The thought buzzed hot through Kit’s entire body as he tasted Darius. Another time sounded good, training and practicing under Darius’s steady guidance. Not today, though, because just taking part of Darius needed too much concentration once James pushed his first wet finger into Kit’s ass.
“How are you still so fucking tight, pretty boy?” James pumped in slow but deep, nearly withdrawing his finger every time before pushing back in with a filthy sound. “How much would we have to fuck you to loosen you up?”
Kit would love to find out, but his only answer was a sharp groan around Darius’s cock. Any thought of making a performance of it fled his mind with James’s second finger. Allhe could do was pant through his nose, hand working and mouth wide open, as Darius guided him by the hair.
Judging from Darius’s quickening breath, the barely restrained jerks up into Kit’s mouth, Darius didn’t mind the mess. If he minded James’s constant, filthy narration, he didn’t say anything about that either.
Holden remained silent, but Kit was hyperaware of the attention tracing every bead of sweat on his bare body.
“I’m close,” Darius grunted out, when Kit’s jaw ached. “Tap if you don’t want to swallow.”
Kit’s hands stilled for fear of making any movement that could be mistaken for a tap. His cheeks hollowed out as Darius dragged him deeper, and the hot, heavy length pulsed between his lips.
Darius shuddered. His wordless groan rocked deep through Kit’s body, so satisfying that the cum flooding Kit’s mouth was almost sweet. Kit swallowed down, chasing every drop he could reach, until Darius pulled him up.
“That’s a good boy,” Darius murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Roll over, now.”
Countless strong hands pushed him around, each one bruising so beautifully into Kit’s soul. He ended up on his back, James kneeling between his thighs. Still mostly dressed, his button-down shirt rumpled, sleeves shoved to his elbows.
James bent forward, covering Kit in a deep, cum-stained kiss. Then he pressed Kit’s wrists to the cushion above his head. “Hold them there for me.”
Kit squirmed. Nodded. Fuck, James knew exactly what he wanted. What he needed. He concentrated on keeping his hands in place as James hiked his hips up and brought them into alignment.
James slid into Kit with one slow thrust. Kit gasped, breathless, like there wasn’t enough room for his lungs. He hoped he never got used to this overwhelming pressure. Devotion burned in James’s dark eyes.
When James moved, Kit’s hands flew up of their own volition. He slammed them back with difficulty, clinging to the order. Then movement across the room drew his dazed attention. Darius sat in the armchair, watchful and only barely disheveled.
And Holden was a golden shadow standing above Kit. Then kneeling beside him. Without a single glance at James, Holden gently pinned Kit’s hands to the cushion.
“This is how we’re supposed to start, right?” Holden said, his voice rough. “Holding hands?”
“Real fucking romantic,” James said, and hiked Kit’s hips higher.
Kit didn’t even try to answer. He just whimpered on James’s next thrust—and squeezed Holden’s hands. Each rough fuck collided with the tenderness, a feedback loop of building shocks.
Maybe Darius was right about patterns. Momentum. These men and Kit were meant to be together, and this was how they were supposed to start.
42
Kit was greedy.
“Thanks so much,” Kit said, jumping out of the car. “I’ll be back in like… fifteen minutes. Maybe.”
In the passenger seat, Carla’s expression was difficult to read behind her pink-rimmed sunglasses. Maybe a bit frazzled. “Take your time.”
Sparkly gift bag in tow, Kit ambled up to Bishop’s front door. He refused to be nervous about this conversation. This was normal, and Kit had the right to speak his mind.
Except as he pressed the doorbell, it occurred to Kit that Bishop might not be home. Which meant Kit would have to steel his nerve all over again some other day. Maybe he should have warned Bishop he was coming over. Taking Bishop by surprise had seemed smart at first. Don’t give him time to prepare. But if he wasn’t home—
The door swung open, revealing Bishop’s tousled hair and wary eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Never better.” Kit grinned. “I drove here with Carla. First time driving myself outside James’s neighborhood.”
“How’s Carla’s blood pressure?” Bishop stepped back so Kit could enter. “And James’s? I’m surprised he let you out of his sight.”
Carla had spent the entire ride stomping on the floor, as if there was a second set of brakes on the passenger side.
“Carla’s fine, and James didn’t let me out of his sight. He followed us in another car.”
