Chapter 21
Human ego was the easiest thing to hack.
Pulse thrumming hot, Kit struggled to unzip his jeans. His fingers were clumsy, his cock pressing hard against the fly. He felt uncoordinated, messy, in contrast to Holden. The jerk was as calm as ever laying out his supplies.
A thin cloth mat on the toilet tank. Small shiny tools. The target’s phone.
Kit forced his jeans and underwear down enough to draw out his cock. Air prickled against his heated skin, and the cracks in the stall door seemed enormous. Anyone could see what he was doing.
He thought of cameras, suddenly. A jolt of bad-fear. But he breathed through it, fixated on Holden’s upper back. Muscle and bone moving beneath his gray t-shirt. Holden was here, and the fear melted into the good sort of hyped-up nerves.
If he really wanted to stop, Holden would never let him continue.
Kit teased the underside of his cock, each different sensation amplified by his arousal.
Taut skin near the base. Looser foreskin pulling back.
Reaching his head, the gentle touch became electrifying.
Too unbearably good. An involuntary moan caught behind Kit’s teeth, and he circled his cock in a tighter grip.
Almost painful, but that was easier to withstand than the feather-light touches.
Holden had the phone dismantled already. He hadn’t looked back. But his attention was another ghostly hand wrapping around Kit.
Outside the stall, the sink ran. Then turned off. Paper towels ripped from the roll. Footsteps.
Kit moved his hand, so good his knees shook.
The door creaked open, music swelling from the dance floor. Another creak, the laughter of two people almost colliding in a doorway. Then the door shut and new footsteps entered. Paused, then headed for the urinals.
Did they see how many shoes were visible under the stall door? Did they hear the faint whine of Kit’s breath? They had to. Kit wasn’t being fucking subtle right now.
“That’s it, darling,” Holden murmured from an entire agonizing foot away.
Kit’s hips jerked into his hand. Breath stuttering, Kit forced still, willing himself not to come without permission.
He didn’t have an exhibitionism kink. He had a ‘doing things for his boyfriends’ kink. What made this hot wasn’t the stranger outside—it was Holden, binding him in possessive words.
The guy outside left. Kit spent more time motionless than jerking off, because he was way too fucking close. It felt like Holden was taking forever, but probably closer to two minutes. Kit pressed the heel of his hand against his balls, trying to control himself.
“Are you done yet?” Kit hissed.
The door screeched open, and two sets of footsteps entered. “—just until I find it,” one man said, his voice hushed and tense. “I’m so fucking screwed.”
“I’m not shutting down the club.” The second man sounded annoyed. “I can’t even do that, even if I wanted to cause a fucking fire hazard. Can’t you just find it with the app?”
“I can’t use the app without my phone, can I?” the first man snapped back.
Terry. That had to be Terry. Unless someone else lost their phone tonight, but Kit didn’t believe in lucky coincidences.
Frozen, Kit glanced at Holden—who still looked completely calm. Holden mouthed something.
Unfortunately, Kit was shit at reading lips. Was that “Don’t stop,” or “No, stop”?
Holden just grinned at Kit’s stressed, horny confusion, and tucked the phone and wallet back into his pocket. Kit hadn’t noticed him folding the supplies back up. He must be done, which was great, except the target was literally right outside, and they needed to—
“Don’t stop,” Holden murmured, invading Kit’s personal space. He grabbed Kit’s hair again, tugging painfully sweet. The latex gloves intensified the pull. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Kit’s only answer was a breathy moan as Holden pushed his shirt up.
Right. The whole point was pretending to fuck in case Terry searched for his phone. Having Terry and his bartender boyfriend outside wasn’t a disaster; it was the plan.
Holden’s hand burned against Kit’s exposed stomach. Kit’s every muscle tightened. Fuck, he was close. But his own hand wasn’t enough for his needy cock. Almost, almost, not quite there.
“Look at you, so fucking perfect,” Holden said, his voice quiet, but god, the men outside could probably hear him. Just like they could hear Kit’s poorly muffled moans. “Next time we’re alone, I’m going to fuck you.”
