Chapter 22 #2
"There," Patrick says, a smile buried in it. "You found it faster than I did."
"I've had coaching."
The second finger costs Theo a longer breath. I work it in beside the first and watch the stretch charge him and pay him at the same time, his forehead creasing, knees dropping wider, greed winning over everything else on his face. His hand comes down and rides my wrist, along for the motion.
"Higher— Your other higher— There. Right there. Stay there."
And then the directions stop coming, replaced by sounds with no shape in them. The bossiest mouth in Milwaukee, reduced to vowels. I did that.
"Enough." His eyes open, glassy and wild. "I'm ready. I've been ready since the hotel, give me the—" He's already tearing the condom wrapper, already reaching for me.
His hands shake slightly as he rolls it down my cock. Mine shake more. The drag of his fingers pulls a breath through my teeth that he watches leave me with open satisfaction.
"Eyes on me," he says, lying back into the cushions and pulling me over him by the shoulders.
Behind me, Patrick moves. Chest against my back, knees outside mine, hands settling onto my hips like he's rehearsed this a hundred times in his head, a fact I try desperately not to focus on, because…damn.
"Go as slow as you can," he says at my ear. "He'll take you. Let him do the taking."
I line up. The head of my cock presses against him, and Theo breathes out, long and deliberate, and lets me in.
Heat closes over me. The first inch takes my soul with it. He's molten inside, gripping me in tiny waves, and I halt, my muscles tensing, because there's a serious risk of this ending in the next ten seconds.
Patrick's fingers flex on my hips. "Breathe."
"I am."
"Deeper."
"He means the breathing," Theo manages from under me, "but honestly, also—" and then he tilts his hips and takes another inch of me himself, and whatever I was going to learn about breathing is a distant memory now.
I sink the rest of the way with Patrick rationing my speed, and when my hips finally meet Theo’s skin, the room is nothing but breath.
His face is what I anchor to—flushed dark, mouth open, eyes on me exactly like he promised, nothing performed left anywhere on it. Just want, aimed up at me, undiluted.
"Move," Theo says.
Patrick moves me.
His hands draw my hips back and ease them forward again, setting a pace so slow I’m not sure I’m going to survive, his voice low at my ear the whole time.
"That's it. Feel him. He's been waiting months for this.
" Every word arrives directly on my skin. I'm being handled and steered, by a man, with my cock buried inside another man, and it’s like there’s a current running through all three of us, merging us into one.
The rhythm builds. Theo's legs come up and lock behind my thighs, pulling me deeper on every stroke, and his commentary makes one last stand—"Harder, Wall. I won’t break. Harder"—before drowning in the sounds underneath it.
Patrick tilts my hips a few degrees, and my next thrust lands somewhere new, and spectacular, as Theo's whole body bows off the cushions, and my name tears out.
I give him that angle again. And again. Sweat runs down the center of my back.
Patrick's breathing has frayed behind me, the length of his cock riding against my ass with every stroke he steers, and Theo has one fist twisted in a cushion while the other reaches past me, blindly, until it finds Patrick's thigh and grips hard.
"Get up here." Theo’s words come out so wrecked they’re barely words at all. "Now. I want…"
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
Cool air lands on my back where Patrick's chest was. He comes around and kneels astride Theo's head, facing me, and Theo drags him down by the hip and takes his cock into his mouth with a moan that vibrates through his entire body, only to land on mine.
The image nearly ends me. Theo is stretched out between us, filled as much as one person can be filled, sounding like this is the exact life he ordered.
And above him, Patrick—fist curled loose in Theo’s hair, composure dissolving more with every sharp breath he draws, eyes locked on mine.
Eight years of staring this man down from a distance, and I've never once had his eyes like this. His mouth is ajar and he lifts his chin up, like he’s challenging me to something.
I lean over Theo and kiss him.
The angle is terrible, and awkward, and wrong, yet somehow so good at the same time. Every thrust I give Theo rocks him onto Patrick, and somewhere in the middle of it the three of us find a single rhythm, Theo setting the demand from the bottom with his hands and his sounds, greedy at both ends.
His thighs start shaking against my sides.
I reach out and wrap my fingers around his cock, hot, slick, and jumping at the first stroke.
That's all the warning any of us gets. He comes with a muffled shout around Patrick’s dick, cum spilling over my knuckles, and his hole clamps down on me in pulses so violent my rhythm shatters, and while I lose my rhythm, Patrick loses everything.
He loses momentum, and English, and Polish, and then his voice goes as well, a sole sound escaping him, low and broken as he comes, with his hand cradling Theo's jaw and his eyes never once leaving mine.
All of it combined is what takes me over.
Those eyes, and Theo pulsing around me, and that one word that’s been hanging in the air all night and nobody dared repeat.
I drive deep and stay there, while my orgasm hits so hard reality itself ceases to be.
I fold over the man beneath me, held upright mostly by the hand Patrick has just closed around the back of my neck.
For a long time, all that exists are three sets of lungs slowly relearning their jobs.
We come apart in stages and end up in a sprawl no one designs, Theo boneless between us with one leg hooked over mine and his face turned into Patrick's knee, smug even with his eyes shut.
He's earned it. Patrick's thumb moves once against the back of my neck, the same slow pass I gave him at the start of this whole night, a confession ago, returned with interest.
The word Theo let loose earlier is still somehow present, even if unsaid. It's there in the wreck we've made of the cushions and in the warm weight of the hand on my neck.
Some words you don't get to say out loud. You just let them be true anyway.