Chapter 42 – PLAGUE #2
"Good." He shoves his jeans and boxers down in one motion, and I have to bite back a sound at the sight of him.
I've seen Whiskey naked before. Locker rooms don't leave much to the imagination. But seeing and seeing are two different things. He's thick everywhere, his cock heavy and flushed dark with arousal. Precome beads at the tip, and I find myself tracking a drop as it slides down the impressive length.
"Like what you see?" His voice is rougher now, that cocky bravado slipping just enough to reveal the need underneath.
"It's adequate," I lie, because admitting the truth—that looking at him makes my mouth water despite having just come—would give him far too much ammunition.
"Adequate?" He laughs, the sound low and dangerous. "Let's see if you still think that when it's buried in your throat."
I wince at his crudeness, but there's no denying the way my body responds to his words. My hands clench against the loveseat cushions as he moves closer, positioning himself at the edge of the loveseat.
"Come here," he says, and it's not quite an order but close enough to make my hackles rise.
"I don't take commands from you."
"No?" He reaches out, fingers threading through my disheveled hair with surprising gentleness before tightening just enough to make me gasp. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been taking them pretty well so far."
Instead of biting back and reasserting control, I find myself moving forward, drawn by the heat in his eyes and the insistent pressure of his hand in my hair. His thumb slips into my mouth, and I taste salt.
"Fuck," he breathes, watching me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed despite still being fully clothed from the waist up.
From the bed, I hear Ivy shift, a soft intake of breath that reminds me we have an audience.
As if I could ever forget our scent-matched omega is watching this.
Orchestrating this. My gaze flicks to her automatically, finding her watching us with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.
Her scent has grown thicker, sweeter, the honeysuckle mixing with arousal in a way that makes my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.
"She's watching," I say unnecessarily.
"Yeah, she is." Whiskey's hand tightens in my hair, drawing my attention back to him. "That bother you?"
It should. Having an omega—our scent match—watch me submit to Whiskey's demands should be mortifying. Instead, it's turning me on even more.
I really have lost my fucking mind.
"No," I mutter.
"Good." He shifts forward slightly, the head of his cock brushing against my lips. "Because I want her to see this. Want her to see how good you can be when you don't try to take charge. Or overthink."
I open my mouth to argue—I don't overthink, I think the appropriate amount—but he takes advantage of my parted lips to push inside. The weight of him on my tongue cuts off any protest I might have made.
"Shit," he grunts as a groan as I take him deeper. "Your mouth..."
I would roll my eyes at his eloquence if I wasn't suddenly consumed by the task at hand. Namely breathing as his cock stretches my jaw open. He thrusts forward, sheathing his cock in my face hard enough to make me choke.
"That's it," he encourages, both hands in my hair now, not pushing but not letting me pull back either as my fingers dig into his muscled, thick thighs. "Knew you'd be good at this."
I curl my lip and growl at him, but the vibration in my throat just makes him rut harder into my mouth. My cheeks hollow as I suck as hard as I can to punish him for that, but all it does is make him moan.
Asshole.
"Fucking—shit, Plague." His thighs tremble under my hands where I'm bracing myself. "Where the fuck did you learn to—"
I bite down a little at the edge of his knot, just enough to scare him, since I can't exactly tell him off for implying I've done this before.
"Watch it," he growls, yanking me against him, burying my nose in the thatch of brown curls at the base of his cock. He comes dangerously close to knotting my mouth.
"No fighting," Ivy warns us from the bed.
Shit. Almost forgot the whole point of this is showing her we can control ourselves. My nails bite into Whiskey's thighs, earning a wince, but it's better than what I really want to do—bite down harder on his cock.
"Hey, Ivy," Whiskey says suddenly, voice strained but somehow still managing that casual tone. "You can… fuck… you can touch him if you want. Show you it's safe."
I freeze, Whiskey's cock still heavy in my mouth. The suggestion hangs in the air, and I can't see Ivy from this angle, can't gauge her reaction.
"Don't worry," Whiskey continues, his hand stroking through my hair almost absently. "I'll put him in his place if he tries anything."
The casual confidence in his assumption that he could control me if needed makes me growl again, but when he grins down at me, my spent cock reacts.
"Are you sure?" Ivy's voice is uncertain, but husky with want.
"Ask him," Whiskey says, tugging gently on my hair until I pull off his cock with an obscene wet sound.
I turn to look at her, knowing I must be a sight. Hair disheveled, lips swollen and shiny with spit and pre-come, face flushed. She's sitting at the edge of her nest on the bed, close enough to touch if she wanted, those brilliant aquamarine eyes dark with curiosity.
"It's fine," I manage, voice rougher than I'd like. "If you want to."
She hesitates another moment before coming over to us, approaching the loveseat with cautious steps. Her scent washes over me, so much stronger now, making my head spin despite the fact I just came. She's so close I can feel the heat radiating from her skin as she reaches toward me.
"Good boy," she purrs.
Oh, fuck, that almost unglues me.
Her fingers ghost over my cock and I buck instinctively into her hands with a panting growl.
