7. hollis
hollis
Jude walks between us back to the room with his hood up and his hands buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Bishop and I live closer than he does, which is the excuse none of us says out loud, and Jude doesn’t ask where we’re going because he already knows enough to hate the answer.
He watches every exit anyway. His eyes flick toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, then the side door, then the empty bend in the corridor where he could cut left and disappear before either of us decided whether following would make it worse.
He keeps walking, jaw tight, steps even, and I can feel myself getting louder with every foot of space he doesn’t put between us.
I still can’t believe he actually agreed to come.
The party chaos seems to be making Jude uncomfortable, the longer we sit here, the more antsy the Omega gets, his body leaning toward mine. It’s taking everything in me not to drag him into my lap but his distress is obvious.
“Do you want to leave?” I finally ask. Bishop tightens his grip on my thigh, before running up and down my leg. But I’m not pulling the question back.
Jude glances toward the door and frowns. “With you?”
I open my mouth to start explaining everything we can do before Bishop cuts in. “We can just walk you back to your dorm, Jude. There’s no pressure on what happens tonight. We just wanted you off that stage. That’s it.”
I watch Jude’s expression, the tight smile on his face softening a little. “And if I want something more? Something that’s just tonight?”
Hope blooms in my chest as I start fantasizing about every which way I can put Jude under me or on top of me. Maybe on the side. Maybe...
Bishop squeezes my thigh, bringing me back. “Whatever you decide is what happens next, Jude.” I hold my breath, waiting until Jude nods.
“Yeah, I could use a fuck and you two seem trustworthy enough not to use it against me.”
I don’t like the way he said that but I’m not going to stare the gift horse in the mouth. My hand starts to lift before I think better of it. Bishop catches my wrist. His fingers close warm and firm, and he gives one small shake of his head without looking away from Jude.
I swallow whatever sound is trying to climb out of my chest, but Jude sees it anyway. His gaze drops to Bishop’s grip around my wrist, then lifts to my face. “Do you come with a leash, or is that extra?”
Bishop chuckles as he unlocks the door. “He requires occasional handling.”
My brain trips hard enough that I almost miss the doorway. Jude’s mouth twitches as he steps inside, and I decide immediately that if my humiliation gets that face out of him, I can survive a little more of it.
Our beds are pushed into an L, desk by the window, shoes tucked under Bishop’s side, my sweatshirt folded over the chair because apparently abandoning it on the floor was “not a system.” Jude stops just inside the room, gaze moving over the beds, the window, the door, the space between the three of us.
I stay near the bed and keep my hands where he can see them.
My pulse is already too hard, heat gathering low in my body because he’s here, because he chose not to run, because his scent is under my skin and I finally get to be near him without half a pool deck between us.
I’m trying to look normal. I know I’m failing because Bishop’s hand comes to the middle of my back and stays there.
Jude turns back to me, and something in his face settles. He crosses the room, puts both hands on my chest, and shoves me onto the mattress.
I go where he puts me as the bed dips under my weight, and the purr in my chest tries to start so fast I have to bite down on it.
Jude climbs over me, one knee on either side of my hips, hands braced on my shoulders.
He’s smaller than I am, lean and tense and still shaking at the edges, but the second he has me under him, his breathing changes.
Bishop sees it as fast as I do, my Beta’s hand coming to my jaw before I can lean up, thumb under my chin, settling me with one touch. “Stay with me, Hollis,” he says near my ear, voice low enough to make my whole body listen. “Let him set the pace. Hands where he can see them.”
Jude’s fingers tighten on my shoulders as Bishop’s mouth brushes the side of my head, and his hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me steady while Jude studies us both.
“You’re very big,” Jude says.
“I’ve heard,” I tease, an easy smile spreading across my face.
Bishop’s fingers press into the back of my neck before I can add anything else. “You’re doing beautifully. Don’t ruin it.”
Jude’s mouth twitches again, and it hits me straight in the chest. He reaches for the top button of my shirt, then stops with his fingers hovering there. My entire body strains to help, to touch his wrist, to tell him he can do anything he wants, but Bishop’s hand shifts against my neck.
“Your call,” Bishop tells Jude. “He’ll listen. Tell him where you want him, or move him yourself.”
Jude looks at him over my shoulder. “You make that sound easy.”
