She didn’t hesitate, but lifted from her knees in one smooth motion. She lowered her body over Elliot, heat and wetness encasing him as she crashed down over him in one heavy thrust. She moaned as she began to grind, riding him for her pleasure, using him like he was nothing more than one of her toys stuffed into her bedside drawer back in London.
He cupped her hips, helping to drive her toward that release, knowing she’d been on the edge of it since that morning when everything had changed. Her breath grew short, her movements grew more erratic and her legs shook as she rode him harder and faster.
And she was pulling him right along with her, every thrust sending building pleasure up his length and making him want to fill her to brim with his release.
Peter pushed from the chair and moved toward them. He leaned over from behind the couch and kissed Merritt. She made a muffled moan against his lips and tongue as she flexed even harder.
As Peter pulled away he gripped Elliot’s hair, tugging his head back to force him to look at him. “Don’t you come, my lord,” he growled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Elliot nearly broke that order immediately when Peter dropped his mouth down and kissed him, thrusting his tongue like it was a cock, sucking him like Merritt had a few moments before. Peter released him roughly and stayed exactly where he was as Merritt came apart around Elliot.
She threw her head back as her broken, ragged cries filled the air. The flex of her was maddening, streaking pleasure through his entire body, taunting him with the edge of his own release. And it took every fraction of control he had ever exerted in his life to keep from doing exactly what he had been told not to.
When she flopped forward, her gasping breaths hot against Elliot’s lips, Peter moved around the settee. He caught her elbows and gently helped her to her feet. Elliot groaned as her warm, still-twitching body was removed from his hard cock. Peter guided her to the chair where he’d been watching and helped her get situated.
And then he turned on Elliot. And there was no denying what was about to happen. Peter moved to him in a few long steps and then dropped to his knees before him in the same place Merritt had been.
“She made a mess of you, didn’t she?” Peter asked, arching a brow in Elliot’s direction as he dragged a fingertip along the backside of Elliot’s cock, through the wet result of Merritt’s orgasm.
“Yes,” Elliot gasped in a garbled tone. “Yes.”
“Then let me clean you up,” Peter whispered before he dropped his head down and stroked the flat of his tongue against Elliot’s cock.
Elliot twisted at the powerful sensation of this man’s mouth closing over his sensitive cock. Peter had no hesitation—he just took him all the way to the back of his throat, then back until Elliot nearly came free of his lips. But he never released him, just repeated the action over and over.
Elliot lifted into him, matching his rhythm, stars exploding before his eyes as Peter gagged on him and sucked him. Elliot threaded his fingers into the other man’s hair, hands shaking as he guided him into a harder, faster rhythm. Peter met it, rocking his own hips as if this excited him.
Elliot was drowning in a haze of sensation and he turned his head, finding Merritt. She was flopped back on the chair, watching them, her hand moving wildly between her legs as her gasping moans merged with theirs. Their eyes met and she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes.”
She was urging him on, the refrain fading but her eyes continuing it on. He felt the orgasm he had held back while she fucked him rising back up, more powerful than ever, a wave that could tear him to pieces and he would revel in every one.
“Come!” Merritt shouted, and Elliot looked down. Peter was watching him as he mouth-fucked him, and nodded ever so slightly. Permission granted by this man who had somehow become the master of his pleasure.
Elliot gripped Peter’s hair with both hands, arching into him as he roared out his name and poured into his throat. Peter took every single drop, drinking him down like he was the finest wine and only letting his cock loose from his lips when Elliot was fully spent and twitching.
Peter rose to his feet and reached for Merritt without even looking at her. She moved toward him, leaning up to kiss him.
“You taste like Elliot,” she whispered, and looked down at the shell of what was left of him.
“And you,” Peter corrected. “Now sit on his lap and open your legs.”
She turned her back to Elliot and sank down on his lap. His poor cock was too depleted to respond, even though the feeling of her grinding into his lap was absolute bliss. He caught her thighs, draping her legs on the outside of his own, stretching her open for the man who leaned over her and pressed his thick cock into the remaining wetness that Elliot had created earlier.
She whimpered, and Peter caught the sound on his tongue as he began to ravish her willing body. He kissed her again and Merritt wailed against his tongue. She was purely animal now, as lost to sensation and desire as Elliot had been earlier. He reached between their bodies— the bodies of his lovers—and pressed his fingers against her clitoris, urging her toward the edge.
Peter lifted his head and gazed past her, toward Elliot. He leaned in and Elliot met him, driving his tongue into Peter’s mouth this time, stroking in time to the other man’s long strokes in Merritt’s pussy.
Her orgasm was powerful enough that she lifted off Elliot’s lap, almost levitating with sensation. Peter swore against Elliot’s mouth and grasped her cheek, turning her into their kiss so it was suddenly all three of them and their seeking tongues, their passionate kiss.
Peter grunted and began to move. His release splashed against her stomach, against Elliot’s hand, hot and sticky pleasure. Elliot couldn’t resist. He lifted his wet fingers, sucking them clean of the salty sweet essence as Peter collapsed on the settee beside him with a resounding, “Fuck.”
“I agree,” Merritt said weakly, and slithered next to Elliot on the settee. She cuddled against his chest, her hand resting against his heart.
He couldn’t respond. He was too stripped down to the bone. By pleasure, by this experience, by the recognition that his world had been changed. For the better, yes. But he would never look at himself in the mirror and be able to pretend away this part of him again.
It was freeing. And slightly terrifying. And he had no idea what it would lead to tomorrow, next week or next year.
