Chapter 8

The stifling July heat of Wolferton clung to the cramped apartment, heavy and unrelenting, turning Reese’s only bedroom into a sauna of sweat and desire. He jolted awake, heart pounding, his muscled frame tangled in damp, twisted sheets that clung to his skin like a lover’s grasp. Jamie, his pup, lay pressed against him, their bodies fused in a heated tangle—limbs entwined, skin slick with shared sweat. Reese’s broad chest heaved, his skin glistening under the faint dawn light seeping through the cracked blinds, every inch of him radiating primal need. His painfully hard cock, thick and veined, throbbed insistently, nestled snugly between Jamie’s firm, warm thighs. A steady stream of precum leaked from the swollen tip, soaking Jamie’s skin and Reese’s own thigh in a slick, glistening sheen, each pulse of his arousal a silent claim over his pup.

Reese’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he savored the weight of Jamie’s body against his, the way his pup’s soft exhales ghosted over his collarbone. “Fuck, pup,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with sleep and hunger, “you feel too damn good like this.” His hand twitched, itching to grip Jamie’s hips, to grind harder, to mark him with more than just his scent. But the sharp buzz of reality cut through his haze. Squinting at his phone on the cluttered nightstand, the screen glared 5:45 AM. His stomach dropped. “Fuck, pup, we’re late—alarm’s fucked!” he roared, his voice echoing off the peeling walls, raw with frustration. Missing work wasn’t an option—not in this town, not with bills stacking up like a noose.

Reese lingered for a heartbeat, his gaze raking over Jamie’s sleeping form—sandy curls mussed, lips parted, still flushed from last night’s claiming. The sight stoked the fire in Reese’s gut, his cock twitching against Jamie’s thigh, tempting him to forget the world and lose himself in his pup again. “Sleep a minute longer, pretty boy,” he murmured, voice softer now, laced with possessive affection. He slid from the bed with reluctant care, the sheets slipping off his chiseled frame, leaving a trail of heat and need in his wake. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stood, already bracing for the day but burning with the memory of Jamie’s body molded to his.

Reese ducked into the bathroom, the shower hissing, water barely cooling his chiseled abs, cock throbbing relentlessly, precum dripping onto the tiles. “Need my pup, need to get off—fuckin’ now,” he snarled, fists clenching, time crushing the desperate urge. Toweling off, he yanked on a clean tank top and shorts, the fabric clinging, a wide, dark wet patch spreading across his crotch, precum seeping through, cock straining visibly. He stormed back, barking, “Pup, get up & get clean, now!” Jamie stirred, hazel eyes hazy, ready to please he whined, “Bone time, Reese?” voice thick, staring at the soaked bulge in Reese’s shorts. Reese growled, “No fuckin’ time!”

Jamie’s phone buzzed on the cluttered nightstand, Tara Lynn’s text glowing: “Drunk trucker trashed a room at Wolf’s Howl, stuck til 8, shitshow.” Jamie stumbled to the bathroom, splashing water on his flushed face, tugging on his trunks and socks and grabbing some cloths for work. Reese, in the kitchen, mixed Jamie’s shake, caramel scent curling, his hands shaking with frustrated need, wet shorts clinging, cock pulsing. “Drink it on the way, pup—site’s waitin’,” he rasped, voice raw, denied urge a volcano.

Jamie grabbed the shake, heat coiling in his belly, and scurried after Reese. Reese’s feral grin flashed as they piled into the pickup, engine roaring through Wolferton’s seedy pulse, cracked windshield framing the strip mall’s dusty haze, their rushed exit a cauldron of unspent need.

In the pickup’s sweltering cab, Reese’s bulk filled the driver’s seat, his jeans tenting, hard and horny, the musky scent of sweat and arousal thick. Jamie, barely dressed, sat close, his freckled thighs bare, socks up to his knees, showcasing his firm thighs. “I need you pup, stroke me.” Reese growled, unzipping, his thick cock springing free, veins pulsing, precum spattering the inside of the truck. Jamie’s small hand wrapped around the searing shaft, stroking slow and wet, fingers gliding with precum’s slickness, thumb teasing the swollen head, the cab’s heat amplifying every wet squelch. Reese’s hips bucked, groaning, “Fuck, pup, keep goin’,” hazel eyes blazing, lust ramping. A passing truck’s horn blared, forcing Reese to swerve, Jamie’s hand slipping, stoking Reese’s frustration. Mike’s voice crackled through Reese’s truck radio, “Where you at, Callahan?” breaking Jamie’s rhythm, Reese snarling, “Fuckin’ close, pup—don’t stop.” A red light halted them, pedestrians crossing, Jamie’s strokes slowing nervously, Reese’s lust coiling tighter, unfinished, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled as they pulled into the site, arousal a live wire.

