Mack IV: Witness

Jo didn’t move. She sat still, legs slightly parted, elbows resting on her knees, eyes locked on Mack. Watching.

Mack sat opposite her. Hoodie unzipped now. Knife in his lap. Breathing deeper than usual, like he was already halfway inside himself.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low.

Jo nodded. “I want to see it. All of it.”

“This isn’t performative.”

“I’m not asking you to perform.”

He watched her for a long moment. Then stood, quietly, and switched off the overhead light. The room dimmed. Just the desk lamp remained—soft, gold-toned, angled down. Like a stage light. Like a confession booth.

He returned to the chair, spread his legs wide, and rested the knife flat against his bare thigh.

Jo watched him exhale—long, slow. She noticed his fingers twitch. Not nerves. Ritual. She was starting to understand.

He didn’t touch himself right away. He touched the blade first. Ran his palm over it like a prayer. Then his chest, fingertips tracing the muscle beneath the fabric, circling a nipple through the tank. His breath hitched.

Jo shifted slightly. Not to interrupt—just to get a better view.

“You get hard from it?” she asked, quiet but firm.

Mack’s lips parted. “Already am.”

He pushed his jeans down just enough. Not fully exposed, but enough for Jo to see the outline of him straining under thin black briefs.

“You can talk,” he said. “If you want. But don’t apologise.”

“For what?”

“For watching.”

Jo leaned back slightly. “I’m not sorry.”

He nodded once. Approval. Or maybe appreciation.

Then, slowly, Mack picked up the knife and slid it beneath the hem of his tank. Lifted it. Exposed the hard line of his abdomen, the soft trail of hair leading down. He rested the spine of the blade along the groove between his abs. Pressed gently.

Jo could see his cock twitch beneath the fabric.

Still no touching. Just tension.

“You close already?” she asked, breath catching.

“Not yet. But it’s... building.” He sounded raw. Open. “Having you here’s different.”

Jo swallowed. “Good different?”

“The kind that makes me ache.”

His hand drifted to his cock, still covered. He stroked over the fabric once, slow. Then again, firmer. He let his head fall back, eyes half-lidded, mouth open.

Jo’s own thighs pressed together, slow and involuntary. She wasn’t touching herself. Didn’t need to. She was tuned entirely into his rhythm, his breath, his heat.

He pressed the blade flat against his sternum again, this time with a little more pressure. Not sharp. Just heavy. Grounding.

His other hand pulled the briefs down. Just far enough. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, curved slightly toward his stomach.

Jo inhaled softly.

Mack heard it. Smiled. “You like watching?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A lot.”

He started stroking then—slow, steady. One hand on himself, the other still gripping the knife against his chest.

The contrast was wild. Gentle and primal. Intimate and brutal. He was the kind of man people crossed the street to avoid. And here he was, exposed, vulnerable, fucking gorgeous.

He didn’t talk much. Just little sounds—low, guttural, close to a growl.

Jo didn’t speak either. Just breathed with him. Matched his pace. Her eyes never left his hands.

Then it shifted. His rhythm got tighter. Faster. His grip firmer. The blade was shaking slightly against his chest now, the tension spilling over.

“I’m—fuck—”

Jo leaned forward, eyes wide, breath shallow. “Let me see it.”

He looked at her—direct, open, there. Then he came.

It hit hard. His whole body tensed. His jaw clenched, hips bucking slightly as he pulsed in his hand. Thick ropes across his stomach, hot and urgent and unashamed.

Jo sat completely still.

Silent.

Witness.

When Mack finally opened his eyes again, his chest was rising and falling like he’d just run. He set the knife down, gently, carefully. Like it was a living thing.

Jo stood and crossed the room, slow. Not to touch him. Just to kneel beside the chair.

She looked up at him. “That was fucking beautiful.”

Mack didn’t speak. Just reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

And in that small, quiet gesture, everything shifted.