“Oh, fuck,” the pretty boy moaned, his hips driving back against his lover.
I didn’t move from where I stood. I had no intention of helping them along. Just having me standing here was more than they deserved.
“You better ask permission before you come. Both of you.”
Those words alone drew long, desperate moans from both of them. I fucking liked that response.
The pretty boy continued to grunt and groan while the cowboy’s hips picked up speed. Having me here was intensifying their need, pushing them closer to release. They continued for several minutes and I was rather impressed. They had decent stamina, something that was required to keep up with me. I could work with that.
Hmm. Perhaps there was something to taking them in pairs. And it was clear these two were already acquainted with one another.
“Oh, fuck,” the pretty boy yelled. “Oh, fuck … Zeke … Fuck. May I come, Zeke?”
Just hearing the plea in his tone made my cock swell.
“No, you may not.”
The pretty boy groaned, his disappointment evident. He was so close. I wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold out, but I was curious to find out.
The cowboy’s fingers dug into the pretty boy’s muscular hips as he drove forward, retreated, slammed forward again and again. I noticed he was bareback, which meant these two were close. Obviously there was a certain level of trust between them. I liked that, too.
The cowboy was enjoying having his dick buried in the pretty boy’s ass if his grunts were any indication.
“Stop!” I bellowed.
The cowboy instantly stopped jerking the pretty boy to him as he filled him one last time.
“Turn and face me. Both of you,” I commanded.
After pulling out of the pretty boy’s ass, the cowboy turned. He stood tall, his legs shaking, those dark green eyes wild.
“Jack off for me. And you do have permission to come. But you’ve only got fifteen seconds to do it.”
They didn’t need fifteen seconds. Their hands had barely wrapped around their own shafts when they exploded. I was tempted to make them lick their jizz up off the floor. Had we been at my house, I would have. After all, humiliation was my specialty.
I didn’t have to remind them they weren’t allowed to look at me. Their eyes remained obediently down on the floor.
“What do you say?” I asked.
They both spoke at once. “Thank you, Zeke.”
It was my turn to swallow hard as I stared at them. I’d gotten to know these two a little in recent weeks. I knew for a fact they could fuck each other ten times a day and they’d never find what they were looking for.
The sex alone would never be enough.
I could only hope they could handle what I had in store for them, because for the first time in my life, I was pretty damn sure I’d found exactly what I needed.
Now we would have to see how long it would last.
ONE
ZEKE
One week later
Friday, October 12
I GRINNED AS I LOWERED the dumbbell, my eyes fixed on the shift of my bicep before I raised the weight again. The sudden disappearance of music caused my ears to ring in the silence, but I didn’t allow it to derail my attention.
“How can you listen to that angry-man music?” a sweet, chipper voice called from across the room. “It’s far too early for so much … noise, Zeke.”
“Noise, my ass.” I chuckled. “The band is Underoath, the song is ‘Rapture.’ And there’s nothing angry about it,” I assured my kid sister when she skipped across the room, a huge grin on her wide mouth.
“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, big brother.” Jamie nodded toward the weight in my hand. “Pretty soon you’ll have to graduate to lifting appliances.”
“Well, I won’t be doing it while listening to Lifehouse, that’s for damn sure.”
Jamie giggled. “I happen to prefer Imagine Dragons, thank you very much.”
Keeping my focus, I finished my set and placed the dumbbell back on the rack. “Why are you bothering me on a Friday morning?”
My sister rolled her big brown eyes, something she’d gotten eerily good at over the years. “Because I show up every Friday morning, goober. You owe me breakfast.”
A deep, rumbling laugh came out of me. “Owe you? Why would I owe you anything?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the little girl. Granted, at six foot even, my twenty-four-year-old sister wasn’t all that little anymore. However, as far as I was concerned, Jamie would always be that sweet kid with the pigtails and worshipful eyes, who insisted on following me around even when I threatened bodily harm. Not that I ever would’ve harmed a hair on that kid’s head, but she hadn’t known that.
“Where’s Tank?” she asked, her gaze scanning the basement that I’d set up as my personal play space. To most people, it appeared to be a home gym, but I was privy to the other toys that discreetly filled the space.
