“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry about that,” I say. “Here, lemme—” I move toward the paper towels, but Dylan’s already grabbed the roll and is stooping to wipe up the spill.
Goddamn, I always forget how fast he moves.
Guess that’s a chef thing, too many pots on the stove to be dicking around or something.
Gotta say, though, since I’m letting myself go there lately, it’s sexy as fuck, the way he takes charge in here. Takes care of business. Kind of owns the place.
I know there’s not actually much I can do to help, so I pop my sauce-covered fingertips into my mouth while I wait. Be a shame for it to go to waste just because I got clumsy. Dylan’s right: I’m no stranger to a good restaurant, but this cream sauce is something else.
“Mmm, okay, that is delicious,” I say, and fuck if it isn’t. Actually pulls my mind out of my pants for a minute. Or, I guess, out of Dylan’s pants. “Dylan, your sauce is fuckin’ amazing,” I tell him sincerely.
Dylan looks up from the floor and raises an eyebrow, and holy hell. Did I say my mind had gotten off sex? ’Cause the heat in that look sends it shooting right back down to my cock. Or to his. Christ… two guys. I’m still wrapping my head around that.
“Hell of a thing to say, Jack,” Dylan says, winking up at me. “Given that you haven’t had any of it yet.”
His eyes are twinkling, but I guess I’m slow—or, again with the distractions—because I don’t get what he’s getting at.
“Huh?”
He stands, tossing the wooden spoon into the sink and turning on the tap. “So far,” he says as he washes his hands, “The only person who’s gotten to try my ‘sauce’ is Cate.”
The innuendo hits me all of a sudden, and the way my body reacts to such a simple dirty joke makes me lean against the kitchen island for support. I reach down and adjust myself. Guess I’m not the only one whose mind went there.
“Shit,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “I, uh, I walked right into that one, huh?”
Dylan snorts, grinning as he turns back to whatever he’s making.
“I’m guessing you had one hell of a long day at work,” he gives me. He takes a fresh spoon out of the drawer, stirs, tastes, grabs one of what seem like a hundred identical little jars on the spice rack and dumps some into the pot. He looks back at me, and oh yeah. There it is again. He’s teasing me on purpose, isn’t he? Bastard. “Hey, Jack, you okay? You look a little flushed. Did the heat get to you?”
My cock twitches again, but my heart does this little flip thing, too. He’s joking, but… his comment did get to me. It just struck me hard all of a sudden; Dylan and I have been fucking Cate together all over this house, but there’s never been a point where we’ve been alone together in a sexual way. Kissing, yeah, which… gotta say, I fucking love that. A bit of touching, some affection, like hugs and shit. But I guess it just...didn’t occur to me that he might want to get me alone, spend time that way.
Do I want that?
Guess I’ve thought of it, especially after that first time he made it clear I could come over for sex with him, too. But then when it didn’t quite go down that way, not gonna lie, part of me was a little relieved. And then… well, things are so great with the three of us—with Cate—that I guess I just didn’t revisit the idea.
I mean, not too much.
Not, like, in the way that would bring it up in discussion or anything.
Truth is, in the privacy of my own mind, I’ve definitely thought about what it’d be like to take things with Dylan to the next level. What it’d be like to feel his skin under my hands. Have my mouth on him. Sometimes I still get a surge of guilt for those kinds of thoughts, but mostly?
Dammmmmmmmn.
I’ve had more than one fantasy of what it would be like to have his always-laughing mouth wrapped around my cock, how he’d look with my cum running down the flat expanse of his chest.
I hiss in a breath as my dick jerks hard at the thought, and I swear silently. Fuck. Basketball shorts are great for the heat, but they don’t do fuck all to hide a cockstand. Dylan’s looking at me, and he’s got to know, right? I swallow, shake my head.
“I’m good, uh.” I clear my throat. “Cream joke just caught me off-guard, must not be on my game.”
I don’t know why I’m trying to play it off. I mean, guess it’s pretty obvious he’s open to whatever I’d want to do. Habit, I guess. Old voices.
