Chapter 41 Tytus
Chapter forty-one
Tytus
Years of morning skates and living in fear that my dad wasn’t sober enough to drive to practice means I’m always punctual. More than that, really. I’m usually early.
In this instance, it does me no good. Because it means I’m the first person in the living room, pent up and anxious as fuck as I wait for the others to join me.
Noah saunters in next and stands near where I’m hovering near the fireplace.
He’s built a massive fire and has kept it burning steadily all afternoon. The room is warm because of it. It’s almost too warm for my liking, but I want Sawyer to be comfortable.
He reaches out like he’s going to slap me on the back or grip my shoulder but pulls back at the last second and lets his arm fall to his side.
“Listen.” He shoves both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and rocks back on his heels. “You don’t have to do any of this if you’re uncomfortable. And if we start and it’s all too much, we can stop at any time.”
“I said I’d try,” I clap back, hackles rising.
Instead of taking the bait or antagonizing me like Mercer might, Noah doubles down with kindness.
“I’m on your side. I’ll be focused on Sawyer, obviously, but say the word, and I’ll stop.”
I believe him. In fact, I think I trust him. But that realization doesn’t stop me from challenging him.
“You’d stop fucking her just because I said so?”
“I would.” His gray-blue eyes stay fixed on me, the sincerity of his words supported by his earnest expression.
“That’s a hell of a lot of power to give to a kid you barely know,” I quip.
Sawyer enters the room then, her eyes lighting up when she sees us, and sashays over, wrapping her arms around my waist.
Noah chuckles quietly, then crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re no kid. And I think we’re all getting to know each other just fine. I trust you, pal.”
Pal.
Mercer called me that earlier, and I hated it. But there’s no condescension behind the moniker when it comes from Noah.
The sound of scraping wood cuts through the quiet, and a second later, Mercer strolls into the room dragging a kitchen chair behind him.
“Come on, Merce,” Noah grouses. “You know these are original hardwoods.”
The professor ignores his friend and positions the chair on the yellow honeycomb rug in front of the fireplace so that it faces the plush couch against the opposite wall.
He regards the three of us, then cocks one brow and homes in on me. “Sit,” he demands, waving toward the chair with a flourish, presenting it like it’s a highly sought after prize.
Every cell in my body screams to argue with him. Is that what he wants? To make this experience so unbearable that I break, proving I really can’t do this?
Not going to fucking happen.
Resolve galvanized, I straighten my spine and suck in a deep breath.
After a quick kiss to the crown of my girl’s head, I loosen her hands from around my waist and walk toward my fate.
Once I’m seated and Noah and Sawyer have made their way over to the couch, Mercer lords over me from a few feet away.
“You don’t get up for any reason. You don’t move from this chair. The only exception is if you use a safe word, in which case all activity stops and we regroup. Your safe word should be something easy to remember. A word you wouldn’t typically say during sex.”
Okay. Fuck.
This is really happening.
I’m competitive by nature, but right now, the only person I’m competing with is me. I can do this, for myself and for Sawyer. I’m going to fucking rock this.
Hands gripping my knees, I give myself a minute to think. Then I nod up at Mercer. “Got it.”
He stares back, like he’s waiting for me to answer a question in class. “Well?” he finally says. “What is it?”
My heart falters as my stomach jumps into my throat.
“I have to tell you?” I stammer.
He scoffs in his typical, haughty way. “Yes, you have to tell us. Withholding the safe word from your partners defeats the purpose of having a safe word in the first place.”
Partners.
That single word now has my stomach plummeting.
Is that—is that what they are?
Gulping past a fresh wave of insecurity, I survey each of them. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not keen on having multiple partners. I’m only interested in being with Sawyer.”
“I apologize,” Mercer says immediately. “That was poor word choice on my part. I think we all know the score here.” He cants his head to the side thoughtfully.
“But for the record, I’m bisexual. Like Sawyer.
But my sexuality doesn’t dictate this dynamic.
I assure you—I want to fuck you about as much as I want to slather my cock in honey and slide it between two unsanded frames of a beehive. ”
Noah groans. “Really, Merce?”
They do this a lot, the two of them. Mercer says something ridiculous, then Noah pretends to be exasperated. It’s a subtle reminder of how long they’ve known each other. It’s also a reminder that I’m the outsider here.
Shaking my head, I strike that thought from my mind. While Noah and Mercer may have a long-established relationship, I share years of history with Sawyer. And based on my understanding of her relationships with them, we all became romantically involved around the same time.
I’m an outsider in some ways, but I’m lapping them in other areas. I have something to contribute here. I bring value to this group in my own ways.
Mercer grips the back of my chair, using it for support as he lowers himself to the floor.
When he’s settled, cross-legged, he looks up at me, his expression pensive but sincere.
“Just so we’re clear, intimacy is inevitable if we’re going to share her.
We will touch. In time, we may even grow to enjoy a familiarity and establish a rhythm during sex.
At the very least, we’ll learn to work together and trust each other.
But I acknowledge and respect your intention to only ever be with Sawyer. It’s a sentiment I share.”
“Same here,” Noah adds.
I swallow. I can live with that.
What I can’t do is pass up the chance to rattle Mercer.
“Whatever you say, prof.”
He smirks, but a new level of understanding blooms between us.
“So?” he says. “Let’s have it, then.”
I frown. “What?”
The man rolls his eyes like he’s the exasperated one suddenly. “Your safe word. We just covered this. You have to tell us your safe word before we can proceed.”
Fuck it.
“Zamboni,” I declare.
Sawyer giggles.
Heat creeps up my neck. “What? It’s the first thing that came to mind.”
“That works,” Mercer says. “For reference, Noah and Sawyer use harmonica. Mine’s avocado.” He shifts, sizing me up one last time. “If you want or need this to stop at any point, it’s your obligation to say Zamboni.”
