Page 8 of Healing the Alpha

I snort. “Do they?”

“Sure. Did you never go to summer camp?”

“Um, yes, I did. With you. And no mutual jerking was going on as far as I was concerned, unless I’m a way deeper sleeper than I think I am.”

Kyle sighs. “Okay, so maybe we didn’t do it, but remember Mack Humphries? He told me one of the kids in their cabin brought a dirty magazine to camp with him, so their whole cabin of alphas would—”

“Don’t go any further,” I interject with a laugh. “Mack also told me that his stepdad was a billionaire and they lived in a compound guarded by crocodiles, so he wasn’t exactly a reliable source.”

“My point still stands,” Kyle grumbles. “Look, I don’t like this being… one-sided.”

“Oh, so you’ll let me cook every meal for you for a month, but you draw the line at handjobs?”

He grunts, his cheeks flushing. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just worried I’ll be better at it than you.”

My eyebrows jump up my forehead, and I bark a laugh. Trust Kyle to turn even this into a fucking competition. “I was more worried about your sprained wrist.”

“It’s mostly better. And even with a pretty serious handicap, I think I’d win.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“And you’re chicken.”

“Have you ever even given a handjob before?” I say, definitely not deflecting. “I’ve only ever seen you hook up with women.”

“I could say the same to you,” he shoots back. “And you did a half-decent job.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“So I’d probably make you come in thirty seconds, give or take.”

There’s an explosion in the movie, but neither of us even glances at the screen. I can feel a muscle in my jaw jump. The corners of Kyle’s lips curve upwards in a smirk as he watches the war of emotions in my head play out across my face. For some reason, my cock is still achingly hard, and the stupid gleam in his eyes is only making it harder.

“There’s no shame in backing down,” Kyle taunts, slapping one large hand down on my thigh and only wincing a little afterward. And I have no idea what the fuck is going on with me, because the gesture makes my balls twitch.

Jesus Christ.

“Fine,” I hiss, my heart racing.

Kyle almost looks surprised, but it only lasts for a split second before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes darkening with what I tell myself is competitiveness. No different to when we play pool at Duke’s or spar at The Foundry. Exactly the same.

“Prepare to have your mind blown,” he smirks.

“I’ll prepare for a disappointing handjob,” I mumble, nearly choking when Kyle moves his hand from my thigh to my crotch, gripping my cock firmly through my sweats and sending a sudden jolt of electricity up my spine.

He gives me another firm squeeze, and I bite back a moan. “Take them off,” he says, his voice rough.

Kyle makes a rough noise in the back of his throat when I inch my sweats down enough to reveal my cock, the fabric bunching around my thighs and leaving me totally exposed. He edges closer, his broad hand reaching out and wrapping around my shaft to give a slow, exploratory stroke all the way from root to tip, thumb swiping over the sensitive crown and making me shiver.

A low moan slips past my lips.

“Told you,” he mutters. The smirk still playing on his lips makes my blood boil in more ways than one, but the tight, affected quality in his voice is what goes straight to my cock, making my hips buck into his hand as he starts to stroke with more purpose.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Feels so weird.”

“Gee, thanks,” I grit out, finding it hard to speak.

His eyes are glued to where his hand is pumping me. He sounds sort of dreamy when he speaks. “No, I mean—so thick.”