There’s a question that I don’t know will ever be spoken between us. One that can’t be peeled away once it is. Even in the silence between us, the question is screaming.
Tomorrow, I can blame it on the tequila, but as his chest heaves and he brushes his wife’s hair away from her face, I find myself acting on instinct to peel off my rubber and slide my cock against Tripp’s.
We each suck in a sharp breath in unison as our tips glide past each other, and I throw a quick, questioning glance in Julia’s direction. She offers a surprised nod as her hand moves between us to wrap around our joined cocks.
I don’t give myself a half second to doubt it before I dive into Tripp’s mouth with my own, groaning as his tongue welcomes mine. With one hand braced on the pillow beneath him and the other resting at his hip, I grind against him, swallowing his whines as Julia tightens her grip on us.
Breaking from our kiss, Tripp reaches for Julia, taking her by the back of the head as he pulls her toward him. Both of us let out a moan as his cock glides against mine, wrapped firmly in his wife’s grip.
“Fuck, baby,” he pants against her mouth.
I can’t be entirely sure which one of us it is that he’s saying that to.
My lips meet the skin of his neck, where his pulse pounds beneath layers of chaotic and distorted ink reminiscent of the typography I’ve seen on the covers of death metal albums. He’s never told me if it’s all just a mess of senseless lines or if it makes out any actual words.
I doubt he ever will.
“Come for us,” I tell him, choking on a moan as my body tenses. “Come on, Riptide.”
Letting my lips explore the skin of his chest, they litter kisses leading up the length of his neck. As he breaks from the kiss with his wife to press his head into the pillow beneath him, I move to take her mouth with mine.
Tripp’s hand tangles firmly in my hair to hold me in place, my tongue sliding into his wife’s mouth. A strangled groan forces itself from his throat as his cock pulses against mine, and the sound of my best friend coming is enough to send me flying right over the edge with him.
I part from my kiss with Julia, pressing my forehead against hers as I pant through my orgasm and my cum spills onto Tripp’s stomach to join his own.
Stunned silence fills the room as the three of us breathe together, none of us sure what exactly it is that just happened between us.
I quickly reach for the box of tissues on the bedside table to my left, pulling too many tissues from it before balling them in my hand and bringing them to Tripp’s stomach.
“Let me—”
“I got it,” he insists, his hand enveloping mine before he snatches the wad of tissue from me.
His hold on me lingers for a few moments too long, his eyes holding mine before snapping down toward his stomach as he wipes himself clean.
Jules is perched next to him, her expression unreadable. Her ankles cross over one another, her thighs pinching together as if hiding some sudden shame at the realization of what just happened between us.
Unwittingly, I scan each of our naked bodies, sweat-covered and worn, and my chest heaves with a hard exhale before I push myself off of the mattress and reach for my underwear to slide my legs back into them.
“Where are you going?” Jules asks me.
Tripp still won’t look at me. Maybe he can’t.
“To bed,” I answer too curtly to be making a casual statement. With a quick glance over my shoulder as I cross the room, I pull my lips into a tight smile. “Night.”
My hand moves to shield my eyes from the harsh rays of the morning sun as I step through the sliding glass door which leads to the balcony of our hotel room.
Shaking the bottle of ready-to-drink coffee in my hand, I crack open the lid and pull a sip from it, grimacing at its artificial hazelnut flavor. Tripp scoffs with a shake of his head as he slips a cigarette between his lips, bracing his forearms against the balcony railing as he lights it.
“Are we gonna talk about last night,” I wonder out loud as I rest against the wall to his right, “or…?”
“We were drunk, and I still hate you,” he grumbles. “No conversation necessary.”
“We weren’t that drunk,” I argue, “and I’m not so sure that youdohate me.”
His brow quirks, his head angling just slightly in my direction, though his eyes stay glued to the building ahead of him as he pulls in a drag from his cigarette.
“You could have killed me for what I did to you. You could have made me sleep outside when you saw me in the room,” I tell him. “I know what it looks like when you hate someone, Tripp, and you don’t hate me. You might want to, but you don’t. I don’t think youcan.”
