Jordan
Wow. Now I’m definitely not hooking up with you in Thomas Mulvaney’s theater room.
Cree
Jordan
Well, if you’re that broken up about it, I’ll make out with you or something.
Cree
Arsen is here to get me. See you soon, rock star.
“Harder. Fuck.”
“You’re the one in charge, Freckles. You want it harder, take it,” Jericho groaned, gripping Atticus’s hips as he dropped back down on his hard length.
Atticus sucked in a breath as Jericho thrust up as he crashed down, driving him impossibly deep. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Wish we were in bed right now.”
“You were born to ride me. I can’t believe you thought you were straight when you beg this hard for my cock.”
Heat lanced through him. “Like you could have handled the idea of me having been with other men before you. You want to kill Kendra andshe’snever been inside me,” Atticus panted, leaning his weight against his husband, thighs burning from the exertion of working himself on him, the feeling of fullness making him crazy.
This was the real reason he never skipped leg day.
“I can’t help that I’m a jealous guy, Freckles. I knew you were mine from day one. I knew you were made for me.Your body is so shaped to my cock no other man could ever make you happy.”
Atticus bit back a whine as Jericho’s blunt nails dug into his flesh. He bit his lip, keeping his gaze glued to the reflection in the rearview mirror even as he corkscrewed his hips. He bit back a smile as Jericho’s breath stuttered. His husband’s filthy mouth was lethal but seeing how wrecked he looked just being inside him made him feel powerful.
They were being completely reckless. And stupid. They could be caught at any moment. They could already be caught. There were at least four cameras trained on them right now, likely being monitored by a staff of well trained security guards who weren’t getting paid enough to watch him get railed by his husband in the backseat of his Bronco.
Yet there they were.
Atticus didn’t care about the guards. He didn’t even care that any one of his brothers could take it upon themselves to park in their father’s garage any minute now, especially in the inclement weather raging outside. All it would take was just one of them opting for the warmth of the garage over the cold of the circular drive and Atticus would never live this down.
That should upset him. It really should. The thought of his family finding him in Jericho’s lap, his jeans and underwear cutting into his thighs, his husband’s cock buried in his ass. But really it just turned him on. Was that wrong? Probably. He found he cared less and less the older he got.
He leaned his weight back on Jericho’s chest and his hands slid under Atticus’s shirt to cup his chest, his pantingbreaths hot against his ear. “The others are gonna be here soon, Freckles. Any minute now, someone's gonna drive in here and see you getting bred in the backseat like a two dollar whore.” Atticus made a pathetic sound. “You love that don’t you. Love the idea of them all knowing how much you love my cock.”
Atticus’s breath punched from him as fire licked through his core, that coil tightening. “If you don’t want us getting caught, then maybe you should come already?” he managed.
He meant it to sound taunting but it came out as desperate as he felt. He was only waiting on Jericho. Atticus’s cock slapped his stomach every time he dropped down onto his husband, flushed and throbbing painfully from neglect. But he was way too keyed up. The second he touched himself, it would be over. For him, anyway. Jericho would likely throw him down—or worse, put him on all fours—and fuck him full no matter how overstimulated he was. He loved making him cry, loved listening to him whine and beg.
“Maybe you should make me?”
“Are you implying this isn’t doing it for you?” he panted, speeding up despite his burning thighs.
“Oh, it’s doing it for me. But I can feel you getting tired.”
“This is a lot of work,” Atticus grumbled.
“My poor pillow princess, having to work for it for a change. Want me to take over?”
He was too horny to protest. “Yes.”
“Then say it,” Jericho taunted against his ear.
Atticus was too sex drunk to know what Jericho was asking. “Say what?”
