Chapter 10 #2
What if this cracked us open in all the wrong ways? What if afterward, the easy laughter disappeared? The late-night calls. The shoulder bumps. The unspoken understanding.
My thoughts spiraled fast and bright, a swarm I had to swat down. Not now. I forced a slow breath into my lungs, held it, and let it out. Tonight wasn’t for fear. It was for us. For whatever this was.
This week, the video wouldn’t just go to my page. It would go to Beckett’s too.
I could picture the numbers ticking upward, the comments, the tips sliding in one by one.
I didn’t need it. If things ever fell apart for me, there was always the safety net waiting, soft and expensive.
Beckett didn’t have that anymore. No family account to tap into. No quiet bailout behind the scenes.
He’d never ask. Pride sat in his spine like steel.
I would make sure he was okay. However I had to.
And if he ever did ask, if that steel in his spine finally bent, I’d empty my account without blinking.
Every last cent if he needed it. Some things were worth more than money. Beckett had always been one of them.
My heart slammed hard enough to bruise when I saw him in the hallway.
I was already down to my boxers, and suddenly I felt exposed. Not just undressed. Displayed. Like the hallway light had sharpened, narrowed, fixed on me alone.
Beckett didn’t slow.
His shirt was halfway over his head before he even reached the doorway.
The fabric snagged on his shoulders and he yanked it free in one impatient pull, hair mussed, chest rising with the effort.
By the time he stopped in front of me, we were even.
Bare skin. Bare skin. A thin strip of cotton each, the last polite lie between us.
He paused just short of touching me.
His gaze dipped. Slow. Unhurried. Down the line of my chest, over my stomach, lower, then back up again like he was memorizing something he might need later.
He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. His throat worked around a swallow he didn’t bother hiding, and the corner of his mouth twitched, caught between a grin and something tighter. Something cautious.
Color crept up his neck in a faint, spreading flush.
He held my eyes. Blinked once, quick and deliberate, like bracing before a plunge.
“So,” he said, voice a shade rougher than usual, clearing his throat when it cracked at the edges. “You said we’re jumping right into it?”
A laugh slipped out of me, softer than I had meant it to be. “We’re going to walk through those doors and act like this is natural,” I said, gesturing behind me. “But also like it isn’t. Like it’s effortless and intentional at the same time. Does that make sense?”
It sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud.
The truth was, with Beckett, it already felt natural.
The way we stood too close. The way his breath hitched when my hand brushed his wrist. When we hooked up, it felt less like performing and more like exploring something that had always been there, waiting.
The camera only changed the angles, not the current underneath.
Except Asher made sure we never forgot it was there. The low murmur of his commentary. The click of the lens adjusting. The way he’d lean in just enough to remind Beckett he was being watched.
Beckett dragged in a deep breath, chest expanding, then let it out through his nose as if he were steadying himself before a race.
“I’ll follow your lead,” he murmured. His fingers flexed once at his sides, betraying him. “I’m ready.”
He didn’t sound fearless—he sounded determined.
I laced my fingers through his and pushed the door open.
The room swallowed us in warm lamplight and the low mechanical hum of the camera already recording. Beckett followed half a step behind me, his palm slightly damp against mine, grip tightening just enough to betray him.
Asher looked up the second we crossed the threshold.
The camera was already lifted, lens trained on us with predatory precision.
Somewhere between us leaving and coming back, he’d stripped too.
Clothes abandoned in a careless trail near the bed.
The sight of him, bare and composed, sent a sharp flicker of heat through me.
Focus.
This wasn’t about him.
I turned, tugging Beckett forward before the silence could stretch.
My hand fisted in his waistband, pulling him flush against me.
Our mouths collided, messy and immediate, like we’d barely made it through the door before giving in.
His lips were warm, a little unsure at first, then opening under mine with a quiet sound that vibrated straight through me.
To anyone watching, we were just two friends sneaking off to scratch an itch.
My hands slid up into his hair, angling him deeper into the kiss. He melted faster than I expected.
