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I twisted my wrist on the upstroke the way I knew he liked, and his hips slammed back against my fingers so hard the bench creaked. I let him have it. Let him chase. I matched the pace of my hand to the rhythm of my fingers inside him, slow and deep and then faster, building him up in layers until he was making these broken, keening sounds through his nose, his chest heaving against the leather padding.

I could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on us, but I didn’t look up. My attention was on the boy beneath my hands, on the way his visible skin had gone from flushed pink to a deep, feverish red, on the way his cock jumped in my grip every time I curled my fingers just right.

I leaned down close to his ear again, my beard brushing his jaw. “You’re doing so well,” I told him, and felt the full-body shudder that ran through him at the words. “So good for me. Taking everything I give you.”

He whined around the gag, high and desperate, and his hips stuttered, losing the rhythm I’d set for him. I tightened my grip on his cock just enough to slow him down, to keep him right there on the edge where the need was brightest.

“Not yet,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “Not until I say.”

His fingers clenched white against the padded rails. His whole body was trembling now, fine and constant. I kept my hand moving, kept my fingers working him open, and watched the way his face pressed into the leather, the way his eyes squeezed shut and then flew open, glassy and unfocused.

I pressed into the spot inside him that made his whole body go rigid, deliberate and unhurried, while my hand tightened around the base of his cock, holding him right there. JJ screamed into the gag. The sound was muffled but unmistakable, raw and shattered, and his hips jerked so hard the bench shifted against the floor.

“Now,” I said, and finally let him buck against my hand. He came undone so suddenly that he nearly banged his head on the bench, and I caught him just in time, holding him tight with my arm around his hips so he could ride out the whole shaking, gasping crest of it. I didn’t stop. I kept touching him, kept praising him, low and steady, letting the words fill the space between his sobs: “That’s it. Good boy. Let go. I’ve got you.”

After he’d spent himself, he slumped forward, boneless and trembling, the way he always did when he’d given everything.

From a few tables back, Mikey watched with his arms crossed and his composure doing its absolute best work. His green eyes were fixed on us, and I could see the lust in them.

Sawyer had the expression of a man who was simultaneously mortified and completely unsurprised. His brown eyes were steady, his arms folded across his chest, and the set of his jaw said he would be having a conversation with JJ about appropriate club behavior tomorrow, delivered in the particular older-brother tone that JJ pretended to hate and secretly craved. Sawyer was our little soldier boy.

I gave him a moment to breathe. His chest heaved against the padding, his skin slick with sweat, and I smoothed my hand down the curve of his spine and felt the aftershocks ripple through him.

Then I reached for the gag.

The buckle came loose with a soft click. I slid the silicone ball from his mouth and set it aside on the bench frame. His lips were red and wet, his chin damp, and he turned his face toward my hand the moment it touched his cheek.

“Easy,” I said.

The wrist restraints came next. I untied the rope and JJ’s arms came free and dropped to his sides, complete exhausted. I gathered him against my chest right there at the bench, one arm around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head, and JJ pressed his face into my shoulder and held on.

He was warm and trembling and thoroughly undone, his skin pink and marked, his breath hot against my collar. I felt the damp spot where his cheek pressed into my shirt, and I didn’t care. My hand moved in slow circles at his back, between his shoulder blades, and JJ made a soft noise into my shoulder.

I held JJ until his breathing evened out and his grip on my shirt loosened. Then I helped him to his feet, steadied him with a hand at his elbow, and reached down to pull his briefs and black jeans back up his thighs. He stood there blinking, his hair mussed, his face flushed.

“Can we go home now, Daddy, please?” he asked, his voice rough. I kissed his forehead.

“Yes, baby boy,” I said. “We can go home.”

Chapter 4. Mikey

We got home at two in the morning. I normally went to bed at eleven, and I was not happy about the disruption to my schedule. Honestly, I only went to The Hearth to make Daddy happy — left to my own devices, I would much rather stay home on the couch watching movies with my stuffed bear, my dolls, and my big drawing pad.

JJ was already half-zombie with tiredness, the way he always got. He walked in and flung one of his shoes into the air, which made Daddy say "JJ" in that warning tone that didn't need any other words attached to it. JJ went back, picked up the shoe, and put it where it belonged, huffing and rolling his eyes the whole time. Such a brat.

Bola — our cat — stretched, yawned, and went straight to the couch, where he flopped down and sprawled out all four paws, eyes already closing. He had more sense than JJ did at that moment.

Our living room was the coziest and best place in the whole wide world. We'd bought the biggest sofa we could find, and the softest too — I remembered going to so many different stores and sitting and lying down on every single one until we found the perfect one. It was huge and creamy-colored, and the cushions swallowed you whole when you sat down. I loved it so much. There was also a fireplace along one wall, just like the one at The Hearth, with an iron grate around it for safety. One of our rules was that we weren't allowed to light it by ourselves.

Once, it was just me and JJ at home and I was cold — I wanted to light the fireplace, but of course I wasn't going to break the rules like that. JJ, who did not have the same sense of self-preservation that I did, said, "Leave it to me," and went ahead and lit it. It went exactly as badly as everyone always worried it would, which was why the rule existed in the first place: he almost burned himself. Daddy had been very firm about it afterward. JJ was in trouble for a long time, and I told Daddy I was the one who'd said I was cold. But Daddy was always very sweet with me because I tried to follow the rules — he said he worried about scaring me too much. The truth was I had always been a good boy, no matter what.

Besides the fireplace, we had a giant TV on one of the walls. Sawyer picked up the remote to put something on, but JJ vaulted over the back of the sofa, landed in the cushions, and announced:

"That's not fair, you always get the remote! It's my turn. I want to watch Hazbin Hotel."

"Get out of here, brat," Sawyer said while JJ tried to grab the remote out of his hand. "I'm choosing because I'm older. I want to play video games."

Daddy walked straight over to where both of them were and took the remote out of Sawyer's hand.