Chapter 20Stiles
CHAPTER
TWENTY
STILES
Turning left down Pigeon Lane, I roll up the big hill and slow my bike to a stop in the driveway beside Mac’s truck. Warmth and pride make my heart grow too big for my chest.
I'm home.
When I walk through the front door, the smell of fresh paint lingers in the air. ”Hey, where you at?” I call out.
”Stiles?” Mac shrieks, sounding panicked. In one of the spare bedrooms that he turned into his office, I find Mac sitting at his desk in nothing but those ridiculous boxer shorts with hot lips printed all over. Camera equipment and lighting are set up, and he has his knitting out on the desk.
“The fuck you doing home so early?” Mac accuses.
“The shop was slow, so James cut me. He knows how much I have on my honey-do list now that I’m a homeowner.”
“Well… Well, next time, call first.”
“You want me to call you to ask permission to come home early? Am I missing something?” The lighting and camera equipment doesn’t sit right with me. Usually, when he’s jacking off to Betty Beasley videos, he doesn’t need all of this paraphernalia. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing! You know, knitting.”
“Is that code for jacking off?”
”Yeah. Sure. I was beating my meat.”
Considering how he usually tries to deny it, he’s giving in awfully easily, which makes me more suspicious. I glance at his computer screen, trying to get a better idea of what’s going on, but I don’t see Betty’s video on pause. I see Mac. He scrambles for the mouse to shut the computer down, and I have to lean into him with my shoulder to shove him out of the way.
“Stiles!”
“McCormick,” I mimic in the same high-pitched tone. Sliding the mouse around the pad, the screen comes to life, and I push play on the video. It’s Mac, alright. And he’s knitting. In his fucking boxer shorts. But it’s the words coming out of his mouth that blow my mind.
“Good afternoon, all you naughty knitters. The Needle Devil is here with another sexy installment, so grab your yarn and needles because we’re about to dive into a knitting tutorial that’s as steamy as it is stitchy.”
He takes a minute to describe the needles he’s using, stroking the bamboo sticks like it’s a cock. Then he goes on to describe the yarn thickness and weight, and what it’s made of.
“First, you’ll need some soft, silky yarn —something that feels as luxurious in your hands as it will on your finished piece. It’s all about finding that perfect thickness —not too thin, not too thick, but just the right size to make your fingers tingle. Just imagine how it will feel sliding against your skin when you wear it.”
It’s not just his words, it’s the expressions he’s giving the camera. Like he’s eye-fucking the lens. Or, the subscribers watching on the other end of the lens.
“Now, let’s get into position . Hold the yarn tight in your hands, letting it fall in soft, fluid waves. The smoother the yarn, the smoother the motions. Trust me, you’ll want this to feel comfortable, relaxed, and just a little bit sexy.”
His puffy, pink nipples and fuzzy red chest are in plain view of the camera, as are his toned abs. McCormick looks like a sexy thirst trap.
“Grab your needles and get ready to insert the tip into your yarn. The key here is to be gentle, but firm, as you begin your cast-on. You want a slow glide so that the first few stitches are smooth, setting the tone for the entire project. There’s no rush; let each stitch linger , building anticipation for what’s to come.”
Fuck me, he makes it sound like sex. Like the needles are fucking the yarn. Insinuating he could be fucking the viewers watching his video. He’s got to be fucking kidding me.
“As you cast-on, think about the rhythm. Slow and steady , one stitch after another. It’s not a race; it's about feeling each motion, the way your needles glide in and out of the yarn. You’re creating something beautiful—and a little bit irresistible .”
He says the word irresistible with a twinkle in his eye, like he’s irresistible. And shit, maybe he is, because the video prior to this one, which I’m pretty sure is a lot like this, has sixty-seven thousand views with almost as many likes.
My man has a following!
“Now we’re really getting into it. Hold your needles, one in each hand, and start with that first knit stitch. Let the yarn fall onto the needle, then pull it through —just like that. The motion is smooth, deliberate, and gets more satisfying with each stitch. Rinse and repeat until your finished product grows bigger and bigger. Let it come to life in your hands.”
