To Finn’s right, the windows stretch wide and tall—glass lacking any sort of protective tint. Anyone glancing up from the stands could see in, if they looked hard enough. It’s unlikely, but possible. And that thought? It curls around Finn’s spine like fire.
When the main lights dim to molten amber, it hits him that the whole stadium could see them or burn to the ground around them, and he still wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away. For the next three and a half minutes or longer, Grayson will have his undivided attention.
The distinct piano intro of Annie Lennox’sI Put a Spell on Youdrips from the sound system, slow and wet, slinking through Finn’s blood.
I put a spell on you…
He emerges from the shadows stage left,slipping into the waiting spotlight, the warm light burnishing his skin gold. Pausing, he slides a long thigh out to the side, running a hand up his ribs and vanishing into his hair. Blue eyes flash, but he doesn’t look away, holding Finn captive.
The music rolls low and sultry as he sinks into the beat, grinding in a slow, deliberate circle. His ass juts out, the shirt fluttering open behind him like the wings of something dangerous.
You better stop the things you do…
He bends forward at the waist, ass pushed out toward their mates on the couch, his head dropped low.
There’s a gasp and a groan from the couch. Maybe Jay or Luca, but Finn can’t look; he promised.
Dropping into a crouch, Grayson spreads his knees wide. One hand anchors behind him while the other stays at his side, and he thrusts upward in a smooth pump. His cock strains against the fabric, a thick line of heat visible. His shirt slips aside just enough to reveal the glint of that silver chain.
Finn’s grip on the chair tightens, fingertips gone white.
I ain’t lying…
Grayson lifts again, abdominals flexing hard as he powers through the movement, his thighs opening and closing. Then his hand slides low—right between his legs, pressing down with a soft, breathy moan that doesn’t sound like performance at all.
Behind them, Jay hisses. Luca’s gagging groan is unmistakable, even with the bassline throbbing through the box.
You know better, Daddy…
The tempo shifts, and Grayson lets it take him. Turns fluid and fast, head tipping, hips snapping, hands tangled in his own hair. He chases the music until it stills him again, just inches from Finn, breath ragged and eyes alight.
He stands tall, legs wide, left arm lifted as he rolls his body from shoulder to hip. The shirt slides off his right shoulder, catching for a second before slipping free.
A smooth pirouette follows. He tugs at his hair, lets his hands skim down his sides—slow and firm—until they reach his chest. One hand finds hisnipple ring and gives it a twist, just hard enough to make him gasp.
Then his arms go behind his back, wrists clasped like he’s offering himself up.
Because you’re mine…
“Pretty…” Gideon groans from the couch.
Grayson winks at Finn, pink tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth. He knowsexactlywhat he does to them.
On beat, Grayson drops to his hands and knees. One leg kicks out to the side for balance as he thrusts downward again and again, back arched, ass flexing with every motion. The spotlight catches each shifting muscle, skin sheened with sweat, all of him defined and gleaming.
Using the power in his arms, he slides backward across the floor—slow and deliberate—until his ass is pressed flush against Finn’s knees. Right as Lennox breathesI love you, I love you, I love you,he stops moving.
The room stills.
Finn’s hands twitch on the edge of the chair. He wants to touch so badly. Slip them under the hem of those shorts. Just a brush of skin.
Grayson rises to his haunches, pulls the shirt from his body, and tosses it to Leo without looking.
Catching it, the beta brings it to his nose.
Grayson’s back is long and lean, muscles shifting beneath skin slick with sweat. Finn wants to lean in, drag his teeth over the nape of his mate’s neck, bite down until Grayson gasps.
“Uh, uh, uh, no touching,” he says over his shoulder, as if he knows Finn has reached the edge of his restraint, fingers twitching. “I’m not done. Hands on your thighs.”
