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Brady freezes.

“Let go.” Eli hasn’t moved from beside me. “Whatever you’re holding back, stop holding it. We can take it. That’s an order.”

Brady’s eyes find Eli’s over the bed.

His face changes.

The hesitation drops away like a coat hitting the floor. And what’s left is the man I met in my apartment with a bottle of wine he couldn’t afford, who put his hand around my throat and bit my shoulder until I came screaming. Except now that look isn’t aimed at me.

He shoves Cruz backward onto the mattress and quickly sheds his clothes.

Hard. Not gentle. His body bounces onto the bed, and Cruz laughs, breathless and thrilled, as Brady climbs over him.

“Yeah, baby,” Cruz murmurs, hands already on Brady’s ass, pulling him closer. “There you are.”

Brady grinds down against him. Both of them are hard, skin on skin, and Brady’s hips snap forward in a rhythm that’s pure need. His hand wraps around both their cocks at once, stroking rough and graceless. His other hand twists back into Cruz’s hair.

He drops his head to Cruz’s throat.

I think he’s going to kiss it.

He bites.

Cruz’s whole body jolts. The sound that comes out of him isn’t pain. It’s the opposite. His hips buck up into Brady’s grip, nails digging crescents into Brady’s ass.

Brady pulls back, sees the mark already darkening on Cruz’s skin, and something feral floods his face.

He bites again. Lower. Cruz’s shoulder, then his collarbone.

Beside me, Eli has stopped breathing.

I tilt my head back against his shoulder and watch his face. His pupils nearly consume every bit of green. His jaw has gone slack. There’s a flush climbing his throat that has nothing to do with what we just finished doing.

Dante has shifted onto his side beside us. His hand has wrapped around his own cock, slow and lazy, eyes locked on Brady. He hasn’t softened all the way down. Now he’s hardening again.

“Fuck,” Dante breathes.

Brady manhandles Cruz onto his stomach. No question, no checking in, just hands on hips and a body moved exactly where Brady demands without a single word spoken. Cruz goes willingly, eagerly, getting up on his knees and presenting himself like a gift.

Brady reaches for the lube without looking.

His fingers are rough but thorough. One, then two, then three work Cruz open as if he had been doing it for years. He’s not careful, but he’s not careless either. I can see the difference even now, even gone as he is.

Cruz pushes back onto his hand and starts babbling. “Yes, fuck, Brady, I’m ready, come on, put it in me, I can take it.”

Brady lines up and pushes in.

One thrust. All the way.

Cruz cries out, fingers fisting in the sheets, and Brady goes completely still inside him.

I watch his face. I watch the realization hit. The moment he understands this is real, that he’s inside another man, that the line he spent his whole life refusing to cross is already behind him.

Cruz clenches around him deliberately.

Brady’s hesitation breaks.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it.” His voice has dropped into something I’ve heard before. Rough, low, dripping. “Such a fucking slut for it. Begging for my cock like you were made for it.”