The low, urgent promise unraveled Kit. Like his orgasm was driven by desire, not his inadequate grasp. Not just release now, but the future release. The ending of the game Kit started—refusing to kiss Holden for a month—and Holden continued.
Bucking into his hand, Kit spilled over his fingers. He tried to catch everything, but cum landed on his stomach too, marking him with proof of his own need.
Outside the stall, the bathroom door creaked again. It shut on Terry’s stressed-out rambling, leaving Kit and Holden briefly alone.
“Did it work?” Kit asked.
“Perfectly,” Holden said, and dropped to his knees.
Kit let out an embarrassing squeak. Then a hissed, “Fuck,” as Holden carefully licked each drop of cum from his stomach. Each slow, wet lick felt like devotion, and Kit’s hypersensitive nerves wanted more.
Still on his knees, on the grubby bathroom floor, Holden caught Kit’s hand.
But Kit yanked it away. “No, gross, I touched the doorknob!”
Holden sighed and stood up, towering reassuringly over Kit. “Fine, I suppose you can wash your hands with soap.” He peeled the latex gloves off. “Hygiene first. Then we finish this.”
Giddiness rode the chill night air, quickening Kit’s breath. He felt like running down the street, bouncing with nervous exuberance. But Holden’s hot grasp on his wrist held him to a brisk walk.
“We did it,” Kit said, delighted.
Holden held Kit to earth like a balloon’s tether, but his voice sounded just as pleased. “It’s not over until we’re back in the van.”
‘Holden did it’ would be the more accurate assessment. Kit just jerked off in the bathroom. Holden was the one who installed the bug, then handed the phone to a random female bartender, saying he found it on the floor.
Kit assumed James was watching to make sure the rest went according to plan. Eventually Terry would learn his phone was at the bar. Then he and his bartender boyfriend would either break up or make up, none of Kit’s business, and carry on with their lives.
The smart thing would be for Terry to either dispose of his phone or give it to an associate to examine. Missing tech was like an unattended drink. Who knew what could slip in?
But James was banking on Terry not doing the smart thing. Terry wouldn’t want to admit his carelessness. Human ego was the easiest thing to hack.
Still hand in burning hand, Kit rounded a grubby corner with Holden. Streetlights flickered in the dead end, reflecting off the van’s dark windows.
“Christ, this is such a stalker van,” Kit muttered. “Why does James even own this?”
“Because James is a total stalker,” Holden said cheerfully. “And yes, takes one to know one.”
He reached for the door—but James was already pushing it open. Leaning out, James’s eyes were dark and intense. “Get in, for fuck’s sake.”
Holden pushed Kit into the van first. Before Kit could joke about being abducted by two of his creepy boyfriends, James shoved him against the wall.
“Don’t scare me like that, pretty boy,” James growled, his breath hot against Kit’s lips. His hand fisted in Kit’s tank top, pulling fabric against skin.
The van door thudded shut. Past James’s shoulder, Holden leaned against the chair. He watched them intently but didn’t interfere.
Which meant Holden agreed with Kit’s instinctive assessment. James was mad, yeah, but the good kind of mad.
“Am I in trouble?” Kit asked, tilting his chin. James always liked the way that move exposed Kit’s throat.
Sure enough, James’s eyes flickered down. “You enjoy being in trouble too much.”
“You should teach me a lesson.” Kit slipped a knee between James’s thighs. “Otherwise, the only lesson I learned is that my plan worked.”
James loosened his grip and straightened Kit’s tank top. “It worked,” he admitted grudgingly. “The target picked up his phone twenty seconds after you two left Cicada. Then his boyfriend tried to kiss him. Terry dumped a pitcher on him, then fled the bar before the bouncers showed up.”
“He was pretty drunk,” Holden added. His attention lingered on Kit’s throat too. “Are you going to spank Kit here, or wait till we get home?”
The question hung temptingly in the van.
Until Kit pushed James out of the way. “No spanking before Carla drives us home!”
James sighed. “You’re too sensible, babe. I’ll call her to pick us up.”
Kit moved to watch the camera feeds as he waited. Giddy success still pulsed inside him, like the crowd dancing in the tiny silent videos.
Though he regretted missing the final drama between Terry and his bartender boyfriend.