you two? I could endure torture training.”
Prescott leans against the door jamb. “Fun fact: while the rest of us went through real torture training, they locked Kit away in a room that looked like a hoarder lived there. He almost rang the bell that day and tapped out of the whole program.”
Kit shoves him. “Liar.” Then he turns his gray eyes on me. “What’s the truth? Because if you really are breaking up with someone because of us, we’re going to need to discuss that.”
They’re going to say that we’re not serious enough for that kind of drastic move, but the truth is, if I was seeing someone, I wouldn’t hesitate to end things just for one weekend with Kit and Prescott.
That’s the kind of power they hold over me.
I’ve thought about maybe trying some more poly apps and going out with people who know I’m involved with other people and are cool with it, but even though I’ve only seen Prescott and Kit twice since graduation, I haven’t wanted anyone else. The thought is there, just not enough desire to go through with it.
I open the door wider.
Prescott laughs. “Told you he was a slob all the time.”
“I tried to tidy—”
Kit steps forward and hugs me. “I don’t care that you’re messy.”
“Not what you said five minutes ago.” Prescott picks up a pair of dirty underwear off the armchair in the corner of my room and drops them on the floor so he can take a seat.
“He’s trying. That’s the main thing,” Kit says.
“Why do I feel like you’re about to pat me on the head and call me a good boy like I’m a dog?” I ask.
Kit’s hands slide down to my ass and squeeze. “Not so much like a dog, but I do want you to be a good boy.”
I shudder, and my cock hardens even more. Before Kit, the whole praise kink didn’t do anything for me, but with him? I love it. I also love that Prescott goes between joining me in acting bratty and being stern like Kit. And by stern, I mean taking turns fucking me so hard I can feel them both for days.
I don’t even know how this dynamic even started, but like most things with Kit and Prescott, it evolved that way, and I went along for the ride. Maybe it’s that I haven’t ever been with anyone like them. Being the size I am—taller than most, more muscular even if I’ve slimmed down a lot since college—people assume I’m the one to take charge.
I’m not. I have to hold my shit together and be “on” so much at work, for my clients, for my family, that when I’m getting off, all I really crave is to let go.
I chose a career where I’d have to look after others because I did plenty of it growing up with Peyton. I was the one who’d help him study so he could keep his grades up. I was the one who switched shirts with him the night he got high at Levi’s graduation party so our dads couldn’t smell the weed on him. His future has needed protecting since I can remember, and I chose to do it. Taking this career path, I’m going to have a million Peytons to look after, some with an attitude like Torey and others who are sweet but filled with anxiety like Kelley. I’m the one who will need to be there for them. Which is why, when I get me time, I want to be the one taken care of.
Kit and Prescott are my vacation from the real-life pressures that I’d hoped would go away when I quit football in high school, but they never really did. They’re just different pressures now.
“What’s it going to be?” Kit rumbles in my ear. “Are you going to be a good boy for us?”