Chapter 51 Evan
EVAN
Iwake up to Isaac’s “apology” for using me repeatedly last night like it was his first day with a new toy.
If there’s been a theme to the last twelve hours, it’s been atonement.
We all seem to have at least three key things we seem to be seeking forgiveness for, and while the words are valuable, nothing says I’m sorry like allowing a good throat fucking or an orgasm denial.
I’m pretty sure I spent about two hours in literal subspace, and I’m not even mad about it.
Isaac gives me a long, luxurious rimming to soothe my overused hole and make me come all over his sheets.
Deacon is in bed with us because he totally stayed the night.
He jerks himself off while he watches us.
I get the majority of his load due to my mouth’s proximity to his dick, and Isaac sucks out the leftovers.
Isaac is still as hard as a flagpole.
I stroke his erection as he’s popping off Deacon’s cock. “Where do you want to put this?”
“I’m okay,” he lies.
I grab for him, pulling him onto the bed to land between me and Deacon.
I’m the first one to get his dick in my mouth, but soon enough, Deacon is right beside me and I’m passing it over to him.
He sucks it deep into his throat, and I suck his balls one at a time.
Isaac’s fist clenches in my hair, and he curses, his leg wrapping around Deacon’s back to give us both room.
It’s a cruel blow job. Every time Isaac gets close, Deacon and I switch places.
It feels early, I’m post-orgasmic, and in no rush.
I don’t think Deacon is either. We kiss along Isaac’s shaft, licking each other’s tongues and running them along the prominent ridge on his underside.
Occasionally, we ignore his cock entirely to exchange devious kisses.
Isaac doesn’t know whether to encourage us or force himself on us.
He’s actually impossible not to love. I know I have to leave this afternoon, go back to LA, pick up my dog, and get back to work, but I’ll miss this feeling of being wanted for everything I have to offer, and not worried about what I don’t.
With a hand on my lower back, Deacon digs in his nails, and I take this as a signal to go ahead and put Isaac out of his misery.
It’s my turn, and I take him deep, sucking hard up his entire length once before quickly bobbing up and down with a looser grip.
Precum spills onto my tongue, and his dick pulses.
I pull off and aim it at Deacon who engulfs him.
His eyes close as Isaac cries out, and I rest my head on his thigh and watch while Deacon swallows every drop of his cum.
“I’m hard again,” Deacon says eventually, eyeing me.
I shake my head. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t look at me.”
“You can rest when you’re in LA, Evan. Would it help if I offered to make you breakfast after?”
“You’d make me breakfast either way,” I counter.
“Listen.” He crawls over me and puts me on my back. Isaac moves his leg out of the way to leave room for us, and I feel his hand randomly sifting through my hair.
“What?” I laugh when Deacon doesn’t follow up the “listen” with anything.
He kisses me, forcing his legs between mine and wrapping one of them around his hip. Isaac offers his version of help—by giving Deacon a bottle of lube.
Before I can protest, mainly because I’m too busy breathing heavy and bracing myself, he’s sliding inside me, his cock slick with an insane amount of cool lube that feels almost soothing on my ravaged rim. “Oh shit,” I gasp, throwing my head back.
Deacon attaches his mouth to my throat, and I move with each of his solid thrusts, my hips unable to stay still when he fills me up like this. “I can’t keep having sex like this. You’re trying to kill me.”
“Then keep living in LA,” Isaac says. “You’ll get breaks.”
The words pinch and burn as Deacon fucks me perfectly. He’s so good at rolling his abs along my shaft, leaving both my hands free to cling to him like a vine.
“But don’t you get—”
A thrust shuts me up and makes me grunt, rattling my thoughts. I try to regather them. “When does it end? You’ll get hard again, and it goes on and on.”
Isaac understands I mean this for him, and he rolls onto his side, turning my head where my lips come into contact with his firm cockhead. “You’re not wrong.”
I let it into my mouth, unable to help myself, sucking and groaning, and using my closest hand to pump his shaft.
“Good boy,” he praises me in the same sexy voice I recognize from all the times I was underneath his desk in his office.
“Mm…” Deacon moans. “Time to earn your omelet, pretty boy.”
Fuck… My eyes roll back in my head as Isaac slides his cock from my mouth and Deacon flips us around to put me on top of him. I hear the lube snap open and closed again, a chest against my back, another set of hands on my hips, kneading the flesh there and on my outer thighs.
With my fingertips digging into Deacon’s abs, I arch my back as I ride his cock.