Dylan makes a hmmmmm sound that has my cock raring to go again, then he pulls the little pot off the burner, all slow and deliberate-like, turns off the stove, sets down the spoon, and takes off his apron before turning to face me again.
“Come here, Jack.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He’s so damn good at just… getting me to do shit I want to do anyway. Like him being okay with it makes it okay in my head, too, somehow. I’m hard as a rock now, but despite that, or maybe because of it? It hits me: I’m really, really loved.
By him.
By Cate.
This isn’t a game or some kinky sex thing. It’s real.
I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to it.
My heart does that flip thing again, sweet and dizzying, and I think now or never, Jack. I cross the space between us, and when I reach him, I don’t play it off like a bro thing. I reach out a hand to cup Dylan’s cheek, run my thumb lightly over the stubble of his jaw. And then I take another deep breath—tell myself to stop being such a scared little wuss—and lean in to kiss the man I’ve been in love with maybe since we were kids.
Dylan makes this little growling noise in the back of his throat, like finally, and his hands come up to my head and sink into my hair. He tastes like fresh herbs and lemon and Dylan—delicious.
This still feels weird, kissing another dude, taking so much joy from something I spent so many years thinking was wrong, but I trust that that strangeness will fade with time. Because it’s weird, but it’s right, too. Down to my core.
Besides, this isn’t just any dude, this is Dylan.
This is my oldest and best friend in the world next to Cate.
He tastes like home.
Well, I huff out a little breath, feeling his lips curve up next to mine, and yank him closer. Right now? He also tastes like pure sex.
His body presses into mine, the hard muscle of his bare chest against my shirt, and it’s so different from Cate’s body, strong and fit as she is. There’ll always be a plushness to her, and it’s always going to be spectacular. Dylan, on the other hand, he just feels solid, like a warm, slightly-yielding wall of power against me.
His cock, hard and huge, rocks against my leg, and my own swells even larger in response.
Weird is fading to just really fucking turned on, and when we break apart for a second—panting hard with our foreheads resting together—I realize I’ve got my thumbs hooked into Dylan’s belt loops, my hands tight on his lean hips.
I don’t want to let him go.
“Dylan,” I groan, wanting more but not sure what. Not sure how to ask. My heart’s beating like crazy, my cock throbbing desperately, and all I can think about is how right this all feels.
How good it is.
Why the fuck I waited so long.
Dylan palms me, cupping my aching cock through my shorts, and I groan—long and low and needy as shit—unable to help myself.
“You like it like this?” he asks, his lips twitching as he teases me and the heat in his eyes… fuck. Me.
I lick my lips, trying to clear my head, and I can’t help from pushing into his hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, then insecurity twists me up inside. I hate being out of my depth. What if it isn’t okay for him? Yeah, feels great to me… but what the fuck am I supposed to do for him?
“Jack,” he says, going still. He reads me like a book, doesn’t he? I know what he wants.
Talk to me, Jack.
You can trust me, Jack.
I’m here for you.
All true. All def
initely true. Okay, I can do this.
“I mean, it’s different, but it’s good,” I start. I look into Dylan’s face, my voice nearly pleading. “I don’t know what I like when it’s another guy, Dylan,” I admit. “I need you to... shit, I think I need you to take the reins on this one, yeah? Hand to God, anything you do is gonna be all right by me, I just have no fuckin’ clue what I’m doing here.”
Dylan grins at me, and it lights me up inside. Eases that pressure in my chest.
“So you’re saying… don’t ask you, just do it, huh?” he says, tightening his hand on my cock.
I groan.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he says, laughing.
I almost sag against him with relief. Well, fuck. I guess “sag” isn’t the right word, given that part of me—a very, very happy part—is pretty fucking firm right now. But Dylan gets me; always has.
It’s why I love him.
He cups my face in his hands, kisses me slow and sweet. “I’ve got you,” he says. And then he shoves me back against the kitchen island, hard, the edge of the tiled countertop a cold jolt at the small of my back.
Oh, fuck yeah.
