Checking in with Colt, I note that he’s quiet, his face tense with focus. I kiss him as I alternate deep, slow thrusts with Warwick. “Hey, you still good?”
He opens his eyes, nodding despite his pained expression. “Yeah,” he keens, and I doubt he’s capable of much more. I thrust past Warwick, our cockheads briefly catching on each other.
Wick again peeks over Colt’s shoulder, locking eyes with me. The angle of his thrusts isn’t just for Colt. It's for me too. Looking to cause some trouble, I grab Colt’s cock, and shuttle my hand up and down, twisting around his head until his eyes roll back into his head from pressure and pleasure and thetoo-muchof it. Within seconds, he's coming all over my belly.
The tight squeeze of his ass causes both Warwick and I to groan as we continue our back and forth inside, pushing against each other, sending each other through the stratosphere. I only wish that neither of us had condoms on so we could fill him to the brim. I would give anything to see our combined cum spilling out of this beautiful boy's ass.
That's finally the visual that sends me over, and I thrust up again and again: spilling, going, going, going. Wick’s cries are strained as his hips snap harder and harder until he stiffens, cursing as he comes. He slumps forward, putting us in a Colt sandwich for a few seconds, all of us dazed and spent.
“Fuck,” Warwick grits out, thrusting a few more times. “That was some of the best sex I've ever fucking had.”
Colt’s proud little smile makes me grin. And I know he's feeling it with Wick, but when he leans forward and kisses me, it feels personal, like something that’s just between the two of us.
With all of us spent, Wick and I carefully withdraw from Colt’s body, gentle with him as he moans our names. We take turns cleaning him, and there's something meditative about the process. It’s all about worshipping his body, letting it recover from what we've done to it.
We’re quickly reminded that itisthe middle of the night, and we’re all sleepy again, sated with orgasms and closeness. We find ourselves tangled in each other, and as we drift off, I wonder if something like this could ever be possible in real life.
11
COLT
It's been several days since the threesome with Warwick and Joaquin, and everything seems…fine. Warwick is his usually irascible self, and Joaquin is quietly efficient in getting the job done. But everything feels like a camera that's barely—but distinctly—out of focus. Just a bit of fuzz around the edges, nothing quite like what it should be.
Maybe that's just me.
I used to say that I was built to be happy, but…I’m not happy. I’m not massively depressed or anything, but this is most definitely not my natural state of being. And I wonder if the threesome is what’s pushed me over the edge.
Anyway, it's the end of the week, and Wick is out for the night, hooking up with someone in Austin, and I’m trying to pretend I’m okay with it.
Hint: I’m not okay with it.
I come in from a long day and head straight to the refrigerator, grabbing a cold brew just as Joaquin sits at the bar with a beer of his own.
His smile is warm. “Hey, Colt, good job with Sprite’s foal this week. Charity said her foot is healing perfectly.”
I give him a thumbs-up as I head up the stairs, draining half the bottle as I wordlessly let myself into my dark room. God, I hope that wasn’t rude. I just…I wish I knew why things feel so bad.
Hrn.
I take a swig of the beer, then another, sitting on my bed in the dark. I should probably get something to eat, but I can’t. The weirdness of this week has my stomach tied up in knots. Draining the rest of the beer, I toss the bottle, managing to land it in the trash despite the shadows.
I check my phone, and Destry’s update is super positive. She’s back with her boyfriend, whose name is Ellis, which sounds like a name I should know. Anyway, they’re working the program together with a couple’s counselor.
Yay.
I mean…Iamhappy for her, but as I thumb through my messages, I get mad all over again. So mad that tears start falling down my cheeks, and I can’t fucking stand it. I scroll through the last of the texts and realize that, even though I’d love nothing more than to strike the man from my memory, Wick’s once again made it impossible.
Stupid, fucking Warwick. He’s been treating me like a goddamn coworker these last couple of days, but then I verified that he’s the one who told Luke about Destry going back into rehab. It should’ve been up to me to tell Luke anything, but I know why he did it.
I’m in the middle of a pretty righteous pity party when I’m startled by a knock on my door.
“Colt?” Joaquin’s warm voice filters through the door.
I reluctantly crack open the door to his sexy, kind face. Ugh. I don’t know if I can handle all of that.
“Hey, baby bear. Looked like you were going to need another beer,” he says, holding up a bottle
“Huh?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