The strip mall construction site sprawled under a merciless July sun, a gritty haze of dust and sweat choking the air, the ground baked hard as concrete. The roar of machinery—grinders screaming, bulldozers snarling—mingled with the crew’s coarse shouts, a symphony of chaos and raw masculinity. Reese and Jamie stepped from the battered pickup, the truck’s door creaking as it slammed shut, the heat slamming into them like a physical blow. Jamie, lithe and teasing, slipped into his cropped tee and frayed cut-offs, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slick skin, barely covering his taut, freckled frame. His movements were deliberate, a strut that screamed confidence, his hips swaying just enough to draw eyes. Reese, towering and broad, wrestled with his tight jeans, his swollen cock—still thick and pulsing juice from the morning’s unresolved heat—straining against the denim, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he forced it down, the effort only stoking his primal need.

Jamie downed his morning shake, the caramel-spiced liquid hitting his tongue with a warm, heady kick, surging through him like liquid courage. His freckled face flushed, a rosy glow spreading across his cheeks, his hazel eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and arousal. The crew—burly Mike with his barrel chest, lean Tony with his sharp grin, stocky Rico with his hungry stare—clocked Jamie’s transformation instantly. His flat, firm belly gleamed under the sun, his cut-offs riding low to expose the curve of his hips, his bubble butt rounder, silkier, practically begging for attention. Their eyes raked over him, gleaming with unspoken want, the air crackling with their barely restrained desire.

Mike let out a low whistle, his voice gravelly with appreciation. “Fuck, Jokes, that new look’s got our videos poppin’! You’re fuckin’ killin’ it!” Vince, the boss and unofficial cameraman, was already filming, his phone capturing Jamie’s every move as a thumping TikTok sound blared from the speaker. “Kid, you’re viral—show more skin!” he barked, his grin wicked, zooming in as Jamie twerked, his hips rolling with a fluid, teasing rhythm that made the air feel heavier. Tony, leaning against a stack of rebar, tossed Jamie a pair of rusty scissors, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Cut now, Jokes—give the fans what they want! Let’s see that body slay.”

The crew’s cheers erupted, raw and rowdy, their phones out, livestreaming to a buzzing social media feed flooded with comments: “Lil Helper’s slayin’!” “Jokes is FIRE!” Jamie, fueled by the attention and the shake’s strange heat, grinned wickedly. He grabbed the scissors and sliced his tee into a scandalously short micro crop top, the fabric barely grazing his ribcage, exposing his chiseled midriff, every freckle glistening with sweat. His cut-offs followed, hacked into thigh-high micros that hugged his curvy bubble butt, the denim fraying against his smooth, silken skin. He spun, giving the crew a full view, his body a canvas of lean muscle and provocative curves, the sun catching the sheen of his skin like a spotlight.

Rico stepped close, his calloused hand clapping Jamie’s bare midriff, the touch lingering a beat too long. “Fuck, Jokes, that’s straight-up slutty,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, eyes locked on the way Jamie’s shorts barely contained him. Jamie smirked, tossing his sandy curls, feeding off the crew’s hunger, his own arousal simmering under their gazes. Reese, hauling a stack of rebar, his muscles flexing under the strain, watched it all with a smoldering intensity. His smirk was pure dominance, his eyes burning with the morning’s unresolved heat, every glance at Jamie a silent claim—mine, even if they watch. His cock lurched and leaked in his jeans, the sight of Jamie’s transformation and the crew’s drooling attention only fueling his possessive need.

Vince, still filming, assigned Jamie light tasks—hauling wrenches, passing tools—as if trying to carve out time for more videos, his phone never lowering. “Keep movin’, Jokes,” he called, voice dripping with suggestion, “give the fans somethin’ to drool over.” The crew’s laughter rumbled, the site alive with the clash of metal, the pulse of desire, and the electric buzz of Jamie’s viral ascent, all under Reese’s watchful, hungry gaze.

