Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
His brown eyes, which are a shade lighter than Prescott’s, burn with need, and when he takes in our makeshift restraints, that need only shines brighter.
“Go sit at the table,” I order, and Prescott directs him to the closest chair.
Just before he pushes him down, Prescott whips off Brady’s towel.
I pass Prescott one of the belts, and then we mirror each other, kneeling next to Brady.
Brady’s cock is already hard and leaking, and as much as I want to lean over and taste him, he’s going to have something to eat before he gets the sweet reward of relief.
Prescott follows my lead as I wrap my belt around Brady’s ankle and calf, securing them tightly to the leg of the chair.
I stand, and Brady reaches for my shirt, but I grip his wrist and order him to drop it.
I tap my chin. “We need to restrain his arms too.”
Brady groans, but I can’t tell if it’s in frustration or want.
Prescott disappears and comes back with the top sheet off our bed. He doesn’t waste time spinning it to make a long, thick rope that we can wrap around Brady’s torso and arms and tie at the back so he can’t undo it.
And the thing I love most about that is Brady doesn’t even struggle as we do it. I reward his trust with a scorching kiss while Prescott finishes knotting the sheet.
When I pull away, Brady tries to follow, but our restraints work great for something we came up with on the fly.
Brady is so sexy tied to the chair, and he’ll be even sexier in a moment. Sure, he’ll complain, but if he has a mouthful of food, he’s not going to be able to talk much.
I go back to the kitchen to get utensils and bring the plate of food to the table, and I put it in front of him. “Now, let me feed you.”
He slumps. “All of that for some food? I’d rather eat something else.” Because he can’t move his hands, he stares at my cock, which is trying to escape my pants.
“Food first. For every bite you take, Prescott and I will take off one item of clothing.”
“Ooh, strip dinner. That could be a fun game.” With Brady suddenly on board, I cut him a bite-sized piece of salmon with a bit of corn fritter.
“Damn,” Brady says as he swallows his first bite. “That’s actually really good.”
“You sound surprised that a SEAL can cook.”
Meanwhile, Prescott sits at the table and shoves a whole fritter in his mouth. “You say that like you’re not the only SEAL I know who can cook.”
“I guess I’m losing my shirt first?” I ask him as he continues to stuff his face.
“Can’t talk. Eating.” Prescott steals the fork I’m feeding Brady with the second I put it down so I can get out of my shirt.
As soon as he takes a huge bite, I steal it back. “Get your own.”
“Why does he get to be fed and I have to fend for myself?”
“I don’t see you tied to a chair,” I argue.
Brady grins over at Prescott with that bratty smile I’ve missed so much.
Prescott stands and mumbles all the way to the kitchen. “Brady gets to have all the fun.”
“Oh, so we’re playing that game, are we? Looks like I have two needy men on my hands.” My cock gets even harder if that’s possible.
Prescott winks at me as he gets a fork from the drawer. “I know how much you love that.”
And he’s right. I fucking do. “Help me take care of Brady first. Then you’ll get to have your own fun.”
“Deal, but in the interest of speeding things up.” Prescott approaches the table, puts his fork down on the plate, and then steps back.
The fucker gets completely naked, taking away the whole reward system for Brady.
Brady shifts in his chair. “Yay. Prescott’s in a nice mood.”
“Nice to you,” I say.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“Not necessarily.” Prescott climbs onto the dining table and rests back on his ankles with his knees spread wide. His thick cock points upward and right toward Brady. “He doesn’t get dessert until he eats all his dinner.” Prescott wraps his large fingers around his shaft and strokes himself slowly.
“This isn’t fair,” Brady complains.
“That sounds like a you problem,” I mimic. I lift the fork with some more food on it and move it toward his mouth.
He takes it and then talks around his food. “Fuck both of you.”
We laugh at him.
“That’s the point,” Prescott says. “Eat up so you can … eat up.” He wipes a drop of precum off the tip of his cock, but instead of letting Brady have a taste, he licks it off his thumb himself.
“Okay, shove the food in my mouth, and hurry up.” Brady’s desperate. Right where we want him.