CHAPTER 6. THE LAST PURSUIT
That first kiss hits like a shot of adrenaline. It starts slow—dizzyingly slow—and Moon’s lips are soft, silky, like fucking marshmallows. They part under mine, and he lets out the quietest moan—one that goes straight to my cock.
His fingers curl into my shirt, tugging like he already wants more. I press him back against the counter—just enough that he feels me, feels my cock against his stomach—and the second it happens, his breath stutters.
He kisses me deeper, hungrier, his tongue meeting mine—slick, hot, teasing. He’s desperate now, like he’s been starving for months. Maybe he has. Maybe I’ve been starving too.
His hand slides between us, rubbing my cock through my pants, and I curse as it throbs at his touch.
We break apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of us dragging air like we just sprinted end to end. Moon looks down between us and rubs me again, makes me moan—his lips parting, like he’s shocked by how much I want him.
I can feel it—how hard he’s trying to stay in control. Like even touching me through layers of fabric nearly undoes him.
I lean in, my mouth brushing his ear. “What do you want?” I ask again, low.
He lifts his head, lips ghosting along my jaw, then takes my hand and pulls it toward his own cock. I can feel how hard he is, and when I rub him, he breathes out a shaky, “Fuck…”
“That’s pretty straightforward,” I say, laughing softly. And he actually blushes.
Suddenly, I hear my name—somewhere outside.
I freeze, eyes on the door. The voices are close now, and it hits me—we can’t exactly be going at it on the kitchen counter while my brother, his fiancée, and half my friends and teammates are out there getting drunk.
But if we leave the room, I’m afraid we’ll get pulled straight into the chaos and won’t be able to slip away after.
I hear my name again—clearer this time.
Moon follows my gaze, then says quietly, “They’re looking for you.”
I nod, reluctant. I don’t want to break this—whatever this is between us now.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and tugging me toward the door. “We’ll see what they want. Then you can…uh, show me your room.”
“Alright,” I say, breathless. And for a second, it actually feels like I’m drunk out of my mind.
But before we go, I pull Moon in for one more kiss. It’s long and breathless, and he melts into me with these soft little moans that nearly undo me. We stay like that a little longer—kissing, touching, lost in it—before we finally straighten our shirts and step out of the kitchen.
The second we walk into the living room, Nick and Eric appear.
“There you are,” Nick says, looking between us with a faint smile. “Have a nice talk?”
I nod, pretending not to notice the sly twinkle in his eye.
Eric doesn’t even bother with subtle—just gives us a slow once-over, his laser eyes back in full force.
It’s obvious they both know exactly what we’ve been up to—and while Nick looks way too pleased that his evil plan worked, Eric’s clearly not a fan. I ignore him and turn to my brother.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying not to look as horny as I feel.
“I couldn’t find the first aid kit,” Nick says, “but I got it.”
“Everything okay?” I frown.
“Yeah—Jo?o broke a glass and cut his hand.” He nods toward the couch, and that’s when I spot Jo?o wedged between Derek and Samia. Derek’s bandaging his hand, looking as grim as ever. Jo?o, meanwhile, is clearly wasted—flushed and grinning at something Samia just said.
“Where’s the broken glass?” I ask, glancing around.
“I already cleaned it up,” Nick says, then turns to Moon. “You okay, Sawyer? You look kind of flushed. Might want to lie down if you’re not feeling great.”
I roll my eyes, jaw tight. Of course he’s milking this.
“Yeah, you might be right,” Moon says—and when I look at him, he’s got that kissed-silly look written all over his face. But clearly, he’s decided to play along with whatever ridiculous little show my brother’s putting on.
Moon looks up at me. “Can I go rest somewhere?” His face is completely serious—but I hear Eric sigh behind me, clearly not buying it.
“Sure,” I say, my face heating. I turn to the other two. “I’ll be right back. Just…keep the guests entertained.”
“Don’t you worry, little brother,” Nick says, flashing me a smug grin and shooting a look across the room. Samia catches it, then throws a knowing glance our way. God, those two are meddling little Smurfs.
“Let’s go,” I tell Moon, nodding toward the hallway.
He starts walking, but before I can follow, Eric grabs my elbow.
“What?” I mutter, trying not to let the irritation show.
He’s been on my ass about Moon for a while now, and I still don’t get why he hates him so much.
And before you start thinking Eric’s secretly in love with me—don’t.
