It’s knowing why.”He looked at me, really looked, throat bobbing. Gay sex The faint pink creeping up his neck, the stiff walk after he caught my eye.I let it go. I pictured handing it to him.MarcusI didn’t follow him up.Could’ve. He opened, welcomed it, lips closing gentle around my finger. Owen curled one leg under, turning toward me. His breath hitched, like it might give him away.He had no idea how much I noticed. The tip leaked steady, precum glistening through the slit.I traced it, catching the wetness. I didn’t touch it.My phone buzzed. Just me.That’s when I found the cage.Late-night Reddit scroll, stumbling on a post about chastity—focus, reset, control. He asked about my firehouse days. Our knees touched on the couch. “Sounds like you found your own kind of anchor.”He huffed a laugh, cheeks pink. One button. Warmer. I pictured handing it to him.MarcusI didn’t follow him up.Could’ve. To hold.Still, I keep replaying the denim under my palm. The catch in his breath. What time?Seven-thirty. “Louder.”“Yeah,” he said, voice shaking with need and release.“You’re something else,” I said, voice low. Walked plenty of guys up to it. No fights, no cheating, no slammed doors.
