Page 82 of Filled

Dante laughs, breathless. “I’m fine with that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Floor. All of us. Square. Eli on Dante. Me on Eli. Dakota on me. And Dante’s mouth on Dakota.”

Dakota lifts off my cock with a pop and stares at me.

“You’re agenius. A somewhat evil one, but a genius none the less.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Dante’s living room rug is thick and dark and it takes us all. Dante stretches out on his back. Eli kneels over him on his side, head at Dante’s hips, and I curl in behind Eli, my mouth at his cock, and Dakota lies on her back with her head between my thighs, and Dante—Dante hooks his arms around her thighs and pulls her pussy down onto his mouth like he’s starving for it.

For a second nobody moves. We’re a knot of limbs and cocks and pussy, breathing into each other.

Then Dante’s tongue does something to Dakota that makes her whimper around my cock, and the whole square detonates.

I take Eli to the root. He groans, deep, around Dante. Dante hums into Dakota. Dakota moans around me. The vibration travels the whole circle and slingshots back. Every motion any one of us makes ripples through all four.

I have never, in my entire life, felt anything like this. The rightness of it. One of us is missing. Four of us here.

I pull off Eli just enough to gasp.

“Once Brady’s in,” I pant, “we’re doing this every fucking week. Five of us. Giving and taking. All at once.”

Eli moans low, agreement and arousal both. Dakota hums heryes. Dante’s hand thumps the rug twice in what I’m reading asamen.

I take Eli back into my mouth.

We work. I work until my jaw aches, until Dakota’s thighs are shaking around Dante’s head, until Eli’s whole body has gone tight as a wire about to snap. He’s making sounds I’ve never imagined could be drawn from him—small broken things, half-syllables,pleaseandCruzandChristandDanteall running together.

He pulls off Dante suddenly, gasping.

“Wait. Wait.”

We all stop. Dante’s the first to lift his head, mouth wet and shining.

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna come if you don’t—” Eli’s chest is heaving. He turns his head, looks at me. His mouth is swollen. His eyes are wild. “Cruz.”

“Yeah, Daddy.”

“I want to.” He looks down at himself, at me, at the small space between us. “Can we. I saw in—” His face goes red. “Frot. With me.”

My brain stops.

“You want to frot with me.”

“I saw it in porn.” It comes out almost defiant, like he’s daring any of us to laugh. “I want to feel you against me. I want…” His throat bobs. “I want to come on your cock.”

“Fuck.” I sit up so fast I almost knock Dakota over. “Yes. Fuck yes, Daddy, come here. Come here and get that cock on mine.”

He scrambles. I have never seen Coach scramble for anything in his life, and watching it now I think I might come before he even touches me. I shove Dante’s coffee table six inches with my foot to make room. Lie back on the rug.

Eli straddles me. Knees on either side of my hips. His cock dark and dripping, mine the same. He grips both of us in one of those gorgeous careful hands, looks down at me like he’s about to step off a cliff, and then he slides us together.

I make a noise I don’t recognize.

He moves. Just a tentative roll of his hips at first. Then again. Then he gets it, the rhythm, and his eyes flutter shut and his hand tightens and he starts to grind.