by Clare London
=Scot!=
Connor groaned, rocking against Scot’s body, forced to follow Scot’s pace, but reveling in it as well. “God… so good….”
=Can’t you fuck me harder? Can’t you go deeper?=
Scot slammed so hard against Connor’s ass that the bed banged against the wall. The muscles of Connor’s buttocks thudded into his groin. Connor cried out, and loosened his grip on Scot’s ass. He moved his hand to his lap, pumping his own cock to completion. Scot clutched at his waist, holding him desperately. The ecstasy throbbed inside his veins, rushing along his swollen cock and bursting up into the writhing man beneath. He shouted Connor’s name, though the sound was muffled by the blood hammering in his ears. Everything was burning and vibrantly colored, and pleasure filled his mind. He wanted frantically to make it last longer; he couldn’t believe the hot depths of Connor’s flesh under his fingers... and then he lost coherent thought and couldn’t concentrate on anything but the pure, glorious sensation.
=Scot. So good!=
There were more voices in his head than just Connor’s, loud and insistent, crying out with the joy of coming. They wailed, they panted, they screamed crude, praising, arousing words. Hands were all over him, lips at his body, sucking and nibbling—the force of his climax was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was as if several bodies met—as if many climaxes converged in and on him.
Connor!
He moaned, a nonsense sound, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his coming. He hung onto Connor like a mooring to the earth, barely conscious of Connor’s climax wracking both their bodies and making Connor shake in Scot’s arms.
“What’s happening?” Scot knew he sounded distressed but he couldn’t control his voice any more. “You’re in my head! They’re all in my head!”
Connor groaned one more time, and went limp against him. His hair was slicked with sweat, and strands of it clung to Scot’s neck, tangled up between the two of them. They were both panting loudly. Scot tried desperately to will himself to stay hard and sheathed inside his lover, but natural exhaustion sucked the energy from him. Within seconds, his cock went soft, and he slid out of Connor with nothing but wet noise. Connor’s hole was red and damp, and still beautifully erotic, though Scot ached with guilt in case he’d hurt him. Then he ached with desire, to take him again. He just fucking ached, God dammit.
Connor’s sigh was one of pure satisfaction. He arched back his head, showing his profile to Scot, and the shine in his eyes. The muscles in his arms were still shaking with tension and his lower thigh was partly trapped under Scot’s legs. As Scot helped him wriggle it out to freedom, he felt a trickle of warm, thick come slide out from between Connor’s cheeks and onto his own outstretched leg.
Jesus. So, so perfect.
But… “The voices—?”
“You hear them because we’ve both found our true one, Scot. They’re in celebration of that! It’s the only thing you could ever strive for—the only pure joy you can ever find.”
=Nothing will ever be better than this!=
And, in that instant, worn down by exhausted resignation, Scot had to agree.
***
Scot could hear voices in his head again. They were calling, but they weren’t calling him. They were calling for Connor.
Scot yawned and stirred sleepily from his nap. Why didn’t Connor answer? He could feel the long-limbed, wiry body beside him on the bed and he felt his own cock bob gently at the remembrance of their lovemaking. He liked this feeling; this feeling of sleeping with Connor Maxwell. From what he could hear, Connor’s breathing was heavy and regular.
‘I don’t sleep much’, he’d told Scot. And Scot had certainly never seen any sign of him in any of the bedrooms before this night. But the unconscious body beside him told another story. This man was exhausted—sated and blissfully asleep. Sleeping with Scot Salvatore.
Scot drowsed again until the voices really did become too insistent to ignore. Then he rolled on to his side to wake Connor.
But Connor was already up. He’d pulled on his linen pants and nothing else. His hair was pushed loosely behind his ears; Scot saw silhouetted strands of it blowing across his face as he moved around the room.
“You okay?” Scot asked, yawning again. “What’s up?”
“Jerry’s calling,” Connor said softly. “I must go to them. They want us all to be together tonight, to celebrate Jerry staying. Come with me, Scot. We want you with us.”
