"Or about getting off with her in other ways," Cyrus adds, taking himself in hand and giving his cock a few languid strokes without taking his eyes off her. "Just don't put it inside her."
Like I need the fucking reminder from him.
Okay, fair enough.
I unzip my jeans, pulling myself out. My cock springs free, already leaking, and I position myself behind her. Not inside—fuck, not inside even though every instinct is screaming at me to bury myself to the hilt in her pussy—but close enough that my length presses between her ass cheeks and beads a pearly droplet onto her lower spine. Her muscles jump at the touch.
"Open," Cyrus orders, and Ellie obeys immediately, her pretty pink lips parting open to take him.
He doesn't ease in. Just grabs her hair and shoves deep, making her throat work around him. Not quite as rough as he is with me. I can tell he's holding back, just a little.
He still cares. Still wants her to enjoy this. I can see her struggle to adjust, see her breathing through her nose, and it's the hottest fucking thing I've ever witnessed.
When he hits the back of her throat, she gags and I almost come then and there. He pulls out just slightly enough to avoid triggering the reflex again, smirking. "What's the matter? The rich boys at that college don't hit that deep, Princess?"
She can't speak, but she manages to adjust herself to free a hand so she can flip him off. I give a throaty laugh. "That's our girl."
I start grinding against her, using her ass for friction while Cyrus fucks her mouth. The position is degrading and perfect, her body sandwiched between us, used for our pleasure in every way except the one Kade reserved for himself.
"Fuck, her mouth," Cyrus groans, his hips setting a brutal pace. "Feels perfect."
Ellie makes a sound around his cock, something between a whimper and a moan, and I feel the vibration travel through her body. My hands grip her hips, pulling her back against me harder, chasing the friction that's building in my balls as they tighten up against my body.
"You like this?" I lean forward, speaking directly into her ear while I grind against her. "Like being used by both of us at the same time?"
She can't answer with Cyrus's cock in her throat, but the way she pushes back against me, the way she hollows her cheeks and sucks harder, tells me everything I need to know.
Shelovesit.
My Ellie—ourEllie—loves being passed between us like a toy. Loves the control we're taking, the choices we're making for her.
The realization makes my orgasm build faster than I want. I try to hold back, try to make this last, but Cyrus is fucking her face like he owns it, and she's taking everything he gives her while I'm grinding against her perfect ass, and?—
"Gonna come," I warn, my voice breaking. "Fuck, Ellie, I'm gonna?—"
"Don't," Cyrus snarls. "Not yet. Not until I say you can."
The icy command in his voice is enough to make me shudder, but it has its intended effect of pulling me back from the edge.
Ellie arches against me and she tries to turn herself slightly, despite being impaled on Cyrus's cock.
Oh. Right.
She doesn't know about our little…dynamic.
Well, I guess she was bound to figure it out eventually.
"Fuck," I grit out, slowing my pace as I force myself to reel it back in. To rut against her perfect ass slowly, letting beads of precome drip down onto her perfect skin. I try to focus on the little patterns it's making as it pools into the small of her back, and she arches into me like she wants more.
I reach around to touch her, which at once makes it harder to resist coming and easier at the same time because it gives me something to focus on. She gives a muffled cry against Cyrus' cock as my fingers circle her oversensitive bud, and her bucking feels even more delicious than grinding against her does.
Cyrus' grip on her hair tightens and his head falls back with a low groan. "Fuck, just like that. Let me feel the back of your throat."
Hearing him talk dirty to our Princess has me teetering on the edge again, but I don't dare veer over it now that he's forbidden me from coming without his permission.
He'd probably refuse to let me get off for a week, and being limited to sneaking around with my own hand in the shower while my own personal brand of temptation is traipsing aroundthe house in see-through tank tops andmysweatpants is more masochism than even I can handle.
After what feels like forever, I hear Cyrus' breathing get faster, shallower, falling into that telltale rhythm that means he's about to explode.
