Chapter Thirteen #2
Ash finally steps around the island, his expression shifting from surprised to hungry.
He’s always the smooth one, the one who can make a filthy act look like a romantic movie scene, but at this second his eyes are full of predatory heat.
He walks up to Jax’s other side, slipping a hand around his waist.
“You always have the best ideas, Ry,” Ash murmurs low, a visible tremor runs down Jax’s spine in response to the sound.
Ash’s hand trails down Jax’s stomach, tracing the happy trail of hair that disappears beneath the black lace.
Jax’s breath hitches. Ash doesn’t stop. He brushes his thumb over the head of Jax’s hard cock through the fabric, smearing that drop of slick pre-cum into the delicate threads.
He cups the swollen bulge, weighing Jax’s balls through the mesh, his fingers feeling out every aroused inch of him.
Jax lets out a moan, his head tipping back to land on my shoulder. His hips stutter forward against Ash’s hand.
“Ryker has good taste,” Ash says, leaning in to press a warm kiss to the side of Jax’s neck. “You’re bursting out of these. Should we take you in the back and ruin them, you think? Rip this pretty lace off you and bury our cocks inside you?”
“Please,” Jax pants, his eyes fluttering shut, mind gone on the sensation of Ash fondling him while Aiden holds him in place. “Please, just take them off.”
“Not a chance,” I say, my grip tightening on his hip. I glance between Ash and Aiden, taking in the way they’re both crowding him, putting their hands all over him, feeding off his nervous, horny energy.
This is what we wanted. The three of us operating in sync, passing him around, turning this repressed, na?ve kid into a greedy little sub who leaks just from being looked at.
I soak in the sight of it, a smug, deep satisfaction settling in my gut.
“He’s keeping them on,” I tell them, smirking as Jax groans in despair. “At least until tonight after work when we can fuck that plug out of his tight little ass. For now, he can stand here looking pretty while he makes us coffee.”
Breakfast was a goddamn riot.
We kept him in the kitchen for another forty minutes, making him serve us while wearing nothing but that delicate black mesh.
Every time he reached for a mug in the upper cabinet, Aiden slapped his bare ass.
Whenever he leaned over the island to pour the coffee, Ash slid a hand down his stomach to grope his trapped cock.
Jax spent the whole meal flushed and squirming, biting his lip to keep from whining as the three of us treated him like a piece of meat.
By the time I took pity on him and told him to go get ready for his shift, the poor kid was trembling, leaking pre-cum down his thighs, and begging for release.
I didn’t give it to him. I made him pull his stiff work slacks over the lace, zipping him in. Dropped him at work with his hole plugged and his junk wrapped in lace, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Now I sit in my corner office overlooking the Port of Seattle, supposed to be reviewing international freight schedules.
My family’s company runs on tight margins, but today I couldn’t care less about the cargo coming in from Tokyo.
The job usually commands a certain level of focus.
Today it’s just in my way. My brain is stuck on the image of Jaxon’s flushed face.
I push a stack of imported goods manifests aside, leaning back in my leather chair. I pull my phone out, tap on his contact name, and type out a quick message.
“Go to the bathroom. Pull your pants down. Send me a picture of your ass in those panties. Now.”
I hit send and toss the phone onto the desk.
I imagine him out on the sales floor, a polite customer service smile plastered on his face when his pocket vibrates.
I picture the way he’ll inhale when he reads the screen, the panicked glance around the aisles before he mumbles a pathetic excuse to his manager and speed-walks to the employee restroom.
The kid’s so eager to please us he probably tripped over his own feet getting there.
Less than three minutes later, the screen lights up with an incoming image.
I snatch the phone up, smirking as I open the message.
He followed instructions flawlessly. The background is the cheap, sterile beige tile of a commercial bathroom stall.
His tan work slacks are bunched around his knees, leaving his muscular, hairy thighs exposed.
And dead center is the black floral thong, stretched to its breaking point.
His cock is visibly rock hard, a veined, stiff ridge jutting out against the thin fabric.
The lace is pulled so tight across his erection I can see the pink flush of his skin underneath, the head of his dick straining against the seam.
A dark, wet patch of pre-cum stains the tip, proving how much this is turning him on.
If I zoom in, I can even see the black base of the plug peeking out from between his cheeks where the thong string digs into his crack.
