The Good Boys Club (Mythical Mishaps #2)

31. Huff and Puff and Blow Your House Down

Huff and Puff and Blow Your House Down

Present Day

Mash

Iclimbed down slowly, letting Cian see exactly where on each part of the oak I’d placed my hands and feet, but the moment my trainers touched the knotty roots at the base I was off, running towards the water.

It was hot for September, but I had just been K-I-S-S-I-N-G a boy in a tree, so things were extra hot. Not only that, but all throughout dinner I’d had to breathe in the scent of him, of us, and it was driving all my instincts—and my knots—wild.

Luckily, the lake was only a few hundred metres away, and I was only wearing a pair of shorts, socks, and trainers, which I pulled off as I ran and left wherever they landed.

The banks of the lake were sandy but short. There wasn’t a proper beach here. You’d wade out to about knee height, and with the next step the water would be over your head. One summer, when Clem and Mika were teenagers, they constructed a wooden jetty with their—at the time—boyfriends. The girls used it to moor boats against, or fish from. Zach and I used it for the most epic cannonballing championships this side of Borderlands.

Without sparing a look over my shoulder to see how far behind Cian was, I built up as much speed as my forty-inch legs could muster, and I threw myself bodily into the lake, tearing up the once-calm surface.

The chill of the September water snatched the air from my lungs whilst simultaneously punching me in the chest and the nuts. Fuck, it felt awful.

And incredible.

It wasn’t just a reminder that I was alive. It was being slapped in the face by a neon sign.

YOU ARE SO FUCKING ALIVE RIGHT NOW! DOESN’T IT FEEL FANTASTIC?!

I swam out about ten, fifteen metres and spun around to watch Cian’s approach.

He was smiling, but he was also walking slowly with his hands on his hips, occasionally stopping to collect my discarded belongings.

Cian said nothing as he came to a stop at the end of the jetty. I half expected him to tell me he wasn’t getting into the water, but he deposited my stuff in a pile and began unlacing his construction-style boots. He pushed them off his feet by stepping on the heels, and placed them to one side, then he took his socks off. He was going to get in the lake and, I realised, also put on a strip show for me. My breathing had almost returned to normal from the shock of the water, but was now hitching again with excitement.

I watched my best friend unbutton his shirt, his eyes on me the entire time. He shucked his shoulders free and discarded it haphazardly—unCianly—on top of his boots. His T-shirt was next. The fabric brushed along his extended obliques as he pulled it over his head, and then his fingers inched towards his belt and his fly. He dropped his jeans and stepped out of them, and there he stood in only his underpants.

When we first met—when we were nineteen—Cian used to hide his body from me so much. He was skinny. Still was kinda skinny, but back then, he thought he was repulsive. If only he knew how often he’d made me question everything. He was beautiful then, and even more so now. I wanted to tell him, but I was too far away to give the words the reverence they deserved and I wasn’t about to shout them.

I also realised he didn’t have his tail or ears. The likelihood of us being spotted was slim, but not non-existent. After all, we were hosting over a hundred wolves who, for two months, were free to roam about Howling Pines as they wished. Hopefully, if we had any visitors, they’d see a couple of guys—the pack successor and his mate—enjoying a quiet moment and leave us in peace.

He still didn’t let his eyes move from mine as he dropped his boxers to the wooden slats. He took his watch off, then his glasses. His face split into a grin as he cupped his junk with one hand and jumped into the water.

“FUCK!” he screamed the second his head breached the surface again. “Holy fucking shit! It’s freezing!”

I swam over to him, wrapped my arms around his torso. Instantly, he went from tense and stiff to putty.

“It wasn’t this cold last time,” he said, his teeth chattering. His skin was all prickled with goosebumps against mine. I kissed him. Couldn’t have stopped myself from kissing him if I’d wanted to.

“Ah, that’s because we were swimming in the shallows on the other side by the beach. It’s always warmer in the shallows. But sometimes you have to take a leap and dive straight into the deep parts.” I pushed away and made him chase me.

Cian was a proficient swimmer—a lot better than me. Mam taught the Cassidy kids to swim right here in this lake, but Cian learned in a pool with a private tutor. He caught up with me all too quickly. I tried to kiss him, but he slipped under my arm and darted off.

“I think my balls are getting frostbite,” Cian said. “I’m only half joking.”

“Okay, let’s get you out and warmed up.”

The jetty still basked in the last of the evening sunlight. I swam over and pulled myself onto it. There was a little rope ladder that hung down one of the posts, but I hadn’t needed to use that thing in decades. Cian followed me out of the lake, and I stared, mesmerised as the water sluiced from his naked body.