When I finally pulled back, our foreheads nearly touched, both of us breathing harder than we had been seconds ago.
“So,” I murmured, letting my voice drop into something teasing, something meant for the camera. “Ready for more experimenting, straight boy?”
The phrase tasted wrong. Bitter. Beckett wasn’t straight. Not anymore. Not after the conversation we’d had, where he admitted to being bi. But the storyline paid better. The fantasy sold. So we played our parts.
His breath hitched, sharp and audible, and the sound went straight to my bloodstream.
“I couldn’t resist you,” he said.
The words landed between us, easy and unforced. His eyes didn’t flick to Asher for approval. Didn’t search the room for direction. They stayed on me, steady and bright, as if he meant it.
For a second, I forgot the camera was there.
He was a natural. I couldn’t tell if it was because he trusted me, or because he’d always had this quiet confidence waiting for the right stage.
Either way, he didn’t look like someone pretending.
Our mouths crashed together again, our tongues fighting for dominance.
People thought being a bottom meant being submissive, but I didn’t always allow myself to submit.
It could go either way with me, and today I was feeling powerful.
I wanted to take Beckett apart, make him crave me like a Pavlovian response.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down slowly, watching his breath stutter as the fabric slipped over his hips.
The elastic caught for half a second, then gave, sliding the rest of the way to his ankles.
He broke the kiss just long enough to step out of them, never taking his eyes off me.
My hands were back on him before the cotton hit the floor.
Our mouths crashed together again, rougher now, less careful.
Teeth grazed. His fingers dug into my sides like he needed the anchor, like the floor might tilt if he let go.
There was nothing tentative left in it. Whatever hesitation had hovered in the hallway had burned off the second skin met skin.
I walked him backward toward the bed, not breaking contact, guiding with small, deliberate steps. He followed without resistance, answering every push with a pull of his own, until we were close to the edge of the bed.
I’d told myself kissing Beckett would be a mistake. That it would blur something we couldn’t redraw later.
But the way his hands moved over me didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt inevitable. Like a fuse that had been quietly hissing for years had finally found its flame.
The backs of his knees hit the mattress.
I didn’t stop.
My palm flattened against his chest, and I pushed. Not hard, but firm enough to guide. He went down onto his elbows, muscles tightening beneath my hand, breath hitching as he adjusted to the new angle. The lamplight caught in his eyes when he looked up at me.
They were darker now. Pupils blown wide. His mouth parted slightly, chest rising faster than it had a moment ago. His gaze moved over me with slow, deliberate focus, like he was cataloging every inch. Not startled. Not uncertain. Ready.
Heat pooled low in my stomach at the look on his face. He didn’t look like someone being led.
He looked like someone waiting to be undone.
I stripped out of my boxers in one impatient motion, barely breaking eye contact, and climbed over him.
I didn’t settle my weight fully, just hovered there, braced on my hands, caging him in without touching more than necessary.
Close enough that he could feel the warmth of me.
Close enough that the air between us felt charged.
“Are you ready to fall apart?” I asked, a crooked grin tugging at my mouth.
His eyes widened just a fraction, the reaction immediate and unfiltered. He nodded quickly, almost too quickly, as if he were afraid I might change my mind.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Please, Theo. I need you.”
The words fractured as they left him, caught between urgency and breath. And the way he said my name, like it was something he was already holding onto, sent a sharp pulse of satisfaction straight through me.
For a fleeting second, the camera didn’t exist. There was only him beneath me, and the choice we were both making.
I gave in to his begging quickly, lowering myself so our bodies were touching. The first drag of our cocks together sent a chill down my spine and forced a groan out of me. Beckett whimpered, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head.
I wanted to believe it was this good with everyone.
It wasn’t. Our connection made it that way.
Things felt better with Asher and Beckett than anyone else I had ever been with.
The need and desperation that came from him matched my own.
Of course, everything was better when it was someone you loved.
Someone who you could be yourself around.
“Theo has you exactly where I want you,” Asher said, his voice cool as he stepped closer. “Quiet. On your back. It’s good to know you understand your place.”