Dylan made it halfway down the thread when James shifted on the couch, the motion shaking the table. The thread snapped, and Dylan fell, flailing, onto the couch cushion just as James adjusted his position. The giant’s massive frame settled, and Dylan found himself pinned beneath the firm, warm weight of James’s ass, trapped in the tight crevice of his jeans.
“Goddammit,” Dylan gasped, the air squeezed from his lungs. The heat was overwhelming, the denim pressing him into the muscled curve of James’s cheek. Each shift of the giant’s body ground Dylan deeper, the fabric a suffocating cage. James, oblivious, kept scrolling his phone, his deep chuckle vibrating through Dylan like an earthquake.
Dylan’s spear was lodged somewhere in the folds, useless. His tiny hands pushed against the denim, feeling the give of James’s skin beneath. “Gotta get free,” he muttered, but the pressure was relentless, and the musky warmth disorienting. He could try squirming toward the seam of James’s jeans, hoping for a looser spot, or dig deeper, risking getting stuck in the tightest part of the crevice.
“Big dumb giant,” Dylan hissed, his struggles barely registering to James. The heat and weight were almost hypnotic, but survival screamed louder. He had to move—fast—before James stood or, worse, noticed the tiny sensation.
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