Page 65 of The Step Dare

“I play to win, baby.” I throw in a cheesy wink for good measure.

“Whoever wins gets to top tonight,” Taylor says, making me fumble the paddle. It’s the distraction he needs to shoot at my goal and score.

“One–one. I play to win, baby,” he throws back at me.

Game. Fucking. On.

19

Taylor

Ilove toppingBrenner. It’s probably my favorite thing in the world right now, rivaling that time I was hooked onRemnant.

But my head’s in a weird place as we continue playing air hockey, both of us fighting for the chance to claim the other’s ass. I really want to win, but fuck, I wanna lose too.

Brenner must realize his advantage because as we hit the puck back and forth, he says, “Thinking about how good it’s gonna feel when I stomp your ass?”

“We’re five–six,” I say, “so I just have to land one more and you’re finished.”

“We both know you don’t want to win, though,” he says with a distracting smirk as I block my goal and send the puck back to him.

“Trust me, you and Dax have already sold me on the idea.”

I’ve been curious what it’d feel like to bottom for Brenner…in no small part because of our threesome. The expressions on their faces. The way their eyes rolled back when it felt just right. Evidently, the prostate is a mind-blowing level waiting to be unlocked in me.

“You should have said something sooner,” Brenner says, his bangs bobbing against his forehead as he hits the puck back. “I didn’t want to push you before you were ready, but of course, I was selfishly enjoying everything I could too.”

“I would never want you to deprive yourself of anything you really wanted,” I say, blocking him again, then sending the puck back, bouncing it off the side of the wall.

Brenner’s sharper than usual—he’s not the carefree, no-shits-given guy I’m used to. This is a man who wants my fucking hole.

And for a guy who hadn’t really thought about that kind of stuff before, it’s hot as sin.

Brenner prevents me from entering his goal, though, and sends his own quick attack back, the puck landing in my goal.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“Tied up. Whoever lands this one wins.”

“Don’t think I don’t notice you’re playing better than usual. Someone’s really after this hole.”

He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, beading with sweat, evidence of just how badly he wants me.

“You have no idea,” he says.

I grin before serving the puck, pushing past the conflict between the part of me that loves to win and the part of me that desperately wants to explore this new thing with Bren. I want him to get it, but neither of us would be happy with an undeserved victory. Just not in our blood.

As he sends the puck back, he says, “Come on. Let me in. You know you’re gonna like it.”

“I know I will,” I say, sending the puck right back.

“All you have to do is slip up, and we both can have exactly what we want.”

I know what he’s trying to do—get inside my head, and if anyone has that power, it’s him. But two can play that game.

I say, “Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it when we’ve been messing around. What I’ll feel like, as a guy who’s never done anything back there.”

The puck clicks between us, our reflexes today better than they’ve ever been in our entire lives.

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