The guitarist had his eyes closed. His chest was heaving, dick still throbbing. Marc looked at him in utter disbelief, admiring the beautiful image of his lean, defined body struggling to catch a breath while Vi planted soft kisses all over his shoulder and neck.
“Fuck,” Chris said, his voice hoarse.
She propped on an elbow and purred while caressing his abdomen. “You good?”
“Mm-hmm.” He inhaled deeply. “More than good. But I think my friend here needs a hand. Why don’t you deep-throat him like the little slut that you are?” He grazed her bottom lip with his thumb before looking over at Marc with a cheeky grin.
His hard dick was poking Chris’s thigh.
Did Marc just feel embarrassed, like a teenager after his first involuntary nocturnal ejaculation? He did.
“You don’t need to.” He rolled on his back. “I came a few minutes ago. I’m fine.”
“But I want to,” she said with a pout, making both men chuckle.
“Dude, stop fighting everything and enjoy the moment,” Chris coaxed, crowding Vi as he stretched to grab a condom from the box they’d left on the corner of the couch. “Here, sweetheart.”
Exhaling loud and long when the woman crawled over and between his legs, Marc let her work her magic on him. After tuning him a little with her hand, she sheathed his cock and, without any hesitation, she went down on him.
“Look at you, all horny and sweaty, like a dirty whore.” Perched on an elbow, Chris smirked while running a finger up and down her spine. “How many dicks have you sucked to be so good, huh?”
Vi moaned around Marc’s girth.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing the mound of his hands into his eyes, shuddering.
With the taste of Chris still teasing his tongue, his warmth all over him, and this woman swallowing his cock as if he were her last meal before being sent to death row, Marc was barely keeping himself together.
“Take him deeper, or do you not want him to come?” Chris growled, fisting her hair and pushing her down. “That’s better.”
Then, as if having allowed the bassist to go down on him hadn’t been unexpected enough, he raised the bar. Letting his hand trail from her head to her neck, her shoulder and arm, the guitarist ended with his palm wrapped around Marc’s cock.
He seemed hesitant at first. Almost as scared as Marc, who was tempted to stop him. Chris wasn’t playing on his home turf and he didn’t want him forcing himself to do this just because he’d given him a blowjob before. But after sloping up and down a few times, his mind and body synchronized.
Oh fuck. Marc let out a throaty moan.
While the quality of sex depended on the expertise of your partner—amongst other things—men definitely had an advantage when it came to hand-jobs. Or perhaps it was this specific man touching him that had him so wound up.
Although Vi was sliding his cock deep between her lips, all Marc could feel was the rough hand of his friend pumping up and down with firm yet fluid motions, marking the rhythm because, of course, he had to stay on top.
Until now, Marc had always needed a little time before a second orgasm could roll through him. Apparently, he’d been wrong. All he had ever needed was Chris. The way his dick had been leaking with precum when he was sucking him, throbbing and aching to be buried and shoot its load inside of him, was no joke.
Peering at him, Marc caught the guitarist gawking at his shaft while clenching his jaw and swallowing. You didn’t have to be a genius to see that a battle was going on in his head, crumbling walls and the artillery protecting him. But there was no doubt he was enjoying this, too. The crossed desires sparking his expression and the way his chest was rising and falling with uneven breaths told as much. And it drove him fucking crazy.
“Harder,” Marc commanded with a grunt.
For a moment there, his eyes locked with Chris’s. There was fear in them, but also lust and yearning.
Time froze as a fluttering warmth bloomed inside of him. His balls thumped on Vi’s palm, and his heart almost burst out through his rib cage. If he had to pick a name for the emotion he was feeling, he would say euphoria. But it was a lot more than that. It was rapture. Pure fucking ecstasy. Chris, the man he’d been secretly in love with for years, was beating him into a frenzy, indulging himself with the reaction and moans he was causing.
“I’m close,” Marc husked, scraping Vi’s scalp with the fingers of one hand while digging the others into his friend’s bicep. “I’m… fuck, fuck—”
His voice died somewhere between his throat and Chris’s when the guitarist gripped the back of his neck and pressed their mouths together.
Neither he nor Vi slowed down, spearing Marc’s body with an orgasm that felt like lightning going through him. Sharp, strong, and electrifying, he lost touch with reality for a minute. Completely blackened.
He wanted to shake off the tingling sensation pinching his muscles, but he couldn’t move. Was trapped under the spell and languid strokes of his friend’s slippery wet tongue against his own. It was soft and warm, and so damn bold.
Marc forcefully took Chris’s jaw in his hand while staring into his eyes. “You’re gonna be the fucking end of me,” he said between gasps.
