After a bit more conversation with Little Wick, Warwick parts my cheeks, adding lube as he nudges at my entrance, which they prepared beautifully.
He slides in, stretching the relaxed muscles with that sweet bite of pain.
“Fuck, I love your cock.”
He lets out a grunt when Joaquin impales him, pushing him inside of me to the hilt. God, yes. The weight of both of them on me, in me, is a dream I could never imagine.
Joaquin begins snapping his hips violently, and…damn.
“Fuck, you two are so goddamn sexy,” I groan, arching up to meet their combined thrusts.
I’m rocked up and down by their coordinated thrusts, by the sheer power of the two of them working in unison. I let it all build to a crescendo as I watch Wick’s face. He looks back at Joaquin, who reassures him with kisses and strong arms, and impossible thrusts. Then he looks down at me, wonder in his eyes.
Seeing the realization dawn on his face, if I had to guess, that he is, quite literally, surrounded by two men who love him…my heart pounds as a soft orgasm spreads out along my skin and through my muscles. My balls are spent, and I’ve had bigger showings, but I’m too cum-drunk to care.
Joaquin grabs Wick’s hips, letting out a shout, and I can tell from the press of his fingers into Wick’s skin and from the pleasured look on Wick’s face that Joaquin is filling him. At that same moment, Warwick fills me with heat, and I’m sure I carry the same slack expression.
Pulling out from Warwick, Joaquin drips the remainder of his cum around the ring of my stuffed hole, then guides Wick’s hips to help push it inside of me.
I may never leave this spot.
“Fuck, Joaquin. You’re…” I let the words drift off because I can no longer form a coherent sentence.
His proud grin makes my chest warm. “I told you. I like taking care of my men.”
We separate, and they flop backward on the bed next to me, Joaquin in the middle. Reaching between our legs, he circles our holes, chuckling as his fingers gather the cum beginning to seep out. He rubs it into our balls and thighs.
“Mm. Sloppy.”
“I’m gonna need another shower,” I crack.
Yawning, stretching, I lean into my body’s satisfied soreness.
Totally worth it.
Time to start the day.
24
WARWICK
“Fuck, Abel. Why is your headboard so heavy? And doesn't Oliver already have a bed in his house?” I ask, sweat running down my ass crack as we transport Abel’s things down the stairs, through the living room, down the walkway, and into the bed of Trip’s truck.
Swear to Jesus, I’m going to need a massage after this.
Abel points out several discreet eyebolts along the front of it and winks at me. He tilts it to display four more that are flipped down and flush with the surface on the back. He flips one up. “We're installing this above Oliver's bed. It's a pretty damn useful piece of furniture if you ask me.”
I let my imagination take me to what their play must look like. Huh. So…they’re definitely hanging a swing from this. I suppose they could suspend someone with ropes, Shibari-style. I think Taylor must look really beautiful all bound up. Though, for some reason, in my mind, it's Oliver in the swing while Abel and Taylor, wearing a strap-on, take turns with him.
Yeah, I’m one hundred percent certain that’s a scenario they’ve considered.
Abel smacks my shoulder. “Stop imagining it.”
I raise my brow. “I'm helping you load kink equipment into Trip’s truck. I'm allowed my imagination.”
Rolling his eyes, Abel laughs. “Fair enough.”
“If you want to give me a hint about who likes what, I'm all ears.”
