Control Freak (Foster Bro Code #3)

Chapter 1

Holden

I slipped into my bedroom, gut bubbling with excitement—and maybe a little indigestion from rushing through dinner.

I’d been eager to finish eating. Eager to get to what was next.

My gaze slid to my silver Chromebook, and my blood rushed south. I was practically Pavlov’s dog at this point. That way led to pleasure, and my dick knew it.

I took a breath and locked the bedroom door behind me. I wouldn’t forget ever again. Not after my asshole brother Axel had busted in on me without knocking three months ago.

Last week, when I’d excused myself to make business calls after dinner, he’d smirked and said, “Business must be gooood.” I’d told him it would be better if he got the junkyard inventory log updated.

He’d huffed and flipped me off, muttering about how I was bossy, but at least he’d kept his mouth shut about my business calls after that.

I woke up my sleeping laptop and hit the tab for the ShyGuy cam site.

He had a show in a couple of hours, but he did his best to accommodate private sessions with me.

Obviously, because I paid more money for those.

I was just another customer to him. But the performer—his real name was Shiloh, he’d told me—understood why I needed this.

I wasn’t just getting my rocks off for fun, like most of his fans. This was my only option.

He messaged me before I had to ask.

Ready when you are.

I hit the request for the cam session, and Shiloh accepted it.

His image filled my screen. His dark hair swooped over his forehead, red highlights shimmering under his camera lighting.

Long, dark lashes framed stunning green eyes, and his cheekbones belonged in a fashion magazine.

His strong jaw, covered in a light layer of stubble, was too masculine for me to think of him as pretty, but gorgeous, sexy, and just about every other damn adjective applied.

“Hey, Holden, are you with me?” he asked, his voice a husky baritone that made goose bumps rush across my skin. It was warm, raspy, but not too deep.

“I’m here,” I said, because my camera was turned off. When we did these sessions, Shiloh was the one in the spotlight.

“Good. I’ve missed you.”

He raised a hand covered in rings, including a large cherry-red Ring Pop. He wrapped his lips around the candy.

I sucked in a breath, body reacting instantly to the thought of that mouth sucking something else. It was just a gimmick of his, but damn if it didn’t work on me every time.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it last week.”

Shiloh pulled the ring from his mouth with a lewd pop. Swiped his tongue over his lips, chasing the candy’s juice. “I didn’t say I missed you so that you would apologize. You have a life. But I like talking to you.” He winked. “And not talking to you.”

I chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind that I sometimes…”

I trailed off, unsure how to phrase my need for a connection that went beyond jerking off to a sexy guy on-screen.

This might not be a real relationship for Shiloh, but it was the closest I could get.

My body was a traitor that wouldn’t allow me to accept touch, even when I craved it more than anything.

A gift from my shitty parents that I never wanted, and one that just kept giving.

“Whatever I can give you, I’m happy to do it,” Shiloh said, dropping the sensuous act. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Not only because you pay me,” Shiloh said. “We’re friends now.”

My throat tightened. “Yeah.”

I cared about Shiloh as a friend. As more than a friend, even. We did chat via DM off the clock quite a bit. He wasn’t only saying this because I paid him. But I did pay him for this—the sexual stuff—and as much as I needed it, it hurt my pride.

Made me feel a little guilty too, for spending my money this way. I could be adding it to the college fund for Bailey. I should be.

But my brothers spent their money on beer, on tattoos, on nights out with their friends. I deserved something too, right?

“So, I don’t know about you,” Shiloh said, “but I’ve been so horny all day.”

I laughed.

“What? Not my smoothest transition?”

“No.” I was sure he could hear the smile in my voice. “But it works.”

Shiloh smiled, eyes playful. “Good, because I was thinking you could tell me what to do about it.”

“You could start by taking off your T-shirt.”

“You don’t like it?” He pouted and arched, making his tight fuchsia T-shirt outline his pecs.

“You know I do,” I said. “It’s a great color on you.”

He plucked at his nipples through the fabric, drawing out the anticipation.

My mouth watered. Shiloh cast me a mischievous look as he drew the tip of his pointer finger down the center of his chest. Lower, lower, all the way to the thick belt at his waist. He spread his legs a little, the better to draw my gaze to the bulge in his jeans.