He’s got one hand gripping his thigh, knuckles white, clearly trying to hold himself steady while he snapped the photo.
“Good boy,” I text back. “Keep it hard for me.”
I save the picture to a secure folder on my phone, locking the screen before sliding it back into my pocket. My own cock gives a harsh throb against my zipper. I adjust my pants with a low groan, shifting in the ergonomic chair. Fucking hell, he’s addictive.
I drag the manifests back to the center of my desk, trying to force my eyes to read the columns of numbers and dates.
It’s useless. Every time I look at a spreadsheet, all I see is that black lace digging into his skin.
I spend the next three hours spinning a dozen different scenarios in my head, plotting out how I’m going to ruin him tonight.
I’ll make him strip the second he walks through the front door.
Maybe I’ll bend him over the dining table, leave the panties on, and just tear the crotch out so I can fuck him without taking them off.
The visual of his muscular thighs clad in ripped lace while I plow into his tight ass sends blood rushing to my groin.
Or maybe I’ll make him keep them on while he blows me on his knees, slapping his pretty face with my cock until he swallows every drop.
I want to pull that plug out, watch my own cum drip down his thighs, and then shove myself back inside him so deep he forgets his own name.
I tap my pen against the desk, checking the clock on the wall. Three more hours until he gets off shift. It’s going to be a long fucking afternoon.
The drive back from downtown takes way longer than it should.
Traffic is a nightmare, but the real issue is Jax squirming in the passenger seat of my Rover.
Every time he shifts, I hear a soft, breathy whine slip out of his mouth.
The plug has been buried in his ass for nine hours, holding my cum hostage, and the black lace panties are probably glued to his dick with how much he’s been leaking.
We finally step out of the elevator and into the penthouse. The place is dead quiet. Ash is still stuck in a merger meeting, and Aiden texted earlier saying he’d be late at the batting cages. We have the place to ourselves.
“Clothes off,” I order, tossing my keys onto the glass entryway table. “Down to the lace.”
Jax doesn’t hesitate. He kicks off his shoes and fumbles with his belt, desperate to get out of the restrictive slacks. He shoves his pants down his legs, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and yanks his polo shirt over his head.
He stands in the middle of the living room wearing nothing but the black floral thong.
The fabric is a goddamn mess, soaked through with slick pre-cum that stains the crotch dark and sticks to his skin.
His cock is a stiff, angry rod jutting out against the delicate mesh, the head weeping a fresh drop of clear fluid.
He looks pathetic and gorgeous all at once.
I toe my shoes off and walk over to the living room couch, dropping down onto the leather cushions. I spread my legs wide, sinking back into the upholstery, and look up at him.
“Get over here,” I tell him, tapping my thigh.
He shuffles forward, breath stuttering, eyes blown wide and needy. The second he’s in reach, I grab his hips and yank him toward me. He stumbles, letting out a sharp gasp as I spin him around and force him face-down across my lap.
He goes tumbling forward, his upper body tipping off the edge of the couch.
His elbows hit the floor with a soft thud, bracing his weight against the rug.
His ass stays planted across my thighs, tilted up toward the ceiling.
The angle shoves his lace-covered cock against my jeans, the hard ridge of his erection grinding into my crotch.
He moans into the rug, rolling his hips instinctively, seeking the pressure against my zipper.
“Ah, no, none of that yet,” I warn him, slapping a hand over the swell of his ass to hold him still. The sharp smack echoes, leaving a pink mark on his skin. He whimpers, going pliant under my grip.
I hook my fingers into the black lace waistband on his hips. With a quick tug, I drag the delicate fabric down, pulling it past the curve of his ass but leaving it tangled around his upper thighs.
His cheeks are fully bared to the cool air of the apartment. Dead center, the black silicone plug sits snug in his hole, a shiny little stopper holding all my dirty work from this morning inside him.
I palm both of his ass cheeks, digging my fingers into the firm, warm muscle.
He’s got a great ass, built from years of the outdoorsy bullshit he used to do in Utah, and kneading it feels incredible.
I squeeze hard, parting the cheeks to get a better view of his puckered rim gripping the silicone.
He whines again, his hard dick twitching against my pants as I trace a nail around the edge of his hole.