Page 24 of All That History
I would’ve killed to know what Flynn thought, in that moment.
No way to ask, though; at least, not within the rules of whatever game this was.However this had been negotiated between them, and my role in it that of latecomer and foil.
“Fuck, you’re leaking.”William sounded delighted, his voice thick.Tongue rasping across the smooth cotton.
I’d thought it would be a mood-killer, realizing it was Flynn there, watching.Only my cock was as hard as I could ever remember it being.William lapping eagerly through my underwear.
I held my breath, as his fingers dug under the waistband and dragged it down.Wondering, too, what Flynn was looking at now, where his attentions landed: the familiarity of the man he was in a relationship with, on his knees preparing to suck a stranger; or, the body of someone who was meant to be a complete unknown, only who turned out to be far from that.
My brain may have been conflicted, but apparently I wasn’t thinking with that organ any more.
Hard and thick, slapping against William’s cheek.Already leaving a gooey trail across his skin, as he tilted his head to capture me between his lips.
For a split-second I thought my legs would buckle, as he plunged his mouth onto me.
No preamble, no teasing: just the full, hot, wet sleeve of him around me, and his fingers squeezing my legs fit to bruise.Only pulling off reluctantly, it felt like; gasping even as his mouth quirked into a contended smirk.
He stared at his spit-slicked handiwork.“Fuck, I knew it’d taste good.”William brushed his half-closed lips against me.
I glanced across, to the person I was meant to ignore.Almost fearful of what I might see, of the fury that might be visible.Only, while Flynn’s eyes were narrowed, it looked like it was with lust not rage.
The clear erection, outlined through his sweatpants, was the other giveaway.
No mistaking how hard he was, straining against the gray fabric.Jutting straight up from his lap; I knew instantly that he wasn’t wearing underwear.And yet his hands were still loosely gripping the arms of the chair, making no move to touch himself.
It was a mystery, but one I lost the ability to focus on when William bobbed down onto me again.
The kiss had been good, but the blow job was even better.Loud, and sloppy, and eager: no way to confuse whether he was into it, was enjoying himself.Hands urgent upon me, as though he wanted to map out my flesh without sight.
My hand found the back of his head without my even meaning to.Fingers pushing through his hair, easing it out of the elastic band holding it back; twisting through its soft strands, then gripping tight.A fist with which to yank him in close, until I felt his lips pressed against me.
He gurgled, happily, when I tugged him free again.Spit glazing his chin, eyes wide as he stared up at me.“You like fucking my throat?”
I nodded, panting.
“Say it.”
My own throat felt thick; it was hard to swallow.For a moment, I worried that my voice would crack.Brittle, like a teenage boy’s.
“Yeah.”It was more a breath than a word.
“Yeah, what?”William’s expression was intent, fascinated.
“Yeah, I like fucking your throat,” I told him, obediently.
He pulled against my hand, just once, but it was enough for me to get the message.Hugging him to me again, as my head tipped back and I savored the incredible, massaging friction.
I was going to fuck Flynn’s boyfriend, on their bed, while he watched me do it.The knowledge of that - and the knowledge that Flynn himself knew it just as much as I did - was more dizzying than anything else.
William was pulling at his shorts, sitting splay-legged at my feet.Not letting up on me, though; efforts redoubling, even.
I shoved him back, suddenly fearful of too much pleasure, too soon.
William’s shoulders hit the edge of the bed, his grin spit-slicked and wide.“More?”
I nodded.Watching him push himself up, then tug his shirt off.Body lithe and compact, making me wonder what he looked like sandwiched under Flynn’s larger, wider form.How they decided when they’d fuck together, and when one would be relegated to the chair in the corner, destined only to observe as a stranger got off.
Well, the voice in my brain whispered, not quite a stranger.