I’m actually growing hard from watching him describe his knitting. I can’t believe I’m getting turned on! I glance at Mac, and his cheeks are as red as his beard. He’s embarrassed. He should be! He’s busted and guilty as charged.
“As you work your way down the row, feel the rhythm in your body. Let it move through you. You might notice your fingers becoming more involved , moving with a fluidity that’s almost too sensual to be legal. Like me, your sexy Red Devil. The more you knit, the more that sweet, repetitive motion will turn into something downright addictive .”
“ A good knitter knows that tension is everything. Too loose, and things will be floppy —too tight, and your work will be too restrictive . Find that perfect balance, just tight enough to keep things secure, but loose enough to let things flow easily .“
The camera pans down to his lap, presumably to show off his knitting, but it also shows his junk. Of course, it’s covered with his black cotton boxers, but come on, Mac’s cock is fat enough to be seen easily through just about anything he wears. There’s no disguising that beast.
“Think of it like a good hug—firm enough to keep everything in place, but not so tight you’re gasping for breath. You want your stitches to glide, not gasp. Unless you’re into that sort of thing,” he adds with a wink.
I peg him with a hard glare. “Mac, when I finish watching this video, I’mma kick your ass. But first, I wanna see how this ends.”
“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for—the final touch .” I’m gonna give him the final fucking touch! I swear to God! “You’ve been knitting for a while now, slowly building up to this. You’re almost there. Take your time. There’s no need to rush the bind-off. The stitches will slip off the needle, one by one, and with every release, you’ll feel a sense of satisfaction, like a slow, sweet exhale. When I work my yarn with you, I can feel the release throughout my entire body. When you’ve bound off completely, stop and take a moment to admire your work. You did it. You’ve created something beautiful, smooth, and completely yours. I’m so proud of you, naughty knitters.”
“I swear to God, Mac, if there’s a happy ending in this video, I’m seriously going to kill you.”
“There’s not,” he defends. “That’s for paid sites like OF. You can’t give away a happy ending for free.”
“And do you have one of those paid sites?”
“No!” When I continue to glare, he adds, “I was considering it, but I haven’t started it up yet.”
Returning my attention to the video, I catch the tail end of this epic disaster.
“Now you’re ready to knit with a little bit of sass and a whole lot of style. Remember, knitting isn’t just about making things—it’s about the pleasure of the process, the way each stitch feels, and the satisfaction of seeing it all come together at the end. Happy knitting, and keep it tight , smooth , and sexy out there! This is the Needle Devil signing off until next time, naughty knitters.”
As soon as the video comes to an end, Mac dashes from the room and I take off after him. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Ernest!”
I catch up with him in the kitchen and corner him against the counter. His eyes are wide with panic, but a smile teases his lips. “Easy now, Stiles. Don’t be mad. It was just harmless fun. A way to make a quick buck. Remember how much you love me? Ride or die, remember?”
“Let’s talk about the die part, ‘cause I’m feeling a little murderous. What in the hell made you think filming porny knitting videos was a good idea?”
“Betty told me I could make a killing! Being a homeowner is expensive. Shit adds up fast!”
“Have you gotten naked in any videos?”
“No! I swear. I always keep my boxers on.”
“How many loyal viewers have hit you up for extra side work?”
“A few, but it’s not like that! I told them there’s no extra content available.” He puts his hands up to my chest, smoothing them over my pecs soothingly. “You’re the only loyal viewer who gets to see the finished product.”
Jackass. “I’m warning you, if you don’t quit with the knitting innuendo, I’m seriously going to kick your ass.”
Mac tweaks my nipples through my T-shirt. “I bet if we make out for a few minutes, you would feel considerably less angry.”
“Maybe if you suck my dick, I would feel considerably less angry.”
“That’s an excellent idea!”
He drops to his knees, not an easy feat, considering he has his prosthetic on, and works my zipper open. Mac pulls out my cock, which is still hard from watching that stupid video, and without teasing and fanfare, sucks me to the back of his throat. I choke at the sensation, the heat, and the incredible suction of his mouth. Mac hollows his cheeks and goes to town on my cock, slurping noisily, working my shaft with his hand, massaging my sac. Gripping his bald head, I guide him down my length, holding him prisoner at the base of my cock until he gags and taps my thigh for mercy.
