Dylan’s fingers burned as he slid down the thread, the table leg a towering pillar. Halfway down, the thread snagged, jerking loose from the splinter. “Shit!” he hissed, plummeting. He hit something soft but firm, tumbling into a warm, musky fold of fabric—James’s jeans. Dylan scrambled, realizing with a jolt he’d landed in the giant’s crotch, trapped against the massive, pulsing bulge beneath the denim.
“Oh, hell no,” Dylan whispered, his tiny body pressed into the heat. James shifted, oblivious, the movement grinding Dylan deeper into the tight space. The giant’s member, even at rest, was a mountain, its warmth radiating through the fabric. Dylan’s pen-cap spear was useless here, wedged awkwardly against his side. He could feel the faint throb of James’s pulse, each beat a reminder of how close he was to disaster—or something else.
“Gotta climb out,” Dylan muttered, but the denim’s weave was a jungle, and James’s occasional shifts made it a moving one. He clawed upward, his hands brushing sensitive skin through a gap in the fabric, making James twitch. “Easy, big guy,” Dylan hissed, freezing. James didn’t notice, still glued to his phone, but the twitch had tightened the space, pinning Dylan against the bulge’s curve.
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