It’s a perfect counterpoint to the heat washing through me, pooling low in my belly as Dylan yanks off my t-shirt and drops it to the floor. I reach for him, trying to get at the fly of his jeans, and he slaps my hands away with a grin.
“You wanted me to take control, Jack, now you’ve got to let me do it,” he teases.
I groan. “Fuck, that’s gonna be hard to take,” I mutter, even though my cock jerks at the reminder. So, yeah, maybe not so hard after all.
Or hella hard, if you want to look at it another way.
Dylan pats my cheek in mock sympathy before his hands go to the drawstring of my shorts. He’s got the double knot undone faster than I ever could, the thin material slithering down my legs to the floor and leaving me bare in front of him. His eyes rake over my body, appreciation unmistakable in his expression.
“Damn, Jack,” he says, then whistles low. “I wish you could see how hot you are to me.”
Goddammit, I’m blushing, I can feel it, but there’s nothing uncertain about the way my cock is twitching, straining toward him. Fucking leaking at the tip.
No doubts. I want this.
Dylan kisses me, hard, then sinks to his knees in front of me. A gust of air whooshes out of my lungs, hard and loud. This is really happening.
He leans into my groin and I give a silent prayer of thanks that I showered at the gym, because post-workout balls don’t belong near anybody’s face, and then Dylan spits into his palm and takes me in those strong, dexterous chef hands, and the last thing I want to do is pray. I don’t know what to do with my hands, casting around for something to hold onto but not knowing if it’s cool to touch him while he jacks me off.
I settle for lacing my fingers behind my head, that seems safe enough.
But oh damn, I can not look away.
“Fuckkkkkkkk,” I hiss, almost tearing my hair out when Dylan swirls his tongue around the head of my cock, then takes me all the way down his throat like it’s nothing. Jesus H. Christ. I grab at the edge of the kitchen island counter with one hand for support, biting down hard on my fist to keep from crying out and doing my goddamn best not to buck into his mouth.
He’s doing things with his tongue that feel illegal, and I’m helpless against the brutal pleasure of it. It’s like my bones are melting. My skin glowing with the raging fire he’s stoking. My whole fucking world collapsing down to a single point.
That… mouth.
Dylan leans back on his heels and I make a little involuntary noise of loss as his mouth leaves my cock.
“You… uh, you done?” I manage, clenching my fists to keep from begging for more.
He looks up at me, lips red and wet and fucking decadent, and laughs. I swear to fucking God, I feel that laugh in my balls. It’s low and throaty and dirty as fuck, and then he gives me a look that practically has my toes curling and sticks two fingers into his mouth.
Sucking them.
Soaking them.
I lick my lips, my wet cock jerking hard against my stomach. “Dylan?” I ask, needing… something.
More.
He slips his hand up between my thighs, and my eyes go wide as it hits me what he’s doing. Where he’s headed.
Sure enough, his fingertips start probing at my ass, circling the rim as that a-fucking-mazing mouth returns to sucking me off. A part of me wants to freak the fuck out at the ass play, but it feels so damn good and I’m so damn distracted by that mouth, I can’t do anything other than make the kind of sounds that should probably be illegal.
I don’t even realize my hands have left the counter—have buried themselves in his thick, dark hair like they belong there—until he pushes one of those fingers inside me and I clutch his head like a lifeline.
He moans, a sexy-as-fuck vibration that I feel all the way through me, and I gasp, lurching against him as I’m breached for the first time. That finger moves in and out, in and out, stroking me in a way I’ve never felt before. A way that makes what his mouth is doing to my cock so much hotter.
I feel like I should say something.
Thank him.
Worship him.
Something.
But before I can do anything more than make more of the dirty sounds that are already pouring out of me, he touches some spot inside me that makes my knees buckle.
“Holy shit. Holy… shit.” I would have collapsed if it wasn’t for the too-tight grip I had on his head. “Dylan, what the fuck was that?”
He pops off, looking up at me with his pupils blown and his mouth wet from sucking my cock, and pushes that finger onto my spot again.
“Nnnnnngggghhhhhh.”