Isaac’s finger joins Deacon’s dick first, stretching me to the point of burning.
I hiss at the sensation, then blow out a breath, bearing down and into the feeling of being too full.
I get rewarded—or punished with a second finger, beginning to understand that if I want to be with these men, I’m going to need to get used to this.
Practice makes perfect, I guess.
Deacon is barely nudging into me now, but he’s got his hand around my dick, giving me firm, arousing strokes that push me precariously close to the edge.
I’m pulled short, however by the slick, brutal introduction of Isaac’s fat cockhead in my hole.
“Shit,” I shout, collapsing forward where Deacon catches me by the arms and the mouth.
His tongue slides smoothly against mine as I groan, adjusting to their combined size once again.
Deacon and I groan together, neither of us moving while Isaac fucks us both. He gives my ass a light slap and a squeeze before he really starts to move. Unlike last night, it’s slow and smooth. Deacon lies beneath me, staring at his hand on my cock, along for the ride.
“Perfect. Fucking. Fit,” Isaac says, punctuating three sinuous thrusts.
Deacon strokes my shaft, managing to keep me hard during this takeover. His other hand caresses my face almost lovingly, as the two of us share the experience of being on the receiving end of a sexy, leisurely screwing, courtesy of Isaac Sullivan.
If there were a mirror, I might have come already because I know how good Isaac looks when he’s in the zone. Almost as good as he feels. He feels good enough that I can almost forget he’s not the only one inside me.
They’re fucking ruining me. “God,” I gasp, my head dropping, forehead hitting the mattress right next to Deacon’s. All I can do is groan and shake. But I’m not gonna bullshit either. I like this. I like it so much, it makes me sort of concerned about myself.
Like, I think Hunter was right about me all those years ago. Maybe I’m meant to be shared. I’m certainly talented. I don’t think everyone could take this and enjoy it, but goddamn. Maybe I’m not ruined. But I do feel spoiled. I could make a lot of money like this.
“You try it, I’ll drag you back from LA by your hair and lock you in Isaac’s guest room,” Deacon growls because apparently that wasn’t an inside thought. “You belong to us.”
“Okay,” I sigh, whimpering, as I slide once again into that fuzzy, warm trance of euphoria.
“Say it.”
“I can’t…” I can’t make words. Is he kidding? Doesn’t he feel this, too?
“Say it,” Deacon says again, adding his own rough thrust to the stupefying mix.
“I’m all yours,” I say, because that’s what he wanted to hear, right?
“Ours,” he says, like I missed a part.
“Yours. That’s plural.”
“Say it.”
“I belong to you and him.”
“Keep practicing,” he says through a clenched jaw before he lets out his own groan. “Fuck…I’m coming.”
His hand chokes up on the base of my cock as his entire body tenses.
“That’s right, babe,” Isaac says. “That’s how you come for me.”
“I fucking love coming for you,” Deacon whispers so softly I doubt Isaac hears him over all the skin slapping skin. Or maybe he does because Isaac lets out a choked noise, either at Deacon’s sort of romantic proclamation, or he’s close, too.
I honestly don’t care. I barely feel like I’m in my body anymore, but I do feel close to them. Part of them. In love with them.
I manage to prop myself up on my hands. They’re on either side of Deacon’s head, and through the haze of my wobbly vision, I watch him bite his lip and flutter his lashes as his orgasm continues to shudder through him.
It’s so hot. He’s so beautiful. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it was the claiming, or maybe it’s that my prostate is so overstimulated it can’t help itself, but my body detonates with an orgasm I can only describe as unholy.
The noise that fills the room sounds like how I imagine a dying animal sounds.
It’s subhuman, and it rips straight from my chest.
Isaac holds my hips still, slammed against his own. The throb of his cock vibrates my clenched walls. “Baby, God…” he groans as he empties himself inside me and all over Deacon.
He moves in and out of me a few more times in the aftermath until Deacon taps his thigh. “Off. Get off.”
Isaac chuckles. “Sorry, babe.” He slides out first, and then I’m dragged forward. Deacon’s cock slips out of me. Cum is literally everywhere.
On Deacon’s abs. Pouring from my ass onto his legs and the bed, my inner thighs. If somebody suggests a group shower, though, I might have an actual break with reality.
“Omelet time,” Isaac says, and I hear the playful note in his voice. God, I’ve missed that. With all the drama, somewhere along the way, it slipped my mind how much I get off on pleasing that man.
Deacon grumbles a distinct, “Fuck off.”