6 Chapter 6

I expect him to slap my hand away—get angry, yell, something. Instead he surprises me by laying his head back against the sofa and moaning my name. “Wray, Jesus. Took you long enough. I thought I was going to bust a nut before you noticed.”

I stroke his length through his boxers. “Wait, you wantme to do this?”

He moans again and nods, his whole body relaxing. His legs spread farther apart, easing him down into the cushions a little, and the boxers gap open less than an inch above where my hand holds his dick. “You always talk a good game,” Mojo says, one hand rubbing over his stomach as I knead his shaft between my fingers. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now.”

“You’re straight,” I remind him. When I start to pull my hand away, he clasps both of his over my wrist, holding it in place. “What about Darcy?”

Through half-closed lids, Mojo gives me a sardonic look. “She already thinks we’re doing it. We might as well—”