“God.” Scot groaned. “Can’t I join in the party some other time? I need some sleep.” Especially after the damned good going-over we just had.
Connor smiled, his teeth glinting in the dim light.
Scot flushed and examined his true feelings. His tiredness and nervousness, compared to his curiosity and excitement. He knew which ones would win.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he lifted his arms to take hold of Connor. They kissed for some time, until Scot reluctantly peeled himself away.
“Throw over my shorts, then,” he growled.
The others were all in the courtyard, as he expected. The night was as warm and still as the previous one: the participants as naked as before. Naked, and gorgeous! Oliver rushed over to him and Connor as they walked through the gateway. He gave Scot’s shorts the briefest of contemptuous looks, then he started tickling and stroking at Scot’s waist until Scot laughed and surrendered, and allowed Oliver to tug them off. Then Oliver took his arm and cajoled him over to the pool. Scot threw a look of rueful apology at Connor, and allowed Oliver to have his way.
Vincent lay nearby on a blanket on the ground, propped up on an arm. Jerry sat in front of him, facing the same way but leaned back against Vincent’s strong, broad hip. They were surrounded by a spread of food, and the familiar sweet, red wine. As Scot watched, Vincent broke a pastry into pieces and handed some of it up to Jerry. Jerry opened his lips and let Vincent press the food in, licking his lips and smiling. Then he opened his mouth further and sucked Vincent’s fingertips in after it. Vincent drew in a harsh breath of pleasure: his head dropped back a little, and he dragged down at Jerry’s lower lip. Jerry’s even, white teeth held on to the invading fingers and his breathing sped up. Vincent pumped his fingers slowly in and out of Jerry’s mouth, and Jerry panted in rhythm with it. His hand slipped to his lap and he started fondling himself. Vincent watched his hand in Jerry’s mouth, and Jerry’s flushed and excited face as he grew more aroused. When they caught each other’s gaze, they smiled with genuine pleasure.
Scot marveled at the easy intimacy they showed each other. He’d never raised a smile like that in Jerry, not even during sex play. Jerry continued to amaze him. Then Oliver dragged him down into the pool, and for a while he had nothing to concern him but to splash and roll in the warm, comforting water and try to stop Oliver ducking him too often.
Connor came to sit on the low wall of the pool. He was naked as well now, the linen pants having gone the way of every other piece of clothing Scot had ever come into contact with here. Scot lay back, propped on his arms against the shelf, and let the small ripples lap at his body.
“See how good it is, Scot.” Connor’s voice was a little sharp as if he challenged Scot to understand and accept. Scot wondered if any of the others heard the undertone. “It is a feast for you. For us all. A feast of all the best things in life. You can have whatever you want… whomever you want.”
“I just want you,” Scot said, and he reached up with a wet arm, grasping Connor by the neck. Their fierce lips sought each other out, and water ran carelessly over Connor’s arms as Scot embraced him, pulling him down. Laughing, Connor slid over the wall and into the pool alongside Scot.
“It’s the same for me, Scot. I want you, too.”
“Only you!” Scot added, almost fiercely. It was true. The sexual desire he felt for Connor was astounding, and he knew there could be so much more between them. He couldn’t deny the motel’s seductive atmosphere—it was like it nursed them into it, let them
ride without restriction, then protected them from guilt—but it was just a place, wasn’t it? One place, one time, even if Scot seemed to be the only guy who could see that. But there was a whole world still out there to explore. Ever since they’d talked in Connor’s room, he wanted to explore that with Connor. He wanted Connor in his life. He wanted to find out about him, be with him… and only him.
Connor paused for a mere second so that it was barely noticeable. When he replied, his voice was very soft and he sounded slightly amazed. “Only you…”
=Yes=
There was a splash as Oliver plunged into the pool beside them, dipping under the water again, and tangling in between their legs. Scot started to protest, but then Oliver’s soft, plump lips fastened around his bobbing cock. He gasped and snatched at Connor’s arms to keep himself upright.