The late-morning sun scorched the strip mall construction site, dust swirling in a gritty haze, the air thick with the clang of metal and the low hum of idling machinery. During a coffee break, Reese sprawled on a splintered crate, his tank top soaked through, clinging to his chiseled pecs like a second skin, sweat pooling in the deep grooves of his collarbone. His jeans strained against his thick thighs, his cock painfully hard, a relentless throb that hadn’t eased since the pickup’s morning heat. The unresolved ache from Jamie’s closeness gnawed at him, his lust simmering, ready to boil over. “Pup,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp, hazel eyes flicking to the crew’s blatant stares—Mike, Tony, Rico, their gazes hungry, locked on Jamie’s every move. Reese’s jaw clenched, his dominance flaring at their attention, a possessive edge sharpening his need. Mine, you pricks, keep lookin’ but he’s mine.

Jamie knelt before him, his small, freckled hands kneading Reese’s broad shoulders, fingers sinking into slick, sweat-drenched muscle, gliding down to grip his bulging biceps. The musky scent of Reese’s sweat, mixed with the site’s dust and faint diesel tang, hung heavy, intoxicating. The caramel-spiced shake Jamie had downed earlier surged through him, urging a bold, reckless edge. His fingers trailed lower, teasingly slow, grazing Reese’s heaving chest, nails scraping lightly over his taut abs, dipping dangerously close to the straining bulge in his jeans. Reese’s breath hitched, his cock twitching hard, a fresh bead of precum soaking the denim. “Fuck, pup, you’re playin’ with fire,” he muttered, voice thick with desperate need, his hands gripping the crate’s edge until his knuckles whitened. Keep teasin’ me, boy, and I’ll fuck you right here in the dirt.

“Stroke me, pup,” Reese rasped, his voice raw, urgent, as he unzipped his jeans with a trembling hand. His thick cock sprang free, heavy and veined, the swollen head glistening, precum pouring out in a slick, steady stream that splattered Jamie’s flushed freckled face and stained his cropped tee. Jamie’s eyes gleamed with mischief, his small hand wrapping around the pulsing shaft, stroking long, slow, and wet, fingers gliding through the mess of precum, the slickness coating his palm. His thumb circled the sensitive head, teasing the slit, the wet squelch of each stroke mingling with Reese’s low, guttural groans. Dust swirled around them, the crew’s eyes lingering, their breaths heavy, phones half-raised, caught in the raw heat of the moment.

Reese’s hips bucked, his control fraying, hazel eyes blazing with a mix of lust and frustration. “Fuck, pup, yeah, just like that,” he growled, his voice a ragged plea, his mind screaming for release. So close, so fuckin’ close—don’t you dare stop. Jamie’s pace quickened, his grip tightening, each stroke a deliberate torment, pushing Reese to the edge. The air crackled with tension, the crew’s stares like gasoline on Reese’s fire, his dominance spiking as he reveled in their envy, their want. But then Vince’s shout sliced through the haze, sharp and jarring: “Jokes, need you for a clip—now!” Jamie’s hand slowed, his fingers loosening, a teasing smirk curling his lips as he pulled back, leaving Reese’s cock twitching, unspent, throbbing in the open air.

The crew groaned, a collective sound of frustration mirroring Reese’s own. His cock pulsed, precum dripping uselessly onto the dusty ground, his body screaming for relief that wouldn’t come. Reese snarled, his voice a low, feral rumble, “Fuckin’ later, pup, you’re finishin’ this.” He forced his aching cock back into his jeans, the zipper’s bite only sharpening his torment, his lust coiling tighter, a live wire ready to snap. His eyes burned into Jamie, promising retribution, his dominance a smoldering force fueled by the interruption and the crew’s greedy gazes. You’ll pay for this, pup, right where they can watch. He stood, hauling a wrench with a grip that could crush steel, the site’s chaos swallowing his frustration but not his heat, the promise of later hanging thick in the air.