Shiloh had told me once that taking off his clothes, item by item, was part of the thrill for viewers. He turned it into an art form. One that built anticipation to a fever pitch. In his public shows, he could get guys off before he’d even touched himself. With me, he usually teased a little less.

But he always teased enough to bring out my controlling side.

“Show me your skin,” I ordered. “Now.”

Shiloh bit his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, sir.”

He peeled the T-shirt over his head, exposing his slim torso. His nipples were red from the treatment he’d given them, standing out against his pale skin. An intentional move on his part, I was sure.

I drank in the rise and fall of his chest greedily. The flush of color climbing his throat, a sure sign of his arousal. The darkening of his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” I rasped.

His lips quirked. “You always tell me that. I wish you’d turn on your camera one day. Maybe I could return the favor.”

“You’re out of my league,” I said dryly. “But nice try.”

He laughed, his voice almost musical. “I don’t know, Holden. If your voice is this hot, the rest of you is probably sexy as hell too.”

“My voice isn’t anything special,” I said dismissively.

“Are you kidding? Your voice drives me to distraction. I hear it in my head every time I jerk off.”

In public shows? In private sessions with other men? My gut tightened uncomfortably. I doubted Shiloh needed to jerk off privately when he could get paid so nicely to do so. But I’d rather not think about those other people who got a piece of him. Right now, he was mine.

“Suck on that Ring Pop. Get it good and wet. You’re going to run it over your nipples, get them sticky and sweet for me.”

Shiloh visibly shuddered. “You see what you do to me?”

He raised the Ring Pop, sucking it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the candy until it was shiny with spit. Then he lowered it and rubbed it over his left nipple.

His lips parted with a soft breath.

“How’s that feel?” I asked.

“Sticky,” he said. “A little dirty. Wish you could put your mouth on me and suck it off.”

My pulse thudded in my hard cock. “Me too. Do the other one now.”

He raised the candy, just licking at it sloppily this time, and lowered it to rub over his right nipple.

“Mm. So sweet,” I said. “Should we get your cock all sticky too? Your hole?”

His breath quickened. “You’re not going to make me fuck myself with my own Ring Pop, are you?”

“Would you refuse?”

He hesitated. “No.”

I chuckled. “I’d rather see you ride that fat pink dildo you have, anyway.”

He groaned softly.

“Unfasten your belt. Don’t be a tease, or I might have to come and leave you hard and wanting.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so mean.”

He was smiling as he whipped off his belt, then reached for the button on his jeans.

“Stop. I didn’t say to open your jeans yet.”

He huffed. “I thought you didn’t want to tease.”

“I didn’t want you to tease,” I corrected. “Teasing you is fun.”

“Mean,” he repeated.

I took a minute to unbutton my black dress shirt and open my jeans.

“I can hear that,” Shiloh said. “Tell me what you’re doing?”

“I’m getting a little more comfortable.” I unzipped my fly, the sound audible over the camera. “Gotta touch my dick.”

Shiloh whimpered, still trapped in his jeans. “Want you in my mouth.”

“Suck on that Ring Pop,” I ordered. “Show me how good you’d suck me.”

He raised it to his mouth, sucking enthusiastically with a moan as his eyes fluttered closed. I rubbed my palm over the fabric of my briefs, squeezing my cock before I pulled it out. Thankfully, my body accepted my touch—even if it wouldn’t accept that of others.

I couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped when I stroked my needy cock.

“Please,” Shiloh gasped. “Don’t leave me like this.”

I never would, but it was a game we played that heightened the pleasure. I pretended to think it over, stroking myself and groaning theatrically to make him squirm.

“Fine, get naked.”

Shiloh whipped open his jeans and scrambled to rip them down his legs. His body was slim but nicely toned. He had a runner’s build, while I was a little more bulky.

I cast a glance toward the mirror on my closet door. My shirt was open, revealing my chest and the tattoo that read Believe in a fancy script that I got done during my idealistic phase when I thought I could beat my haphephobia.

The first couple of tattooing sessions had been torturous.

My first real exposure therapy, where I endured touch to build my tolerance.

I’d taken anti-anxiety meds before I went, and I still cried like a baby when Cyrus laid a hand on me, but he was patient and understanding.

It got easier each time I went, and the tattoo gun itself was actually pleasurable in a way.

That deep, vibrating touch wasn’t the same as a person’s touch, and I grew to crave it.