I was drowning in sensation, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. My neglected cock slapped against my stomach with each of Troy’s thrusts, pre-cum smearing my skin.
“Close.” Troy’s rhythm faltered as his orgasm approached. “Fuck, Rhett, I’m going to come inside you. Fill you up. Mark you.”
The words sent a jolt of pleasure through me, almost making me come untouched. “Please,” I begged. “Want to feel your cum in me.”
Aimee’s thighs began to shake around my head, her inner walls clenching around my fingers as she approached her second orgasm. “I’m close too.” Her thighs trembled. “Don’t stop, Rhett. Please don’t stop.”
Troy reached around my hip, wrapping around my aching cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. The stimulation was almost too much, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as pleasure built to an unbearable peak.
“Come for us.” Troy’s voice was rough, strained. “Both of you. Now.”
My body was programmed to obey him. I felt Aimee shatter first, her back arching, a broken cry tearing from her throat as she ground against my hand, riding out her orgasm. Troy’s hand around my cock and his thick length pounding my prostate—it was too much. My orgasm hit with the force of a freight train, cum spurting across the sheets as my body convulsed with pleasure so intense I might black out.
Troy kept thrusting as my hole milked his cock, tightening around his length, and then he ground in deep, a hoarse shout escaping him as his cock pulsed inside me. He gripped my hips and let out a choked sound of pleasure as he came. I could feel it—the hot splash of his release painting my insides, marking me as his in the most primal way.
We stayed frozen in that position, all three of us trembling with aftershocks, joined together in the most intimate, vulnerable way possible. Then, Troy eased out of me, making me wince at the sudden emptiness. My arms gave out, and I withdrew my hand from Aimee and collapsed onto the bed beside her, breathing hard. Aimee slid down beside me, brushing my sweat-damp hair from my forehead. Troy settled on my other side, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath.
“Holy shit,” I managed after a moment, my voice raw. “That was... fuck.”
Aimee laughed, kissing my shoulder. “Eloquent as always.”
“Hey,” I protested weakly. “Try forming sentences after having your brains fucked out.”
Troy chuckled, his arm draping across my back, hand finding Aimee’s hip on my other side. “So,” he said, a hint of cockiness in his voice. “Did that deactivate slut mode, or do we need to go again?”
I groaned, burying my face in Aimee’s stomach. “Might have to wait a few minutes to be sure. Wouldn’t want to accidentally restart it.”
“Insatiable,” Aimee teased, but she was already tracing patterns down my spine, sending pleasant shivers through my oversensitive body.
I rolled onto my side, facing her, Troy’s arm still draped over me. “Congratulations on the promotion, Lieutenant Matthews.” A smile tugged at my lips despite my exhaustion. “I might be a bottom boy slut for authority figures.”
Troy laughed, kissing the back of my neck. “Just figuring that out now?”
“Better late than never,” I said, reaching back to squeeze his hip affectionately. “Now that I’ve had one inside me.”
Chapter 19
Aimee
Threehoursintomyfirst day alone in Troy and Rhett’s loft and I was already climbing the walls, my fingers drumming restless patterns on the kitchen counter as I stared at the closed door. It had been nearly two weeks since the snake incident, and between Troy’s transition to Station 12 and a few personal days, at least one of them had always been home. This was the first time they’d had to leave me alone. I’d assured them I was completely fine, more out of guilt than anything. Rhett hadn’t been able to find someone to cover his shift, and Troy couldn’t miss training at his new station. They’d uprooted their lives enough for me, and I was fine without them just for a day. Besides, I was in their locked apartment. What could go wrong?
I hadn't even heard from the stalker since the snake thing. Maybe he'd given up.
Desperate for something to do with my hands, I picked up my phone, scrolling through my camera roll before selecting some old b-roll footage from a previous podcast recording session. With a few taps, I uploaded it to my Instagram, adding a little teaser in the caption for the upcoming episode. One I still needed to finish recording. “At least pretend you’re working.” I pushed away from the counter and reached for my laptop, frowning down at a small yellow Post-it note stuck to the back of it.
You can’t let this asshole silence your voice. Troy’s neat handwriting slashed across the note, framed by one of Rhett’s little cartoons, this one of me with a superhero cape on. Smiling, I grabbed my recording equipment and headed for Rhett’s closet—my makeshift studio where the clothes dampened the echo and the kittens couldn’t interrupt.
I settled into the chair I’d dragged in, balancing my laptop on the small table and setting up my microphone. Three listener emails to respond to—I could manage that. The thought gave me a surge of confidence as I plugged in my headphones.
“Welcome back to The Aimee Position.” I slipped into my podcast persona like a comfortable sweater. “Today we’re answering some listener questions about—”
Nothing. My voice wasn’t registering. I checked the connections on the back of the microphone, and that’s when I saw it—tiny tooth marks on my microphone cord, the wires exposed where someone had gnawed through the plastic.
“Goddamnit, Cheeto!” I tossed my headphones onto the table. An orange blur darted between the hanging clothes, purring as he rubbed against my ankles. “Don’t play cute with me, you little monster. This is a hundred-dollar cable.”
Cheeto blinked up at me with those big green eyes, completely unrepentant.
“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” I said, scooping him up and pressing my face into his soft fur. He squirmed and I set him down, watching as he bounded out of the closet, probably to find more expensive electronics to destroy.
