Aiden wrapped his fist around Zack’s cock, suckling the tip and teasingly running his tongue along the bottom of the swollen head.
“Fuck,” Zack cursed. Aiden pulled away and brought himself to his feet, wrapping his arm around Zack’s neck and pulling him in for a rough kiss.
Zack could taste himself on Aiden’s tongue, the lingering, musky flavor mingling with the coffee they’d both been drinking. It was a familiar, transgressive taste, a ghost of encounters past, but this was different. This wasn't two lonely executives blowing off steam in a dark office after a deal.
Zack fisted Aiden’s shirt, yanking him closer until their bodies were flush. He bit Aiden’s lower lip, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make him gasp, a sharp intake of air that Zack swallowed with another demanding kiss. He wanted to erase Aiden’s easy confidence, to replace it with the same desperate, aching need that he saw in Sophie’s eyes. He wanted to be the storm for both of them.
Breaking the kiss, Zack pushed Aiden back, a sudden, forceful shove. Aiden stumbled, caught off guard, his back hitting the cool glass of the balcony railing. His eyes widened with a flash of surprise before a slow, dark understanding settled in. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of raw, unguarded anticipation.
Zack didn’t speak. He simply hooked his fingers into the waistband of Aiden’s pants and the boxer briefs beneath and inone rough, efficient motion, he dragged them down to Aiden’s knees.
“Bend over the balcony,” Zack commanded, his voice a low gravel that scraped the air.
Aiden's throat bobbed. He held Zack's gaze for a heartbeat, a silent negotiation passing between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate grace that defied the coiled tension in his body, he turned. His hands, strong and capable, gripped the cool metal of the railing. He leaned forward, presenting himself, the early morning light catching the hard, defined planes of his back and the powerful muscles of his thighs. The city spread out below him, oblivious to the raw power play being enacted twenty floors above.
Zack stepped up behind him, the denim of his still-open jeans rough against Aiden’s thighs. He leaned in, his chest pressed against Aiden’s back, and his lips brushing against the shell of his ear.
“Look at you,” Zack murmured, the words a dark caress. “So fucking obedient for me.” He placed his hand flat against Aiden’s shoulder blades, pressing down, forcing Aiden’s chest lower, widening the spread of his legs. “When was the last time? Huh? When was the last time you let anyone have you like this?”
Aiden’s only response was a shuddering exhale, the mist of his breath condensing on the metal railing.
Zack's other hand came to rest on Aiden's ass, a proprietary, possessive touch. He squeezed, the flesh yielding under his grip. “This is what's going to happen while I'm gone,” he continued, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. “You're going to take care of her. You're going to hold her, and fuck her, and give her all that gentle, nurturing shit she craves. You'll be her Daddy.”
He paused, letting the title hang in the air, a stark contrast to the scene unfolding. His fingers dipped into the cleft of Aiden'sass, finding the tight, furled entrance there. Aiden jerked, a reflexive motion, a quiet groan escaping his lips.
“But every night,” Zack whispered, pressing the pad of his finger against that resistant ring of muscle, “you're going to remember this. You're going to remember who you belong to. You're going to remember that I'm the one who takes what I want. From both of you.”
He brought his other hand up, slicking two fingers with the spit and precum still shining on his own cock. Without further warning, he pushed one finger inside Aiden, a slow, relentless intrusion that breached the tight ring of muscle. Aiden's breath hitched, a harsh, guttural sound. His knuckles on the balcony railing were white, the only sign of the strain.
“Fuck, Zack,” Aiden bit out, the words strained.
“Quiet,” Zack commanded, working his finger deeper, scissoring it, stretching the tight passage. “You wanted this. You wanted to taste her on me. Now you’re going to feel what I feel when I’m inside her.”
He added a second finger, the burn a sharp, exquisite ache that made Aiden’s vision swim. The city below became a blur of abstract shapes and colors, the sounds of traffic a distant hum. All he could focus on was the relentless pressure inside him, the possession in Zack’s voice, the heady mix of pleasure and pain that was short-circuiting his brain. This wasn’t the gentle exploring touch he offered Sophie. This was a claim. A brutal, undeniable mark of ownership.
Zack found that spot, the bundle of nerves that sent electric shocks ricocheting up Aiden’s spine. Aiden choked back a cry, his hips bucking back involuntarily, seeking more.
“That’s it,” Zack growled. “Take it. Take what I give you.” He curled his fingers, rubbing relentlessly against that sensitive place, reducing Aiden to a trembling, helpless mess. His bodywas no longer his own; it was an instrument, and Zack was the master musician, playing him with expert, merciless precision.
Zack watched his fingers disappear into him, again and again, the sight a visceral confirmation of his control. His body fought it, a tight, hot clench around his invasion, but it was a losing battle. Zack could feel the precise moment Aiden surrendered, the subtle give of muscle, the deep shudder that ran through his entire frame. That surrender was the drug he craved. From Sophie, it was a beautiful, blooming flower. From Aiden, it was a goddamn earthquake. The shattering of something ancient and unbreakable, leaving only the truth of what he was: his.
Zack's cock was a heavy, aching presence, demanding its turn. But he held back, drawing out the anticipation. Zack wanted him to feel the loss as he slowly withdrew his fingers, leaving him empty and wanting.
“You want more?” Zack murmured, his voice a low taunt. He slicked himself with a mix of spit and precum, his grip tight. The head of his cock, dark and engorged, nudged against Aiden’s loosened entrance. “Tell me how much you want it.”
Aiden’s reply was a ragged exhale. He didn’t have the words. He didn’t need them. His body was speaking for him; the slight backward tilt of his hips was an invitation that was both desperate and defiant.
“Good,” Zack breathed, and pressed inside.
The breach was a slow, exquisite torture. The tight, searing heat of him was a stark, violent pleasure that made Zacks's own vision go white for a second. He watched, transfixed, as his cock sank into him, inch by inexorable inch, claiming the space he had just made. There was nothing gentle about this.
Aiden’s back arched, a beautiful, pained curve, as Zack bottomed out, his hips flush against his ass. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting Aiden adjust to the intrusion, to the sheer, overwhelming reality of it.
“Fuck,” Zack ground out, the word a guttural rumble from deep in his chest. “Look at you. Fucking split open on my cock.”
Zack set a punishing rhythm. Hard, deep strokes that pushed him forward against the glass, the force of my movements making the metal creak in protest. Each thrust was a punctuation mark in the unspoken sentence Zack was writing on Aiden’s body.Mine. Mine. Mine.
“Tell me,” Zack commanded, his voice rough with exertion. His fingers dug into the flesh of Aiden’s hips, holding him in place, using him for his own pleasure. “Tell me what you're thinking about.”