The strip mall construction site baked under the relentless July sun, a gritty haze of dust and sweat choking the air, the clang of rebar and the growl of machinery fading as Vince’s sharp whistle signaled lunch. The crew downed tools, the sudden quiet amplifying the heat’s oppressive weight. Reese’s focus was shattered, his body a furnace of unrelenting lust, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans, tormented by the morning’s denials—Jamie’s teasing strokes in the pickup, the crew’s hungry stares, the interrupted release behind the scaffold. Every glance at Jamie stoked his frustration, his mind screaming for relief. He leaned against a stack of cement bags, his tank top soaked, clinging to his chiseled pecs, sweat pooling in the grooves of his collarbone. “Pup,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp, hazel eyes burning into Jamie, “grab the package from the truck. Mix a batch for the crew.” His tone was a command, laced with a promise of retribution, his dominance coiled tight, ready to snap.

Jamie strutted off, his micro crop top and frayed cut-offs barely containing his transformed curves, his bubble butt swaying with a teasing rhythm that drew every eye on the site. He fetched Mickey’s drink mix from the truck—a faintly spiced powder, its caramel scent deceptively warm—and stirred it into a cooler of water, the liquid swirling with an earthy, heady kick that prickled the air. Back at the lunch area, a cluster of crates and overturned buckets, Vince leaned close to Reese, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Jokes’ look could star in some real spicy videos, yeah? Kid’s got the internet fuckin’ drooling.” Reese’s chuckle was rough, hungry, his cock twitching painfully at the thought of Jamie’s sweat-slick midriff, his frustration clawing deeper. “Fuck yeah, he’s a goddamn tease,” he muttered, his mind dark with need. Keep talkin’, Vince, but he’s mine to break.

The crew swarmed the cooler, sweat-soaked and ravenous, gulping the spiked beverage with greedy pulls. Mickey’s mix—laced with low-dose tadalafil and a mild relaxant—hit like a slow burn, dulling their aches, spiking their pulses, arousal simmering beneath their skin. Mike’s meaty hand lingered on Jamie’s shoulder, squeezing with a possessive edge, his eyes glinting with raw want. Tony’s pat on Jamie’s bare midriff slid low, fingers grazing the frayed edge of his cut-offs, teasingly close to his hips. Rico pulled Jamie into a tight hug, his stocky frame pressing hard against Jamie’s curves, the contact bold but stopping short of overt, the air crackling with unspoken desire. Jamie’s freckled cheeks flushed, the shake’s effects urging a reckless boldness, his body tingling under their touches, his own arousal mirroring the crew’s, his cock stirring in his tight shorts.

Reese’s restraint shattered, his cock aching, a relentless pulse of need, the morning’s denials—Jamie’s slow hands, the crew’s stares, the interrupted strokes—pushing him to the brink. He seized Jamie’s wrist, his grip bruising, and yanked him to a secluded corner behind a rickety scaffold, cement bags offering flimsy cover, dust swirling thick in the stifling lunch-break heat. “Pup, I gotta piss,” Reese snarled, his voice raw, desperate, “and I need to cum—fuckin’ now.” He unzipped his jeans with a trembling hand, his thick cock springing free, heavy and veined, soaked in precum from hours of torment, glistening in the dim light. His hazel eyes blazed, locked on Jamie, his dominance a smoldering fire. You’ve teased me all fuckin’ day, pup—now you take everything I give you.

Jamie knelt, his small hand wrapping around the searing shaft, veins pulsing under his fingers, the heat of Reese’s cock scorching his palm. Reese groaned, a low, guttural sound, as a heavy stream of piss erupted, splashing the dusty ground, the air thick with its primal, musky scent. “Fuck, pup, you’re so goddamn perfect,” he rasped, his fingers tangling in Jamie’s sandy curls, yanking hard to force his gaze upward, demanding submission. Look at me, boy, see how bad I need this. Jamie’s strokes were slow, deliberate, his thumb grazing the swollen head, slick with precum, each touch stoking Reese’s fire higher, his hips twitching with desperate need.

Tony’s shout cut through the haze, sharp and jarring: “Where’s Jokes? Need him for another clip!” Jamie jerked in surprise, his hand faltering, and Reese’s stream veered wildly, a hot, heavy spray soaking Jamie from face to crotch. The warm piss drenched his freckled cheeks, dripping down his chin, soaking his micro crop top until it clung transparently to his chiseled midriff, and saturating his cut-offs, the denim darkening as it molded to his thighs and groin, outlining his hardening cock. The humiliation crashed over Jamie like a tidal wave, his face burning crimson, yet the shake’s effects twisted the shame into a thrilling, electric pulse, his body trembling with a mix of shock and arousal, his breath hitching as the wet fabric clung to his skin.