Chapter 7 #3
I reached up, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled him toward me. “You need to hurry that shit along, or I’m going to come on your cock and not in your ass.”
Brock huffed a laugh. He kissed me savagely as he positioned himself over my cock and lowered himself slowly. I held myself steady, but fuck, it was so goddamn hard not to thrust up into him. I gripped his hips and forced myself to stay still, groaning with the effort.
“Holy fuck, you feel good. So fucking tight,” I gritted out through my teeth.
I watched a tear roll down his face as he leaned forward over me, whispering into the crook of my neck, “Fuck, you’re big, baby. So damn big.”
As hard as it was, I waited for him to let me know he was ready for more.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded and moved.
“Sweet fuck, Brock!”
Just that tiny little bit of movement sent lightning bolts through me. This wouldn’t last long if the Fourth of July detonated inside me every time he moved.
“Move,” he whispered.
“Thank fuck,” I growled, thrusting into him, and he mewled into my neck.
Groaning, I continued moving in and out of him as he rode my cock, meeting every thrust. Writhing against each other was fucking amazing. Who the fuck knew gay sex felt so damn good? I might have tried it sooner if I’d known it was like this.
Brock’s litany of “harder” and “more” got louder and louder until I flipped him on his back, never missing a beat.
I thrust into him several times, fighting against his writhing and our sweat-soaked skin to find just the right position and grip.
Suddenly, his body bowed, his head burrowing back into the pillows as his mouth fell open in a silent scream that quickly turned into a garbled growl.
“FUCK!” I cried out as his body clamped down on mine, stilling my movements and milking the orgasm that had been building at the base of my spine out of me without warning.
I dropped onto him, relieved when I felt his cock still jumping from his orgasm. It would have been really fucking bad if I’d failed to get the man off. I’d never been a selfish lover in the past, but Brock was bringing out all sorts of shit I didn’t realize I’d had locked up inside me.
Like feelings for your best friend?
Ignoring the smartass that lived in my head, I rolled off Brock as my cock softened. We lay there in bed, side-by-side, as our breaths continued to come fast and harsh.
To say my mind was reeling was putting it mildly.
It sped around so rapidly that I felt like one of those characters in the old cartoons I’d watched with my grandparents as a kid.
If I were them or they were me, butterflies would be swirling around their head, and they’d be wobbling, barely able to stay upright.
I just fucked my best friend.
The words screamed in my head, flashing like headlights on a pitch-black night before my eyes. I knew it had happened. I could still feel his ass around my cock. My very sore cock.
Am I…gay?
I nearly laughed out loud. If you fuck guys, you’re gay. Or at least bi. Right? That was the definition. If you only fuck dudes, you’re gay. If you fuck both, you’re bi.
Guess I’m bi, then, because I’ve fucked a lot of women over the years.
Hell, I’d fucked Carly in the stock room at the bar the other night. I didn’t even remember how it happened or who had initiated things. What I did remember, was it wasn’t my most stellar performance.
Carly was a great lay and always up for a good time.
Brock and I had tag-teamed her before we’d deployed the last time, but the other night had been the first time I’d fucked her on my own.
That was the problem. At least I thought so, because from what I remembered, Brock’s face and body—and dear God, the noises the man made when his cock was being sucked—were all I could think about.
As I thought about it more, I realized what triggered the situation with Carly was receiving a text from Brock blowing me off, saying he had something planned already with one of the guys from Echo Team.
When I asked who, my blood boiled. Conley Portland was built a lot like me.
Everyone commented on how we could be twins.
I didn’t know why, but I hated the motherfucker. I had seen him visually devour Brock at the gym when the three of us were there one day. He was fucking blatant about it.
I’d tossed my phone down, pissed off. I was sitting at the bar Carly worked at, the same one we’d met her in months ago. It was every Vah Beach SEAL’s go-to place to tie one on or find a frog hog to warm your dick. The next thing I knew, I was balls deep inside her, thinking about him.
Wipe that thought from your head.
My subconscious was right. DADT was a thing, and I needed to be fucking careful. Being a SEAL was my dream job. It was who and what I was. If anyone caught wind of this—and, hell, even the shit with Brock and Carly—he and I would both be out on our asses.
I thought it was fucking ridiculous. Who you fucked didn’t fucking make you more or less of a man. I knew that Brock was as masculine as you can get. A complete alpha male. He was fucking fearless, aggressive as fuck, and…so fucking sexy.
“You good?” Brock asked as he rolled toward me, interrupting my thoughts.
I nodded but continued staring at the ceiling.
What the fuck did we just do?