11. Fashion Anxiety #3
“Open,” Lucien commanded, his voice hoarse, his green eyes blazing as he stared at Mateo.
Mateo opened his mouth, his chest heaving. Lucien leaned in, his lips hovering an inch from Mateo’s, and gathered the spit in his mouth. With a deliberate, filthy precision, he spat directly onto Mateo’s tongue.
Mateo swallowed it down with a dark, rumbling groan that shook my entire frame.
He surged forward, capturing Lucien’s mouth again, kissing him harder, tasting his own spit mixed with whatever intoxicating sweetness Lucien tasted like.
And then Mateo pulled back, his hand coming up to grip Lucien’s jaw.
He tilted Lucien’s face, parted his lips, and returned the favor, spitting a thick, heavy drop right into the tailor’s mouth.
Lucien swallowed, his throat working, a dark flush rising on his pale cheeks. He looked down at me, his eyes glazed with a lust that felt ancient and heavy.
“Such a good boy,” Lucien purred, though whether he was talking to me or Mateo, I couldn't tell. “Watching us so beautifully.”
I was trembling so hard my teeth chattered. The sheer, unabashed depravity of it, happening right over my shoulder, the heat of their bodies trapping me, the smell of their arousal thick in the air—it was breaking me down to my base components.
“Touch us,” Mateo ordered roughly, his breath hot against my cheek.
Before I could process the command, Mateo’s large, rough hand closed over my right wrist. He dragged my arm backward, pulling my hand behind my back. I gasped as he pressed my palm flat against the thick, rigid bulge in his suit trousers.
At the same time, Lucien caught my left wrist. He guided my hand forward, pressing my fingers against the front of his tailored slacks.
“Feel it,” Lucien whispered, his hips rolling into my palm. “Feel what you're doing to us.”
I didn't need to be told twice. My fingers curled involuntarily, grasping the heavy, clothed lengths of them. They were massive. Through the rough wool of Mateo’s suit, I could feel the searing heat of him, the absolute iron-hard density of his cock.
I stroked him, my hand moving awkwardly behind my back, my fingers tracing the thick ridge that strained against the zipper.
Mateo groaned, and ground his hips back into my hand, pressing his erection harder against my palm while simultaneously pushing into the cleft of my ass.
In front of me, Lucien was a different kind of torture.
The fabric of his trousers was finer, smoother, and the heat radiating from him was a slow, pulsing burn.
I wrapped my fingers around the thick column of his cock, squeezing gently, feeling the heavy throb of his pulse beneath the material.
He let his head fall back, a soft, breathy sigh escaping his lips.
“Yes,” Lucien hissed, his hips snapping forward to meet my stroke. “Just like that, Nico. Worship it.”
I squeezed them both harder.
Lucien’s eyes snapped down to mine, blazing with that unnatural, heavy green fire.
He let go of my wrist, leaving my hand to work the thick, pulsing column of his cock through the tailored silk, and framed my face with both hands.
His palms were slick with sweat, the heat radiating off him like a fever dream.
He kissed me. He forced my mouth open, his tongue plunging deep, tasting the dark coffee and salt of Mateo that still lingered on my palate. I moaned into his mouth, my hips jerking forward, my hand squeezing his clothed erection harder in response to the aggressive slide of his tongue.
Behind me, Mateo didn't miss a beat. He let go of my other wrist, leaving my right hand gripping his massive cock behind my back, and grabbed my jaw. As soon as Lucien pulled back with a wet, heavy gasp, Mateo’s mouth was there, attacking my neck, biting down on the juncture of my shoulder before dragging his lips up to my ear.
“Open,” Mateo growled, his voice rough and ragged with his own mounting need.
I tipped my head back, my mouth falling open in a breathless pant. Lucien leaned in, his eyes locked on my parted lips. He gathered the thick, heavy saliva in his mouth and let it fall directly onto my tongue.
I choked on a sob, swallowing it down reflexively. The taste was overwhelming. It burned a path straight down my throat and pooled right in my groin.
They took turns, spit-roasting my mouth, trading kisses and spit, using me as a vessel for their own filthy, escalating arousal. I was dripping. My chest was slick with sweat, my hair plastered to my forehead.
“You're soaking wet,” Lucien murmured, his thumb swiping a stray drop of saliva from the corner of my mouth. He dragged the wet thumb down my throat, over my collarbone, smearing the moisture across my overheated skin.
“I need—” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Please. I need it. Take it out.”