“Fuck, Stiles,” he gasps and coughs when I let him up.
“Get up.” He struggles to his feet. “Turn around.” Spinning him roughly, I yank his ridiculous boxers down his legs and split his cheeks wide. I gather a mouthful of saliva and spit down his crease. It dribbles down and coats his hole.
Mac glances back over his shoulder, looking a little panicked. “You’re not gonna…?”
“You’re fucking right I am.”
I spit again, coating my shaft, and slide the tip through his cheeks.
“No! Wait.” Mac shuffles awkwardly with his boxers around his knees, to the fridge, grabs the jar of mayo, and removes the lid. He sticks his fingers in the jar and swipes a huge dollop.
“Seriously? Mayonnaise?”
“It’s greasy and works a lot better than spit.” Mac spreads it between his ass cheeks, reaches back, and slicks up my shaft. “Okay, I’m ready.”
It’s a little bit nasty, but I’m turned the fuck on all the way. Instead of working him open with my fingers, I press the tip of my cock against his hole and softly thrust my hips, working him open slowly. Mac has a death grip on the counter, white-knuckling it, legs braced wide. His breathing picks up, coming out harsher, more rapid, and he squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s waiting for the pain. Embracing it, even.
“Go easy on me,” Mac pleads.
“Just pressing until your ass opens for me. Relax. Push out.”
“Easy for you to say,” he chuffs. “No one’s trying to shove a baseball bat up your ass.”
“Is that what my cock feels like? A bat?” The muscles give way, and the swollen head of my cock pushes through his tight rim. Mac gasps. “Are you trying to sweet talk me?”
“I’m serious. Go easy on me.”
Maybe at first, but I’m gonna tear his ass up as punishment. The next time he makes a porn-tastic knitting video, I hope he remembers this.
I push in another inch, and grip his hips for leverage. “Don’t be showing what’s mine to the rest of the world.”
“Oh yeah?” It sounds like he loves my possessiveness.
“This ass belongs to me.” I snake my arm around his hip and grab his cock. The tip is wet with pre-cum, and I smear it over his cockhead. “This dick belongs to me. Not the naughty knitters. Not fucking Betty Beasley. Me.”
“Yeah,” he babbles, pushing his ass out further. “It’s your dick.”
“Every time I pound into your ass balls-deep, I want you to say that out loud.”
“Fuck. Yeah,” Mac agrees, sounding all breathy and turned on. He grabs his cock from me and takes over, jacking it furiously, grunting as he takes the pounding.
I thrust harder, bottoming out against his ass cheeks. “Say it.”
“It’s your dick.”
Pulling out all the way, I thrust in again, slamming my hips against his ass. “Again. Say it.”
“It’s your dick!”
“Damn right, it is.” The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, punctuated by his grunts.
Every time I slam against him, he yells out, “This is your dick!”
“It’s my ass, too,” I growl, bottoming out one last time. My load pulses inside his ass, filling him up.
“My dick belongs to you, Stiles. It’s your dick. Your ass.”
He sounds desperate, chasing his release as he pumps his shaft, slamming his ass back against my dick. Mac is fucking me, and I look down at where our bodies are joined, enjoying the show. It looks hot as fuck.
“That’s it. Fuck me, Mac. Work my load deep into your ass.”
He yells my name and sprays the cabinets with milky-white seed. I collapse against his back, chuckling and sweaty. “You’re cleaning that up.”
The front door opens with a bang against the wall. The freshly-fucking-painted wall. “Knock, knock, Bitches!”
Fuck! I recognize those voices.
Mac tenses, his entire body going stiff. “You didn’t lock the door?”
“Why the fuck would I lock the door?”
He grabs his boxers from down around his ankles and hobbles to the bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him. I grab my pants and pull them up.
“In here,” I call out.
Six heads pop around the wall. They’re each holding up grocery bags, wearing identical smiles. “Who’s in the mood for a housewarming party?”
Fucking Bitches. They have the worst timing.