I swear to fucking God, I see Jesus.
He pulls off my cock for a second. “That’s what’s going to make it feel so damn good when I finally fuck you,” he says, and I shit you not. Those words? I almost come.
Dylan swallows me down again, and I don’t even care how gay this is, I’m about to beg him for that second finger ’cause the first one feels so… damn… good. So good that I’m thinking it’s all about to be over before I can bring myself to ask—over fast—but then, because apparently whoever’s up there has a sense of humor, I hear the front door open and Cate’s light steps walk into the room.
“Shit,” I say. Reflex.
My eyes pop open and I freeze.
Cate’s right there, yep. She’s frozen in place with her eyes wide, too, a big wicker grocery basket on one arm, just staring at us. I have a moment of sheer, all-consuming panic—panic that almost has me blurting out this isn’t what it looks like, like some schlub in a bad romance movie. As though there’s any misinterpreting the sight of Dylan down on his knees with his finger inside my ass and my cock so far down his throat I’m surprised the guy can breathe.
But then Cate lets out a low, soft moan that sends little arrows of raw need shooting through my entire body, and that beautiful blush she does floods her cheeks. She smiles, and it’s wicked and loving and fucking hot.
“Shit shit shit,” I mutter, except I’m also panting. Kind of groaning. Not frozen anymore, but thrusting my hips forward into Dylan’s mouth—and then back, fucking Christ, backward to fuck myself on that finger of his. Cock and ass, over and over, with Cate watching. Breathing hard and looking hotter than hell as the color rises in her face.
And Dylan? He hasn’t slowed down at all. If anything, he’s sucking me harder. Making some hot-as-fuck sounds of his own that leave me no doubt he feels about Cate bursting in on our… moment.
My body wants this so bad, and my head… my head is doing a number on me. I’m trapped. Right on the edge of coming and so turned on I can’t see straight, but also sort of… waiting for the other shoe to drop. A part of me screaming with all the voices of my past, telling me this can’t be okay. Can’t be right.
No matter how fucking perfect it f
eels.
Cate sucks in a shuddering breath, then gives me another hot smile and walks over to the kitchen island. She sets down her bag and pulls out a fat bottle of white wine, then reaches under the island to unhook a wine glass from the rack.
“Oh, don’t mind me, boys,” she says with a wink as she uncorks the wine and pours herself a generous glass. She sits down on one of the tall kitchen stools, resting her elbows on the counter and watching us as she sips her wine. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting this. You both know how hot it is to watch.”
I groan and let my eyes drift closed. She’s so right. And Dylan’s mouth feels so damn good. And that finger is still fucking my ass, timed with that incredible suction on my cock… fuck those voices in my head. With these two? This is all kinds of right. So right that when it really hits me—I can have this; it’s okay—I almost come on the spot.
But Cate’s here, now, and yeah, watching is hot, but damn if I don’t want her, too.
“Hey… Duchess,” I pant, struggling to form the words with Dylan still doing his best to fucking wreck me. “This isn’t a… a spectator sport, y’know.” I reach for her, and she’s just close enough that I’m able to tug at the thin strap of her sundress, sliding it off her shoulder. “Get in here, Wildcat.”
That last comes out as a growl, but it’s all I can do to hold myself together now. I want to, though. Wanna wait for her. Want it to be all of us.
Cate sucks in a sharp breath, biting her lip in that sexy way she has, and the hot little moan she lets loose with has my fingers tightening on Dylan’s head again. For a second, I worry I’m being an ass. I don’t want to force him to take more than he wants of me. But one look down at his face and I’m good again. For one thing, the man has no gag reflex. I’m not small, and he’s got me buried so deep in his throat that his face is pressed against me.
And that is… hot.
But the clincher? It’s the look he’s giving me. Eyes hooded with lust and face kind of glowing, like he’s enjoying this just as much as I am. And then I realize… he really is. Yeah, he’s got one hand working me in back, but my cock? That’s hands-free for him. His other one is occupied jerking himself off, and fuck… me.
Mine: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance Page 26