Mateo let out a low, feral sound. “You like the suit, boss? You like feeling me in the wool?”
“Yes,” I whined, my hand squeezing the thick bulge behind my back. “But I need skin. Please, Mateo.”
“Watch,” Mateo ordered.
He stepped back, just a fraction, breaking the agonizing friction against my ass. The sudden loss of his heat made me whimper.
In the mirror, I watched him. He didn't take the suit off.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He ripped the jacket off his broad shoulders, tossing it aside, leaving him in the dark vest and the white dress shirt.
He tore at his tie, loosening it, popping the top three buttons of his shirt to expose the thick, hair-roughened expanse of his chest, slick with his own sweat.
Then his hands went to his belt. The heavy buckle clinked in the quiet room. He unzipped his trousers and pushed the wool and his dark underwear down his thick thighs.
My breath caught in my throat. He was massive.
Thick, dark, and veined, the heavy, blunt head of it already weeping slick pre-cum.
He was built like a weapon, heavy enough to do genuine damage, and the sight of it jutting out from the undone dress pants and the open vest was the most obscenely hot thing I had ever seen in my life.
My mouth watered. I was literally salivating, my tongue darting out to wet my lips as I stared at his reflection.
“Like what you see, Nico?” Lucien whispered, his voice a dark, silky purr right next to my ear.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“My turn,” Lucien said.
He didn't rush. Where Mateo was raw, Lucien was slow.
He stepped around me, moving to the front so I could watch him directly.
His green eyes never left mine as his long, elegant fingers went to the buttons of his crisp white shirt.
He undid them one by one, parting the fabric to reveal a chest that was lean, sculpted, and terrifyingly flawless.
He shrugged the shirt off, letting it pool on the dark hardwood floor.
His skin was pale, flushed with a deep, unnatural heat, and slick with a fine sheen of sweat. He reached for the clasp of his tailored trousers.
“Watch closely,” Lucien murmured.
He unzipped the slacks and pushed them down, stepping out of them with an effortless grace. He wasn't wearing anything underneath.
I let out a shaky, broken sound. If Mateo was a weapon, Lucien was a work of art designed to ruin a man.
He was incredibly long, thick, and pale, the skin smooth and tight over the rigid muscle, the head a dark, flushed pink that glistened in the warm light.
He was leaking heavily, the clear fluid dripping from the slit and running down the underside of his shaft.
I was surrounded. Two massive, impossibly hard cocks, completely exposed, framing me in a room where I couldn't look away from my own impending destruction.
“Look at him,” Mateo rumbled, stepping up close behind me again, the searing heat of his bare, rigid cock pressing directly against the thin, wet cotton covering my ass. “He's practically drooling.”
“He's a very good boy,” Lucien agreed, stepping into my space, his heavy, slick cock brushing against my stomach.
I reached out, my hands trembling violently, and wrapped my right hand around Mateo’s thick shaft behind me, and my left hand around Lucien’s long, pulsing cock in front of me.
“Ah,” Lucien hissed, his head dropping back as I squeezed him.
“On your knees,” Mateo ordered.
I let go of their massive, leaking cocks, the slick pre-cum stringing from my fingers, and dropped. My bare knees hit the polished, dark hardwood with a dull thud that echoed in the vast, mirrored room.
I looked up. The visual was devastating.
From my knees, they looked like gods. Mateo stood to my right and Lucien stood to my left.
Lucien reached down, his long fingers tangling in my messy hair, gripping a fistful at the roots. “He's practically begging for it.”
“Then feed him,” Mateo growled.
Lucien guided my head forward. I didn't fight him. I opened my mouth wide, my jaw stretching, and took the thick, flushed head of his cock past my lips.
I sucked hard, my cheeks hollowing out as I pulled on Lucien's heavy shaft.
The sound was obscene in the quiet room.
I took him deeper, gagging slightly as the blunt head hit the back of my throat, but I forced my muscles to relax, swallowing him down until my nose was buried in his pale, sweat-slicked pubic hair.
“Fuck, yes,” Lucien groaned, his grip tightening in my hair. “Take it all. Swallow it whole, you desperate little slut.”
I pulled off Lucien with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his slick head, and turned to Mateo.
Mateo didn't wait for me to take the initiative. As soon as my mouth was free, he stepped in, his thick hands clamping down on the sides of my head. He guided his massive, dark cock right to my lips, rubbing the broad, weeping head over my mouth, smearing his musky pre-come across my skin.
“My turn,” Mateo rumbled. “Take it, boss. Show me how good you are.”