“I’m great, why?”
August stroked his hair, and Ryker shuddered at the feeling of August’s fingertips scratching behind his ear.
“You fought some pretty tough fights today.”
Ryker shook his head and leaned into August’s touch. The fights had been tough in the sense that they required him to give it his all, but they had been clean, respectful and borderline friendly. He’d had to prove himself, but he’d done so to a very receptive audience.
“I’m still riding the adrenaline high a little, and my wolf is feeling pretty good, but I’m fine. I’m less affected than I usually get on the full moon.”
That seemed to be the right thing to say. August relaxed, leaning in for another kiss.
“How about you?” Ryker asked, leaning back and suddenly wondering if August had been projecting.
“I’m fine, too,” August said. “It was pretty friendly, and my wolf isn’t too riled up. It likes our new pack.”
“Good.”
A second later, Steve came barging back into the room, his boots making a racket on the hardwood floor, his erect and dripping cock leading the way as he rushed over to the couch and struck a pose in front of Ryker to be inspected.
Ryker shifted gears from his rather serious conversation with August and grinned at his newest mate.
When Steve had said riding boots, Ryker had assumed he meant the kind you used when horseback riding, but Steve had obviously been talking about motorcycle riding. The boots were black with red details, the leather covered in sections of armored plastic that would protect his feet and ankles if he were to get in an accident, the bulky shaft coming halfway up to his knee.
They were the kind of boots you wore with a matching motorcycle suit.
“Are these okay?” Steve asked, putting one foot up on the coffee table and angling his boot toward the couch. The move showed off his powerful thigh and did more to draw attention to his massive cock than to the boot planted on the table.
“Dylan?” Ryker asked, letting go of Dylan’s head and letting him turn around to look. He was the one who’d requested boots, so Ryker figured he’d let him be the one to pass judgment.
Dylan gasped, his mouth going slack with shock as he came face to face with Steve’s manhood. He didn’t even seem to notice Steve’s foot or the boot he was showing off, his whole attention focused on what was between Steve’s legs.
“The boot, Dylan,” Ryker prompted, leaning down and giving Dylan’s neck a squeeze. He steered his head so that he turned toward Steve’s foot.
“Oh, it’s a motorcycle boot,” Dylan said, sounding surprised but pleased. He licked his lips and tilted his head. “Those aren’t the ones you use when you ride your bike in Fort Plainslac, right?”
Steve shook his head, taking his foot off the table and taking a seat. He put one foot up on the coffee table and fondled the tip of his cock, moving the foreskin down and exposing the mushroom shaped head.
“They’re not,” he agreed, tracing his piss-slit with the pad of his thumb. The movement had Dylan captivated, his pupils huge as he watched Steve’s fingers moving his foreskin up and down. “Those are Alpinestars and these are Dainese. Why, did you like those better?”
Steve let go of his cock and let it flop back against his stomach, lifting his arms and putting his hands behind his head. He planted the foot he didn’t have on the coffee table on the floor, angling it toward Dylan and positioning it so that he could drape himself over it and start rutting against the leather whenever he chose.
Dylan looked down and shook his head. “No, I just noticed that they were different.” He glanced up through his lashes, biting his lip and staring at Steve’s cock like he was trying to figure out how he could get his mouth on it.
“How is your throat feeling?” Ryker asked, stroking Dylan’s hair and nuzzling his nose against the boy’s cheek. “Do you want to give Steve a blowjob while you hump his leg?”
Ryker was getting the impression that Dylan had lost interest in Steve’s boot, his attention focused entirely on the young alpha’s cock, but Ryker still wanted to see him ride it.
“Yes, please,” Dylan said, shuffling on his knees to get closer to Steve. Ryker grabbed him by the hair and stopped him with a gentle tug.
“That’s not how puppies talk,” he said, keeping his fist tightly fisted in Dylan’s hair and applying a steady pull on his scalp. “Is it?”
“No?” Dylan said, drawing the word out and turning it into a question.
“Show me how puppies talk, Dylan.”
“Woof?”
August snorted out a laugh next to them, and Dylan went instantly red. He closed his eyes, cringing and looking humiliated, but the bulge in his sweatpants twitched, and when Ryker gave his head a little shake, he moaned.