“Fuck, it’s colder out here than it was in—” he started to say, but I cut him off, pressing our fronts together, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, dick to dick. I tilted his face up and captured his mouth with mine.

“Listen,” I said, burying my nose in the crook of his neck again. I already missed the smell of us too much to deny inhaling it any longer. “You’re gonna have to tell me what to do. I’ve . . . never done this before.”

Cian arched his head back, giving me better access to his throat. “Oh, gods, does that mean . . . ?”

“That when I said I wanted to suck your cock, I meant it? Yeah, it does. But . . . I need your help. Also . . .” I pushed away from him and held him there at arm’s length. We were both half hard. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He closed the gap again, melding his mouth to mine, and I eased us both down to the sun-warmed wooden planks, Cian on his back as I caged him. I worked my lips and tongue down his body, over his chest, his stomach, and then up his thighs. I scooted down, still lying next to him, until my face was level with his dick. We were both hard now. Cian supported his weight on his elbows so he could watch.

Ugh, fuck, that was so hot. My best friend was going to watch me suck him. My own cock slapped against my stomach, suddenly desperate for attention.

Last night I got to see Cian fuck his own hand, and while it was the single most hottest thing I’d ever witnessed, I hadn’t explored that part of his body yet. I used this opportunity to trace feather-soft fingertips over every inch of him I could reach. I waited and listened for his cues, for the little gasps of air or the knotting of brows, the parting of his lips.

Behind his knees, the very tops of his thighs where they met his pelvis, his taint, and the base of his cock where his knot would swell, all seemed to be his magic spots. The places that made him whine and jerk his hips up, and made me lightheaded with my newfound power. He leaked precum onto his stomach, and I could say with absolute honesty, I had never been more horny and excited in my entire life.

Or more nervous.

I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked up. His eyes fluttered shut, his Adam’s apple bobbed. This moment was so tender and hot, and I really didn’t want to spoil it, but . . .

“Um . . . foreskin . . . What do I do with it?” I had expected it to automatically retract, like a fucking shop door or something, but it was still there. Still covering the entire head with only a tiny circle of crown visible. “Do I pull it back? Or . . .” Suck it as it was? Wouldn’t that be like sucking on a lollypop with the plastic wrapper still on?

Cian lifted his eyes to me. A smile split his features. “Don’t pull it back.” He must have seen the worry on my face. “Not right now, anyway. We need to work up to it. It’s too sensitive at first, but after a while, if your jaw aches or you get bored, it’s a good way to make me come instantly. A great finisher move.”

“Okay,” I said. I could do that. I wrapped my fist around his base again, where his knot would later swell, lifted his cock away from his stomach, and licked the precum from his sheathed head.

“Oh, gods.” Cian tilted his face up to the sky. “Fuck, that’s . . . Holy hell.”

I experimented. Learned the shape of him through my lips and tongue. Licking and kissing. Listening to his jagged breaths and gorgeous little whimpers. Eventually taking him into my mouth and sucking, swallowing him farther, all the way down.

His hands were in my hair, on the deck, back in my hair. He whined and bucked his hips upwards to meet my mouth. My jaw ached, right at the back where my lower teeth connected to my skull, and I kept having to pause and spit on his cock to make it wet again, but I wasn’t ready to bust out the finishing move. I wanted to freeze this moment and live in it forever.

The muscles in his stomach were taught with his restraint, the tendons in his neck flexed, his hair was drying at odd angles, his face ruddied and so fucking beautiful. He watched me, and though I couldn’t look back without breaking my rhythm, I knew he was picture perfect. His knot grew underneath my palm, his breaths became more ragged by the second.

“Mash, Mash, I’m right there . . . Mash, fuck, I’m gonna come . . . Mash, slow down. Where do you want me to come?”

I couldn’t answer him, wouldn’t take my lips off him. My tail swished wildly behind me.

“Fuck, Mash, I’m gonna come . . . Oh, gods . . . Mash? In your mouth?”

I nodded, or at least I thought I nodded. The next second, Cian dropped all the way to the deck, tilted his head up, and cried out. I didn’t know how he liked things to end, so I did what I enjoyed. I slowed right down and softly sucked him until every last drop of his cum was on my tongue, then I extricated myself and swallowed his release.

“That was . . . fucking unreal,” Cian said, eventually lifting himself back onto his elbows.

Finally, I could let my thirsty eyes travel over him, laid out on the deck boards, spent and sated and softening. He looked happy and broken. I did that. I made my best friend fall to pieces. I also just swallowed another man’s cum, and it didn’t taste disgusting. Not great, but not disgusting. We had another six weeks of this. I didn’t try to stop the maniacal grin slipping over my face.