First, he’s basically a brother to me. Second, he’s never cockblocked me before, which means this is 100% about Moon.
And third, I’m definitely not his type—he’s into soft, doe-eyed twinks.
Like that Scooby-Doo bartender we met at the gay club on Halloween.
Actually, Eric tried to hit him up again, but the number the guy gave him was fake. He even went back to the club a week later—turned out the bartender had already quit. And ever since, Eric’s been trying to track him down—with no luck. Hence the grumpy mood.
“You have condoms, right?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t want to regret anything later.”
“Eric.” I give him a flat look. “You’re starting to sound like my mom.”
“I have to,” he says, softer now. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Thanks,” I snort, bumping his shoulder. “But I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
I pause, looking at him. I hate fighting with Eric—especially when I’m finally in a good place. “Did you find your Scooby-Doo bartender yet?” I ask, mostly to shift the mood.
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m starting to think I made him up.”
“You’ll find him,” I say—because I love throwing out those optimistic, vaguely ominous predictions.
“If you say so,” Eric echoes again. Then glances past me and adds, “Go on—your bully’s waiting.”
I snort and turn around. Moon’s there, watching us from the hallway. I smile, then follow him.
***
It’s a little awkward leading a guy into your bedroom when there’s a party still going downstairs and at least three people there know exactly what you’re about to do—but I try not to think about that.
Because the second I get Moon inside and lock the door, he’s on me.
He shoves me back against it, lips crashing into mine, hands already working my shirt open.
I kiss him back, laughing under my breath at the sudden urgency. He practically yanks the shirt off me, then shoves my pants down.
“Easy,” I murmur, catching his wrists just as he reaches for my boxers.
“Fuck me, please,” Moon breathes—but I kiss him instead, slowing him down, cupping his face, trying to pull him back into the moment.
“I want to make you feel good,” I whisper, then lean in and kiss his neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. He moans, arching into me. I grab his ass, and he writhes under my hands, cursing as I squeeze. I keep pushing him until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed.
He falls onto it, blond hair spilling across the black sheets—and I climb on top of him. I undo his shirt, trailing kisses down his chest and abs, then strip off his belt and pants, tugging them free.
When I look down, he’s already wrecked—flushed, breathing hard, lying there in just his boxer briefs and open shirt, staring up at me with this desperate, undone look. I can see the outline of his cock, hard and straining, begging to be touched.
My own cock throbs at the sight. But I pause, sliding back up to meet his eyes.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing a kiss over his lips.
“Yes,” he says, gaze locked on mine—mesmerized.
“How drunk are you?” I ask, still not completely sure.
“A little,” he admits, then quickly adds, “But I’m perfectly in my right mind, Mark.”
“Good,” I say. “You sure you want—”
He shuts me up with a kiss—a hard, hungry crash of lips, because Sawyer Moon is impatient. Then, without warning, he pushes me onto my back and climbs on top. I look up at him, my whole body buzzing from how fucking hot he looks right now.
He grinds down, rubbing his ass against my cock, focused like he’s trying to ruin me with just that.
“Fuck,” I mutter, reaching for his hips—but he catches my wrists.
“Can I try something?” he asks, eyes dark.
I nod, breath catching as he urges me higher on the bed, until I’m half propped against the headboard. Then he grabs his belt, loops it, and presses my wrists above my head, securing them to the wooden plank with a tight, practiced tug.
A wave of heat rolls through me as it hits—I’m tied up. At his mercy.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, that twisted little smile curling on his lips.
I test the belt—feel the resistance, the way it digs lightly into my wrists—and fuck, my pulse spikes.
Moon sits back on his heels, eyes raking over me as though he owns the view now. His hand brushes down my chest, fingers skimming the lines of my abs like he’s memorizing every ridge. Like I’m his to explore.
Then he suddenly leans in, dipping toward my boxers, his tongue dragging along the fabric, mouthing my pulsing, already leaking cock. I shudder.
“Fuck,” Moon mutters, looking up at me. “You like being tied up, Mark?”
I exhale through my nose, jaw tight. “Apparently.”
And I’ve got a strong feeling that if he doesn’t untie me soon, I’m going to lose it—because every time he touches me, I shudder, and I’m already so hard it fucking hurts.
Moon smirks again—smug, dangerous. He slides up along my body until his face is level with mine, but instead of kissing me on the lips, he dips lower—mouth dragging over my jaw, then down, biting lightly just under my ear before kissing a slow line along my neck and chest.