Under the water, Oliver’s mouth sucked and tugged at him, and weightless fingers cupped and caressed his balls. Connor smiled back at him, and a faint disorientation in his eyes made Scot suspect that Oliver was busy about his body, too. Connor wound his arms around Scot’s torso, and drew him in for another kiss.
As Scot opened his mouth to Connor he felt the wriggling underwater mischief-maker release his cock. But then Connor’s hand took its place. A hand that grasped him and held him just where he felt most sensitive, stroking him down to the base of his cock and up again to the tip, where the disturbed ripples of the water ebbed and flowed against his slit. A hand that dragged his body even closer, and a mouth that took more and more from each kiss.
“Connor,” he sighed.
Soaked with the pool water, they wrapped around each other, and Scot struggled to reach around Connor’s ass to caress him in return. His cock swelled painfully under the water. He dropped his head to suckle at Connor’s neck, and slipped his hand between the other man’s legs. With a stretch, he could reach Connor’s taint, rubbing his fingers along it to reach between Connor’s buttocks. Yes. He slid a finger into him.
Connor gasped, and Scot plunged his tongue farther into Connor’s open mouth.
With another splash, Oliver crested the water, water streaming from him like a leaping fish. “Connor! Scot!” he cried petulantly, as if he was annoyed they enjoyed themselves without him. “I can’t fit any part of me between you, and I’m more proud of my figure than that.”
When they barely acknowledged him, a flash of very adult anger passed over Oliver’s face. He lifted himself easily out of the water, and shook off the excess, stretching his body to ease his cramped muscles. He did, indeed, have a beautiful body, young yet with developing muscles that gave a breadth and a shape to his torso that promised even more strength and agility. And his profile was most prominent, his cock rearing up happily from the damp, dark blond hairs of his groin.
“You should be very proud of that,” Jerry murmured at Oliver’s ear. He and Vincent had risen from the blanket and come over to the pool. Jerry placed a hand on Oliver’s waist, and then slid it around to caress the wet shaft.
Oliver moaned gently, allowing the touch. His legs parted a little and he turned his head to accept Jerry’s hungry kiss. But as he did, he called softly to Connor, standing in the pool, clasped in Scot’s embrace. “You are our master, Connor, aren’t you? This is all for you.”
Jerry sucked gently at his nipples and Vincent’s hands came to rest on his ass. Vincent started drying Oliver’s body with a thick towel, and massaging in sweet smelling oil.
“You won’t leave us, will you, Connor?” Oliver turned away, with just the trail of a cry, melting into the arms of the others. “Will you?”
Connor didn’t answer him.
Instead, the water eddied around Scot as Connor grasped his hips and turned him roughly, pushing him face forward against the side of the pool. Scot threw out his hands and grabbed the edge of the wall. Under the water, Connor’s erect cock pressed at his buttocks—Connor’s thigh nudged between his own and forced his legs further apart. Everything was cool and smooth under the water; Connor’s limbs felt much like his own. Their bodies were light, and the gentle pressure of the water tugged their bodies back and forth. Scot responded immediately to the feel of Connor’s fingers at his opening, relaxing himself and bending at the waist, offering himself to his new lover. Connor leaned against him, making the water swirl around his legs, and Scot felt the sharp delight of a bite at his shoulder. Then the thick, hungry cock pressed into him and he cried out with the force of it.
“Connor! Christ, that’s—”
Connor grabbed him around the waist again and pulled him away from the wall. Still impaled on his cock, Scot leaned back into Connor’s lap, and bent his legs to try to keep his balance. Connor swung around again, until his back was pressed against the wall instead, with Scot in a sitting position on his groin. He thrust up into Scot, and the angle was such that he struck at Scot’s prostate with every stroke. Scot cried out with the pleasure. He reached down to rub his cock, his elbows splashing near the surface of the water, spraying them both as he pumped.
Then suddenly, his hands still tight on Scot’s body, Connor dipped down farther into the pool, and Scot found himself entirely underwater. Shocked, unprepared, he spluttered and panicked. Connor still thrust up into him, and for a second Scot contemplated relaxing and letting the water into his body, just so that he could continue to feel such an astounding moment.