“Sheesh, prof. I get it,” I insist.
With a nod, he looks across the room to Sawyer and Noah.
I follow his gaze to find Noah whispering in Sawyer’s ear, his big hand cupping the side of her neck.
“Without further ado,” Mercer says, “let’s get started. You’re up, Tytus. Tell them what to do.”
His words, oddly, fill me with confidence.
I lean forward slightly and consider them, then clear my throat. “Straddle his lap, mon ange.”
She does as I ask, offering a cheeky smile over her shoulder once she’s got her legs spread wide over another man’s lap. With her eyes locked on me, she licks her lips and swivels her hips. “Like this?”
I smirk as heat begins to coil inside me. “Yeah, baby. Just like that.”
She looks gorgeous in the shadows of the room, her face and hair illuminated by the warm glow of the flickering flames at my back.
“Noah.” I lift my chin. “Take off her shirt. Bra, too.”
“I’m not wearing a bra,” Sawyer singsongs.
Of course she’s fucking not.
“Kiss her neck. Go easy on all those marks you left.”
Noah follows my directions perfectly, peeling the flannel and T-shirt off Sawyer’s body and discarding them, then tilting her head and exposing her neck.
He kisses her, and her hips roll in response.
When he switches sides and brings his mouth to her skin again, she lets out a soft mewl.
As his hands smooth down her back, I instinctively track the movement, focused on the way he touches her, my dick thickening in my pants.
“Grab her ass.”
Without hesitation, he kneads her cheeks through the sweatpants she’s wearing, gripping her tightly.
He uses his grip to move her up against his body.
She responds beautifully to every touch, clearly enjoying herself.
But fuck.
I’m hard already. That’s no surprise. But the rest of my body is reacting in a completely different way.
My thighs are tensed, muscles bunched, and my abdominals burn with exertion. I’m clutching the sides of the chair hard enough that the wood creaks.
Despite the desire already burning deep inside, agitation courses through me, making it damn near impossible to remain seated.
With a grunt, I push the chair back a few inches. The harsh scrape of wood on wood is deafening in the otherwise quiet room.
“Ty?” Sawyer turns, her face full of concern.
Mercer lifts his chin and studies me. “Just say the word,” he reminds me.
No. I don’t want this to fucking end.
I just—Fuckin’ A.
“I don’t want you all worried about me while we do this.” I run both hands through my hair and tug on the ends. I promised to try. I want to make this fucking work.
“We don’t have to continue,” Noah says, his voice calm and steady from across the room.
“Your safe word is readily available,” Mercer murmurs. “No one here would ever begrudge you for using it.”
Right. Except I want to do this.
I want to, but I don’t know that I can physically keep the emotions inside me locked down in a way that won’t be distracting to them.
There’s no way I can just sit here, unmoving. And I don’t want to be so focused on controlling my natural urges that I can’t be fully present and enjoy the moment.
“I don’t want to stop,” I say.
Sawyer makes a little sound of opposition.
I zero in on her. “I swear I don’t.”
It’s the truth.
But it’s not the only truth in this moment.
“I’m crawling out of my skin with the need to move,” I admit, face heating in embarrassment. “My brain knows this is fine, but there’s a primal part of me that either wants to join them or rip her out of his arms and save her.”
Sawyer climbs off Noah’s lap.
Fuck. No. Two minutes in and I’m ruining this whole thing.
When she turns and sits in his lap, guiding Noah’s hands to her bare tits, I exhale in relief.
Good call.
Gawking at her gorgeous tits would absolutely distract all of us from this conversation.
“I’m okay, Ty. There’s no danger here. I want this.”
“I know. My body just hasn’t accepted that. Not after all these years of holding back and biding my time.”
Mercer sighs. “I’m unsure about how to sort this out. Are we continuing or not?”
I hang my head, shame engulfing me. Maybe I do need to bow out. They’ll all have a better time if I’m not here. I don’t want to miss out or give up… but fuck. I don’t want to distract them either.
As I lift my head, ready to admit as much, my focus snags on a piece of fabric near the couch and a plan starts to formulate in my mind.
It may not work… but it’s worth a fucking try.
“Do me a favor,” I say to Mercer.
“Anything.”
“Grab that shirt.” I tip my chin toward the discarded clothes. “The long sleeved one Sawyer was wearing.”
He strolls over to the couch and snatches the flannel off the ground. Stopping there, he cups Sawyer’s face and feeds her his tongue. Then he retreats.
I glower as he approaches. I didn’t tell him he could kiss her.
That thought—that I’m frustrated about him not playing by the rules rather than because he kissed her—gives me hope. I really do want to do this. I’m willing to learn and to try. I just need a little extra support to make it happen.
Mercer holds out the orange, cream, and brown plaid flannel, cocking one brow and waiting for further instruction.
Teeth gritted, I tell him, “Use that to tie my arms to the chair.”
“What?” Sawyer gasps. “Ty, no!”
Despite her argument, Mercer takes a knee and positions himself to my right, though he hesitates, peering back at our girl.
“It’ll be okay,” I promise Sawyer. “This fabric is soft, and it has some stretch. I could get out if I really needed to. I just want an extra buffer so no one’s worried about me.”
When I glance back to the man by my side, deep concern shadows his gaze. “You’re sure?”
I nod once. “I’m sure.”
Quietly, he asks, “Would you prefer it if Sawyer or Noah did it?”
He’s the one who shoved me into the storage locker. The trust between us is fractured at best, nonexistent in some cases still. I appreciate the concern, but despite the history and the destruction between us, I need it to be him.
“You’ve got this, prof,” I encourage. “Tie me up.”
He shakes his head, like he can’t believe we’re really doing this, then secures my wrist to the chair. “As you wish.”