Page 45 of Too Far

His midsection is a defined slab of granite, peppered with dark hair that gathers into a thick, inviting happy trail.

Running my nose through it, I inhale warm amber and sea salt and smile when he sucks in a sharp breath.

He grasps the back of my head, but he pulls away just as quickly, as if battling with himself, clinging to any shred of control, grasping for any excuse he can find.

“You’re okay with them watching?” he growls under his breath, his head bowed and cast in shadow, making it impossible to read his expression in the dark.

Now I really can’t fight back my grin.

For once, he’s not arguing. Or calling me off. He’s not demanding I stand up or telling me this can’t happen.

No, he’s confirming how this works and ensuring that we’re all consenting to this situation.

I lick my bottom lip, and my core heats further as his eyes track the movement. Nodding, I peer up and wait for him to acknowledge my attention. Then I make him a promise. “I want them to watch. I like it when they watch me.”

Hands fisted, Decker turns to the boys.

The boys, I might add, who are all observing silently, their focus locked on us. They’re rapt, waiting to see how this is going to play out.

“You’re okay with your girl doing this right in front of you?” His brows are pulled low and his words are clipped.

If the words had come from anyone else, I would be insulted.

But this is Decker, and he’s trying so, so hard.

“They’re good boys,” I declare before anyone else can respond. “They can wait their turn.”

I peek over my shoulder, first to a smirking Kylian, then across from him to Kendrick and Locke. I grin and raise my brows, offering an unspoken promise that they’ll each, in fact, get their turn.

When my focus shifts back to Decker, the vein in his forehead is pulsing and sharp breaths saw in and out of his lungs. He’s so on edge, strung out and stressed, pent up and frustrated. If anyone needs a release, it’s him.

We’re all on the same page. We all want the same thing.

Yet I worry that Decker’s need for control will prevent him from going for what he wants.

So without another moment’s hesitation, I boldly help him out.

I peel down his pants, pushing down his boxers as I go.

His thick, rigid cock springs free, and instantly, a pearl of precum seeps from the tip.

Licking my lips in anticipation, I say, “Ready when you are, Cap.”

He glares down, his eyes impossibly dark. He’s still fighting to maintain his composure, breathing hard through his nose and gritting his teeth as his gaze shifts from me to the guys, then back again.

I wait with bated breath, willing him to make the first move.

But he’s determined to win this standoff.

So I concede and take what I want.

When I grip the base of his cock, he flinches. He doesn’t pull away, and he doesn’t stop me. His eyes flash with heat and desire, despite his glower.

I fist him slowly, stroking from root to tip, then lean forward and kiss the crown of his penis. That’s all I give him—for now. This has to be consensual. I know he wants it, but he has to allow himself to have it.

Nuzzling into his muscular thigh, I focus on his face and whisper, “You can take what you want and still be in control, Decker. If you change your mind and need me to stop, just tap three times. They won’t see you. They won’t know. But I’ll stop immediately.”

He scrubs his hands down his face. “I want you so bad it hurts.”