I wanted to carry him—like a swamp monster carrying his bride—back to the house and feed him soup and wash the lake from his hair. But that would give the game away. He’d know how I really felt. You’re holding me back .

“Turns out, I’m great at BJs,” I said instead, lying beside him and pillowing my head under my hands. “I’m the BJ maestro.”

Overhead, the promise of another scorching September day painted the sky with pinks and oranges.

“I knew you would be,” he replied. Abruptly, he sat up. “Your turn?”

“Yes, sir! Where do you want me?” I asked.

“Just here, where I was.”

I crawled into the same place he’d been, the wooden slats still warm from his body heat.

“I’m not going to touch your cock. You’re going to do that, okay?” he said. Damn, why was that so hot? “This might not be the best time to admit this, but I’ve spent hours fantasising about watching you fuck your own fist.”

“Gods, you’re a pervert,” I replied, but immediately wrapped my hand around my cock, stroking upwards and groaning.

“I guess I am,” he said, smiling. He settled himself on his knees between my thighs, not beside me like I’d been with him. “Have you done much butt stuff?”

I groaned again. Tried to say, “No, not really,” but couldn’t work the words out. I shook my head instead.

His smile grew wider, and he bit his lip. “I’m glad I get to be amongst your firsts. Okay, bring your knees up.”

I did as I was told, and Cian slipped into the gap between my thighs. He stroked his fingertips down the length of my inseam, then he wrapped his hand around my opposite ankle and rested it on his shoulder. He did the same for the other ankle.

“Oh my gods,” I whined, as he slid his body almost underneath mine. My upper back and arms now the only things left on the deck surface.

He shimmied and wriggled under me until my balls were practically touching his nose and my heels were no longer by his ears but bouncing against his shoulder blades. My tail rubbed down the length of his front.

And then softness and wet warmth caressed over my hole. I couldn’t see what he was doing, what part of his mouth he was using—his tongue or his lips, or a combo of both—I only knew it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Hot and tender and agonisingly sweet, and I never wanted it to end.

Cian circled my entrance with his tongue and dipped it inside. I wasn’t in control of the noises I made.

Eventually he extracted himself and lowered me back onto the deck. He stayed between my thighs and positioned my legs so that my knees were bent and pointing to the sky. And his finger replaced his tongue, at first drawing soft little rings against my hole.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now. Is that okay?” he said.

I choked on my “yes” in my haste to get it out.

“It’s better with lube, but I’ll take it steady, and let me know if it hurts or you don’t like it.”

I nodded. My tail slapped against the wooden slats between us, and Cian gently—so gently I didn’t feel it at first—slipped the tip of a finger into my ass.

“How’s that?”

“Fine. I mean, it doesn’t hurt.”

He pushed in further. And a little more. Withdrew it almost all the way and pushed it back in. I already needed more of him.

“That feels amazing,” I whimpered.

“Yeah?” He thrust into me again. And again. And then . . .

“Oh! Fuck! Oh my gods! What was that? Holy shit.”

“That’s your p-spot.”

For about ten seconds, I was entirely lost for words. “Whatever you did just then, do it again, please.”

Cian obeyed, curling his finger and rubbing upwards against that spot over and over. I thought my eyeballs were going to roll out of my skull. My back arched, tail ramrod straight.

He nudged my legs up higher, leaned over me a little more, and added a second finger. I had to bite down on the top of my forearm to stop myself from howling.

“Fuck,” he said—whispered. “You’re beautiful.” He began pumping his fingers, slowly at first, then gradually building up speed. “Fuck your hand, Mash. I need to see you paint yourself in cum.”

I didn’t argue. I was so desperate to touch myself. My knots were so swollen and aching. I wrapped my fist around my cock and started stroking. Cian’s eyes flitted from the action to my face and back again. His breaths were shallow, his brows furrowed, his fingers still buried inside me. When he pulled his lower lip into his mouth and ran his teeth along it, I exploded.

Couldn’t hold myself back any longer. My release shot across my chest in thick, silky stripes. Cian watched it happen with such a level of concentration you’d think he was going to be tested on it.

After I’d floated back down, he gulped, and gently removed his fingers. “You did so good.”

My tail began tapping the deck again.

Cian ran two fingers through my cum, and swiped it along his collarbone as we did last night. “This method is a bit more fun than peeing in a cup, no?”

“Just a bit,” I agreed.

“How about we scent each other like this for the rest of Harvest Fest?”

“Sounds like a win-win plan to me.”