But it wasn’t Connor’s intention that they drown. Within seconds, he whipped them both up to the refreshing air again. He was still panting, still hammering into Scot, and now with increasing force and desperation. His hair was plastered against his neck and water ran in rivulets down his face. Scot thought Connor had never looked so manic, nor so gorgeous. When Connor spun him one last time to lean forward onto the wall again, Scot braced himself and let Connor press hard against his back, fucking him with increasingly fierce, shallow thrusts.
=Scot, I’m coming=
Connor gasped, his weight fully on Scot’s bent back. Scot could feel the ripples of climax approaching, deep in his groin, the pressure right up inside his ass. The two of them hung on, clinging as if one body, until they groaned, pumped, and spewed their completion—Connor into Scot’s ass, and Scot out into the thrashing, churning water around them.
It was the first climax of many that night.
***
The courtyard was very dark now, and only a few candles under the trees gave anyone light to see what they did. Instead, the group of men used their hands and their mouths, and they were never misguided.
Scot sat alone on a bench, his hair still damp and his lips moistened with water and ice cubes. He’d been fed slices of fresh fruit that had never tasted so vibrant; he’d eaten pastry and cold meats that had richness he’d never enjoyed before. He knew he needed a rest, his body exhausted from being used so thoroughly by Connor Maxwell. He thought he probably also needed some time to gather his wits, as they’d been similarly twisted and enmeshed with Connor’s mind.
When is this going to get real?
Meanwhile, a tableau unfolded in front of him. Oliver stood, the shortest of them all, leaning over another bench with his hands against the wall. His legs were wide apart and his head bobbed down, his breathing fast and shallow. Behind him, Jerry had his hands around his waist and his mouth at the young man’s neck. Jerry stood inside the spread of Oliver’s legs, with his buttocks close up against Oliver’s soft, pale ass. They writhed and ground together, and it was obvious that Jerry was fucking him. Jerry pulled out slowly, steadily, then thrust back in so that Oliver gasped with the pleasure.
Vincent stepped up behind Jerry, stroking his back and his cheeks, playing with his ass. Scot watched Vincent’s fingers part Jerry’s buttocks, and the obvious insertion of two glistening fingers into his hole. And in response, Jerry bent his ass back toward Vincent, bringing Oliver up on to his toes in front of him. Then he bent forward again, plunging deeply into Oliver. He set up a slow, rocking motion that pivoted him back and forth, between fucking
Oliver and forcing his ass back on to Vincent’s tantalizing fingers.
“Fuck me.”
It was a request Scot had never heard Jerry make—at least, not to him—nor ever in such a tone of need.
Vincent stepped up closer. His cock was heavily swollen, proudly erect, and he stroked Jerry’s ass with a proprietary touch. He paused for a second, as if waiting to join the couple and their rocking, erotic dance; as if he were cautious of disturbing the rhythm.
Then Connor stepped up beside them, too, tall and slender and with a confident bearing that drew Scot’s gaze, even if he hadn’t been fascinated by every move that the man ever made. Connor murmured encouragement into Vincent’s neck, reaching up to lick at his earlobe, softly, fondly. Connor took hold of Vincent’s cock with one hand, and then reached to part Jerry’s buttocks with the other. Vincent’s head dropped back, enjoying Connor’s sensual attack on his neck, at the same time as his hips went forward, guided by Connor’s hand. He pressed into Jerry, just as Jerry’s body leaned back from a long, leisurely thrust into Oliver.
God.
Connor watched them all closely, his eyes flickering as he followed the movement—the thrust, as Vincent’s cock burst past Jerry’s eager, tight muscle. Connor’s hands remained on Vincent as the threesome bent forward again, with Oliver at the front. The rhythm continued, but with three of them joined now. Vincent gasped with the tight embrace of Jerry’s ass; Jerry groaned with the fresh invasion and the joy of his lover inside him; and Oliver moaned with the delight of hosting the two of them.
And Connor turned slowly from behind Vincent, looking up with lids heavy with lust, to stare straight at Scot.