Page 55 of Joey

“Kiss her,” Wald says.

“I’m not kissing her with you two in the pic. That’s weird.”

“Then I’ll kiss her,” Wald says.

And he does. The hand that was behind my neck slides along the top of my shoulder and rests on the side of her jaw. His other one turns her head towards him.

I wait for her to protest, but she doesn’t. She leans in and—

“Fuck yeah,” Huck says, snapping a pic as Brooke kisses Wald. She has no second thoughts, either. She opens her mouth and gives him her full attention.

“We don’t need pics of this,” I say.

But I sorta lose track of my argument, because Wald is lifting up her t-shirt and sliding his hand up to her breast.

I watch this. I watch his hand grip and squeeze her tit underneath her shirt.

And then Huck leans over me, aiming the camera at them, and takes a pic. “That’s hot,” he says. “Especially with Joey watching.”

Wald draws back and looks Brooke in the eyes. “OK,” he whispers. “Now kiss Joey.”

Brooke turns her head towards me. No expression on her face. And before I can stop myself, I kiss her.

There’s a whole bunch of justification going on in my head right now. She’s pretty. She’s nice. She’s sitting next to me. I’m supposed to be kissing her. All kinds of bullshit excuses like that.

But the real reason is… Huck and Wald are watching.

Her hand goes to my cock, squeezing it under my jeans. And then, just like that, it’s not only about Huck and Wald.

I’m legit horny.

And she’s here.

And they’re here.

Huck is still leaning over me, clicking away on the phone.

Wald’s hand covers hers and I start to pull out of the kiss to tell him to knock it off, but Huck puts his hand on the back of my neck, still with the camera in my face, and holds me in the kiss.

“I thought you didn’t care?” Brooke whispers past my lips.

“Don’t listen to him,” Wald says. “He’s always this way. But he always gives in.”

Brook’s mouth opens wider at Wald’s encouragement and her kiss becomes more urgent.

Huck squeezes the back of my neck and Wald squeezes Brooke’s hand and she responds by gripping me harder.

“We’re going to regret this,” I say.

“Who cares,” she answers. “We’re not even real. So who cares.”

God. She has a point.

I reach down, across her and Wald’s arms, and press my fingers against her stomach. Her t-shirt is still lifted up, and her skin is soft.

Wald’s hand covers mine and slides it under her shirt and up to her breast.

He squeezes it for me, but I don’t really need the encouragement. And his hand drops to her jeans and pops the button open.