Page 20 of Calculated Chaos

But when Hollister came, his eyes settling on my face, the image of his flushed cheeks, blown pupils, and our knees brushing together as we sat across from each other sent me over the edge.

I clear my throat, adjusting my position on the table as my cock pushes against the soft sheets. When I open my eyes, Hollister is on his table, covered by the sheets.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. I’m good.”

Just over here fantasizing about spanking my best friend with a crop.

I am definitely not okay.

Chapter Eleven

HOLLISTER

Glad Axel is fine. I’m just over here trying to calm the fuck down, but my dick has decided to pay attention to everything going on around me.

It would be extremely helpful if my brain would chime in right now and explain to me why I’m reacting the way I am to these new stimuli. Why am I looking at Tank like he’s a slice of cake? And Pix. Why did my brain decide he’s pretty? When did I start describing men as pretty? The fuck?

Why does the fact that my best friend, who I’ve known practically my entire life, lying naked an arm’s length away is making my stomach do weird fluttering shit? Does finding out you might like a little roughness in the bedroom open up your view of the entire world?

“Any preference, boys?” Pix asks, standing between the two beds.

Axel looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and for some reason, I blurt out, “Tank. Uh, I mean…” I cringe at my complete lack of words.

Pix just chuckles. “Tank, it is. You get me, pretty boy,” he says to Axel.

Pix’s comment draws my attention back to my best friend’s face. I guess he is pretty in a lot of ways. He has perfect skin and always has, a fact that drove me insane with jealousy in high school while I battled breakouts daily. Straight white teeth that fortunately, for my dignity at least, required braces, but he even looked good with those on. I don’t think Axel ever had an awkward phase, while I’ve never quite grown out of mine.

It’s not that I think I’m ugly, I just don’t think about my looks much at all. Axel says I’m good-looking, and the occasional pretty girl throwing attention my way helps, but in comparison to Ax, I’m average at best. He’s always had a throng of women trying to get his attention, even back in elementary school. His Valentine’s day boxes overflowed, his dance card was always full. And then there was me.

His shadow. The guy who got second choice. I never resented him for it though. How could I when he’s such a good guy? He never carried himself like the other popular guys. He was nice to everyone, from the nerds to the jocks.

The lighting in the room dims and a fine floral mist fills the space. I close my eyes as Tank’s big hands start at my feet, kneading out aches I didn’t know existed.

As Tank works out the tension, I replay how I’ve lived my life up to now. Axel doing this for me was perfect timing. As usual. The guy knows me so well. Maybe it’s time I faced the fact that I’m just spinning my wheels. Life is going by pretty fast. If I don’t switch things up now, when will I?

“Holl?” Ax whispers.

I turn my head to face him. “Yeah?”

“Stop thinking. I can feel it over here.”

Pix snorts a laugh as he works on Axel’s calves. I blow out a breath and try to focus on Tank’s skillful hands. Turning off my thoughts is equivalent to climbing a mountain, but I’m gonna give it a shot.

“Drop your shoulders,” Tank says softly. “Relax your neck and your jaw.”

I focus on those areas, noticing an immediate change.

“Good,” Tank purrs, and I’m almost expecting him to call me a good boy. Why does that thought sound kind of appealing?

As he moves up my body, I try as hard as I can to focus on the way his fingers feel, the soft texture of his skin mixed with the strength he uses to work my kinks out. I’ve never had a man touch these parts of my body, but I don’t hate it.

I lift my head enough to glance over at Axel. Pix is at his head, knelt down and working on his shoulders. He’s whispering something that causes Ax to let out a tiny moan, and the sound vibrates through me. When my dick reacts with a little twitch, I huff and adjust myself on the table.

Tank must pick up on my unease because he whispers, “Just relax. Everything you’re feeling is good. It means you’re alive.”

His words do their job, settling my racing heartbeat and allowing me to push the confusing thoughts away. That is until Tank works on the back of my thighs. To say I wasn’t expecting this to feel as good as it does is a vast understatement.

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