“It is with him,” Bishop says. “He likes being useful.”
Heat moves up my throat.
Jude glances down at me. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” I admit as Bishop’s thumb strokes once behind my ear like he can feel what that costs me to say with Jude sitting over my lap. “Especially right now.”
Jude’s eyes drop, just for a second, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
I’m careful with my size, careful with my hands, careful with every instinct that wants to roll us over and cover him until the whole world goes quiet, but my body doesn’t know how to be polite about finally having him this close.
My cock thickens between my thighs, pressing against the bulge in his own pants but I keep my hips still.
His fingers move to the first button. “Useful,” he murmurs, dry enough to save us both from how much he’s watching.
I almost answer, but Bishop’s hand tightens. “Let him work you out, babe.”
So I shut up and let Jude choose. Everything narrows to his hands. He takes his time, my scent thickening before I can stop it. Jude doesn’t follow it. His attention stays on the button slipping free, the movement of my throat when I swallow, and Bishop’s fingers steady at my neck.
He reads what he can see, so I give him that. Slow breathing. Open hands. Every point of contact offered where he can take it or ignore it. When my purr starts vibrating a little louder, I keep it soft until Jude’s gaze drops, his palm pressing flat over the vibration.
Bishop feels the change in me and leans closer. “That’s good, Jude. He’ll tell you with his body before he tells you with his mouth. He’s terrible with his mouth when he’s excited.”
Jude’s eyes flick to him. “That sounds like a personal failing.”
“It’s a medical condition,” I say.
Jude laughs under his breath, and the sound goes through me so fast the purr slips louder. His hand tightens against my chest, holding the sound there, and I nearly lose every careful thought I have.
“Easy,” Bishop murmurs, this time directly against my ear. “You can be happy. Stay still.”
That’s worse than him telling me to breathe, somehow.
Kinder. Harder. It gives me somewhere to put all the feeling trying to tear out of me, so I stay still while Jude watches my face soften into something I probably should be embarrassed by.
I’m too far gone to care. He’s still here.
He’s touching me. His palm is over my purr like he’s trying to learn a language no one taught him.
Jude leans down and kisses me as Bishop’s voice lowers. “Good. That’s it. Take what you want.”
Jude hears the praise and goes sharper, like softness needs somewhere to cut. His hand leaves my chest and catches the front of Bishop’s shirt, pulling him nearer. “Then come here.”
Bishop goes immediately, like being dragged in by Jude Morrison is an ordinary thing and not something that makes my heart kick stupidly against my ribs.
Jude kisses him with the same testing edge, suspicious of how easily Bishop gives ground.
His fingers stay at my neck while his other hand braces on the mattress, and he keeps his voice quiet when Jude pulls back breathing unevenly.
“You’re still driving,” Bishop says. “We’re following.”
Jude looks between us. His face is flushed now, mouth softer from kissing, eyes still too sharp to miss anything. “That a promise?”
“Yes,” Bishop says.
I nod because I don’t trust myself to say it without sounding too eager. Jude hums for a second and then climbs off. He doesn’t even say anything as he strips me completely and then himself, gesturing for me to climb up higher on the bed.
Bishop usually uses more words and praise but Jude’s gaze locked on me gives me a similar feeling.
My cock slaps against my stomach as I do what I’ve been asked, Bishop’s scent spiking with desire.
For a moment I feel too big for the bed, too much for the small space between the three of us.
Jude doesn’t seem bothered by it. He climbs over me immediately, one knee on either side of my hips, and looks down at me with that same sharp, assessing stare he uses on deck when someone’s form is off.
Bishop shifts to sit against the headboard beside me, close enough that his thigh presses against my shoulder. His hand finds the back of my neck again, massaging into the skin to keep me from flipping Jude over.
Jude’s eyes flick to Bishop for half a second, then drop back to me. He reaches down between us and wraps his hand around my cock, stroking a few times. I’m already hard, have been since he shoved me onto the bed, and the touch makes my hips twitch upward before I can stop them.
“Stay still,” Jude says.
I freeze as he lifts up onto his knees and lines me up with his body. I can feel the heat of him, the pressure as the head of my cock nudges against his slick entrance. Even this close to him, I can’t really catch his pheromones, just the briefest whiff of his scent beneath the blockers.