"Stay still," Whiskey commands, and for once I don't argue. Maybe because my brain is still scrambled from having his cock down my throat, or maybe because the combination of his authoritative tone and Ivy's touch has short-circuited whatever part of me usually maintains control.
I shift awkwardly in the cramped space, the cheap upholstery rough against my bare ass as I recline against the loveseat.
My turtleneck is still on, twisted and damp with sweat, but removing it would mean exposing more than I'm ready for.
The scar over my heart throbs with phantom pain at the thought.
Whiskey doesn't give me time to overthink it. He's already moving, positioning himself in front of the loveseat, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he leans over me. "This okay?" he asks, and there's a genuine question beneath the cocky bravado.
I manage a stiff nod, my hands coming up to grip his thick, muscled thighs for balance. My damn hands are quaking from Ivy's hands delicately exploring my cock, not squeezing enough to give me any sense of relief, the tips of her fingers tickling my swollen shaft.
"Good," he rumbles, shifting forward until his cock hovers just in front of my face. "Because I've been thinking about this for way too fucking long."
I don’t have time to even process that admission before he's lowering himself, feeding his cock back into my mouth with a groan that makes my dick twitch again.
The angle is different like this, deeper, more intense.
I have less control, can't pull back as easily, and that should make me want this to stop.
It doesn't.
"Fuck, that's it," Whiskey breathes, his hands bracing against the back of the loveseat to support himself as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, making sure I can handle it. "Look at you. So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth."
I want to glare at him for the unnecessary remarks, but then I feel Ivy's hand wrapping around my cock and every thought scatters like leaves in a hurricane. A choked snarl tears out of my throat.
"He likes that," Whiskey tells Ivy with a low chuckle like I’m his pet. "Look. Already getting hard again."
That earns him another growl and a tightening of my teeth around his shaft.
His cock is so fucking huge, I can barely bite down.
But when her hand tightens around my cock and starts stroking with a rhythm that matches Whiskey's thrusts, my throat relaxes to allow him deeper and my eyes roll back into my head with a moan.
My hips buck up into her grip involuntarily, seeking more friction.
Ivy's grip tightens, her strokes becoming firmer, more confident as she learns what I like. Her other hand comes up to cup my balls, rolling them gently, and I nearly choke on Whiskey's cock.
I hate how much I'm enjoying this.
No. That's a lie.
I hate that they can tell I'm enjoying this.
"Fuck, you should see yourself," Whiskey groans above me, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "All flushed and desperate. Never thought I'd see the day Plague lost his precious control."
I want to bite him for that comment, but Ivy chooses that moment to twist her wrist on an upstroke, and all I can do is moan around his cock. The sound vibrates through him, making his hips stutter.
"That's it," he encourages, one hand leaving the back of the loveseat to stroke through my hair. The gesture is surprisingly tender, at odds with the way he's fucking my face. "Take it so well. Such a good boy for us."
Us.
The word sends an unexpected jolt through me. Not just him and me anymore, but all three of us. This bizarre triangle we've found ourselves in.
Ivy hums, her thumb circling the head of my cock, making me snarl and buck and see stars again.
Stars that have nothing to do with the alpha's cock ramming into my mouth.
"He is beautiful," she murmurs, as if admitting something, and the genuine appreciation in her voice sends heat flooding through me.
Whiskey smirks. "Yeah, kinda is, isn't he?"
Why the fuck am I reacting to this praise?
That’s new. But I don’t have time to think about it before Whiskey shoves his cock harder into my throat, his pace increasing, what little control he has starting to slip.
I can tell by the way his thick thighs tremble in my grip, the increasingly erratic rhythm of his thrusts. He's close.
"Plague," he warns, his voice strained. "I'm gonna—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. His hips stutter, pressing deep as he comes with a roar that probably alerts the entire floor to what we're doing. I swallow reflexively, the salty taste flooding my mouth as he pulses against my tongue.
"Fuck. Sorry," he mutters, panting as I suck him dry so I don't fucking choke, although he doesn't sound particularly apologetic. And his cock is still stuffed in my mouth. "Got ahead of myself there."
But I don't have the mental bandwidth to be annoyed with him for coming before he could give me adequate warning.
Not with what Ivy's doing to my cock, her hand speeding up, grip tightening every time her palm glides down over my swelling knot.
The snarl that tears out of me is muffled by Whiskey's cock as I spill over Ivy's hand.
"Beautiful," she says again, working me through it with gentle strokes until I'm oversensitive and writhing.
I collapse back against the armrest, chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. Every muscle in my body feels like jelly. I can't remember the last time I came twice in such quick succession.
Actually, I'm not sure I ever have.
"Well," Whiskey breathes. "That was fucking incredible."
I should have a cutting response ready. Some remark that puts him back in his place and reestablishes the boundaries between us.
Instead, all I can manage is a vague sound of agreement as Ivy shifts beside the loveseat and a fresh wave of her scent hits us both.
Honeysuckle so thick it feels like it's going to possess me, mixed with the unmistakable sweetness of an omega in heat. Her cheeks are flushed, pupils dilated to the point where only a thin ring of blue-green remains.
That was insane of me.
And entirely fucking worth it.