Chapter Fourteen #2
The group goes silent, the fire crackling in the hush. Uncertainty twists in my gut—maybe I imagined it all. Maybe I’m the only one who noticed. Fuck, did I just make myself look like an idiot?
Dean cocks his head at me, eyes darkening with a familiar mischief.
“Is that all?” he teases, and as he stands, Zayn’s hand tightens almost possessively on my thigh.
Dean doesn’t hesitate, stepping right over to Zayn, his movements fluid and confident.
He leans in, but instead of going for Zayn’s mouth, Dean presses his lips to the sharp line of Zayn’s jaw, then trails kisses down his throat, tracing the snake tattoo with the tip of his tongue.
The air thickens, and I can’t look away.
Dean’s hand slides up Zayn’s thigh, slow and sure, fingers kneading the muscle before boldly cupping him through his jeans.
Zayn’s grip on my leg grows tighter—almost painfully so—as Dean massages him, moving up to nuzzle and taste along Zayn’s neck until, finally, their mouths meet.
The kiss is deep, tongues tangling, and there’s an easy, practiced heat in the way they move—a chemistry that says this isn’t new for them, not even a little.
The sight of them kissing has my whole body tensing with desire; I press my thighs together, heat blooming between them, unable to believe how turned on I am by the show.
When Dean finally pulls back, he gives Zayn a sly, satisfied smile before returning to his seat. Only then do I realize Alex has been watching me the whole time, and the grin on his face tells me he noticed exactly how much I felt it.
“My turn,” Dean says, turning to face me directly. I take a deep breath, heart pounding—there’s no denying I just raised the stakes. “Truth or dare, beautiful?”
Fuck it. I remember what Zayn said—there’s nothing wrong with wanting. “Dare,” I say, the word rolling off my tongue with a mix of bravado and nerves. The wicked glint in Dean’s eyes makes me squirm, heat pulsing low in my belly.
He leans in, voice dropping to a husky suggestion. “I think I’d like to watch you suck Alex’s cock.”
My cheeks go up in flames. I freeze, every nerve buzzing. “Like… right now? Here? With both of you…?” My voice trails off, barely more than a whisper.
Alex doesn’t hesitate, his gaze dark and daring. “Yes, that’s exactly what he means, my darling," he says, his tone full of challenge. He waits, wanting to see what I’ll do.
I think about the day Alex brought me home with him, my mind replaying the memory of his piercings, the way he looked stripped bare—and honestly, I can’t help but be curious how it would feel on my tongue, down my throat.
I bite my lip, embarrassed but undeniably tempted.
“I don’t know if I can… your piercings,” I admit, my cheeks burning with a mix of shyness and intrigue as my eyes drop to the ground.
I hear the soft, unmistakable sound of Alex unzipping his jeans, and I look up, locking eyes with him.
His gaze is so dark I can almost see straight into his soul—all I see there is pure, ravenous desire.
He pulls his cock free with an easy confidence, already rock hard in his hand, and the firelight dances along the eight silver barbells spaced perfectly up the underside, each one catching the light and making him look almost unreal.
I can’t look away, heat blooming deep inside me, nerves and want colliding.
He gives me a reassuring smile, his voice low and coaxing. “It’s okay, darling. The only way to get better is to practice. One at a time.”
I drop to my knees in front of Alex, every nerve alight, my breath coming fast and shallow.
Zayn’s words in my head: You deserve to want what you want.
I’m so wet I can feel it slick between my thighs, and I don’t care—if anything, being watched by them only makes the ache inside me worse.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? I want them to see how much I want this, how shamelessly turned on I am, how hungry I am to be the center of their attention.
I wrap my lips around the head of Alex’s cock, swirling my tongue in slow, teasing circles.
The first barbell glides over my tongue—cool, heavy, and utterly intoxicating.
“One,” Alex murmurs, his voice dark and commanding, and my pulse jumps.
My body thrums with pleasure, desperate for more.
I pause, letting my tongue explore every ridge and piercing, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint tang of metal.
I can feel the tension in his thighs, the way his breath hitches, and it makes me want to show off, to prove I can take everything he gives me.
His hand slides into my hair, gentle at first, fingers threading through the strands as he guides me down another inch.
“Two.” The taste of him fills my mouth, and I moan, letting him—and everyone—know how much I am enjoying myself.
I let my mouth linger, savoring the sensation of him stretching my lips, the way each new barbell drags a gasp from his throat.
He urges me lower, and two more barbells drag over my tongue.
“Three. Four.” The stretch makes me whimper around him, my thighs pressed tightly together, slick with my arousal, my whole body focused on the slow, relentless invasion of my mouth.