Tech Bros (Bay Area Bros Book 3), page 15
“Fuck,” I breathe.
And then he’s in again. Just the tip. I lick my lips, trying to get a hold of myself. He does this a few more times while I’m groaning and adjusting until there’s no more friction, and I’m all stretched out for him. Another drizzle of oil hits my ass, and then he steps into me.
His thighs pull flush with mine, and his thick cock fills my ass. I reach back and grip him by the hamstring.
“Good?” he asks.
I get what he’s asking. I’ve asked the same thing, expecting whoever’s bottoming for me to know what they need to do to make it a pleasurable experience, but I’ve never had to figure it out on my own.
“It’s…uh…You feel very long,” I admit with burning cheeks and a sweaty upper lip.
With one of his hands, he presses my breastbone, lifting me slightly so I’m not quite so bent over the counter. Everything changes. He slides in at least an inch deeper, and holy fuck, it feels a thousand times better. Instinctively, I adjust a few more degrees upward, and he gives me an experimental stroke, sliding right over my prostate and stretching me around his base. “There,” I choke out.
“I feel it, too.” His voice is low and raspy as his cock moves slowly back and forth, lighting up every nerve ending in my ass. Who knew there were so many?
Deacon apparently.
Using his height, he meets my mouth with a long, deep kiss as he continues to fuck me. He keeps his pace slow and languid, really working the angle for everything it’s worth. My hand finally releases its grip on the counter and drifts down to my own rock solid cock to stroke it. I don’t go any faster than he is, melting into the slow rhythm and letting my body sing with pleasure. It’s an edge I’m not sure I want to tip over. It’s so intense—a buzzing in my blood and bones. “Is this tantric?” I ask stupidly.
“It’s been five minutes. Maybe.”
“How long can you last?”
“Wanna find out?”
I nod. He kisses me again. And we keep going.
Something like an entire minute later, he’s devouring my mouth, and I’m not doing much better, sucking at his tongue and tearing at his lips. His hands remain locked on my hips, but his hips are snapping, our balls slapping.
My hand is jerking my dick like it’s in a race.
“I love fucking this ass,” he says, and that’s it for me.
Cum flies, leaving my body at velocity. The soft splat on my cabinetry hits between Deacon’s slaps to my ass, and I swear it just makes me come more and harder.
“I’m gonna fill you up, Daddy,” he warns. “You ready?”
Jesus, again with the daddy thing, but why is it hot? “Do it,” I say. “Come in me.” I’m still coming when he makes good on his promise. He freezes at the top of a stroke, my hole fully stretched, and the jolt of his orgasm inside me along with the accompanying broken moan have me covering his mouth with mine like I can swallow his pleasure and double my own. He crumbles as I kiss him through his release, his legs stumbling and his arms braced on the counter so he doesn’t crush me to it. His dick slips out at some point, and I turn toward him so I can get a better handle on the kiss. He sinks in, his hands trembling with aftershocks as they drive through my hair.
I don’t think we made it ten minutes, but that only means we’ll have to keep trying.
And try we do. All weekend.
I’ve had relationships end due to arguments over sex. Namely—I wasn’t getting enough of it and/or I was asking for too much. It wasn’t until I tried doing relationships that I realized sex—or the lack thereof—could be an issue.
When you’re out hooking up with new people all the time, sex isn’t ever an issue. It just gets done. It’s the whole point. And I’m not saying I don’t have anything else to offer in terms of a relationship—I personally think I have a lot—maybe too much—but sex is hands down my favorite way to spend time with someone. I don’t like hikes or outdoorsy shit. I work out to stay fit because I’m kind of vain, and this is San Francisco. If you don’t look good, you’re in the minority, and I don’t want that. I want men to want me.
Like this.
Deacon might take his workouts more seriously than I do, but so far he’s always down to fuck, and that makes him perfect for me. By midnight on Saturday, I’m so cum-drunk, he has to stay with me in the shower.
While I could probably manage it myself, I’m not projecting as much competence as usual. While we’re in there, I beg him to suck my dick. He doesn’t, but he does let me fuck him when we get back to bed, so…
By Sunday morning, I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve had sex.
We stumble into Sunday afternoon, and I know he’s getting ready to leave. It’s an unspoken thing between us that Evan will be back this evening, and I don’t think either of us wants to make him wonder where Deacon is.
Part of him leaving involves me pinning him to the bed and kissing him like I might never see him again. That’s not the plan at all, but I’m nervous, and he’s letting me take it out on him.
This time, however, I’m imagining what it would look like if Evan were the one on top of him. I think about what it would be like if I’d wanted this man for months and months and he was offering himself to me for the first time. It’s hard to imagine what it would take to live with a man like Deacon and not want him constantly. The fact that Evan has been doing just that since summer seems impossible to me, but maybe I’m biased. I find them both ridiculously sexy, but my affection for Evan means I want him to have what he wants. I thought it might be me, but I was wrong.
My heart will go on and all that, but fuck if I want his to get broken in the process.
“Did you ever think of giving him a chance?” I ask between the grinds and the effort I’m making not to leave marks all over Deacon’s neck.
“Who?”
I wrap my hand around his head and bury my mouth beneath his ear. “Evan.”
He sucks in a breath. “Do you want me to?”
“I’m not trying to give you away or anything, but if you need a recommendation for a great guy…Evan’s right up there with the best.”
He palms my ass and aligns our bare cocks a little better. “Why does everyone want me to fuck my roommate?”
“I didn’t say you have to fuck him, but—” An image of that hits me. More specifically, an image of me watching them together. Involving myself somehow—not directing, but…I don’t know…supporting? Managing any gaps. I’ve topped two men at once before—they were a couple if I’m remembering right, and they approached me having heard some things through mutuals. I remember taking turns on them, going from one to the other and back.
That’s not what I’m picturing now. Fuck, I’m picturing Evan’s mouth on my cock while Deacon’s riding his ass and kissing me.
I pull away and take a few deep breaths.
“But what?” Deacon asks.
“Nothing,” I mutter. No man wants to hear the guy on top of him is picturing a threesome.
But fuck, now I can’t stop thinking about it. I slide off Deacon and lie close to his side, my hand moving across his chest from pec to pec. “Who else is telling you to have sex with him?”
“My therapist. My friend. Apparently my whole friend group knew he liked me—said it was obvious.”
“You’re not interested?”
“I…” he trails off. “Am I allowed to be?”
“You know how I feel about him.”
“If there were someone I wanted to be closer to, it’d probably be him,” Deacon says. “Not including you.”
I pinch his nipple, and his abs tense with a short laugh. “Obviously me,” I say. “He’s pretty insecure if you haven’t noticed. There’s some reality where he just wants to be included, you know?”
“Oh—in this?”
I shrug. “Anything’s possible in alternate realities.”
“But in this one where we’re stuck…”
“I really do love him,” I say. “I want him to be happy.”
“Is that how that works?”
“What?” I ask. “Love?”
“Yeah,” he says in barely more than a whisper.
“It’s part of it,” I say. “Probably one of the harder parts sometimes.”
“If you think I can make Evan happy, we might need to have a longer conversation than fifteen minutes. And I might need you to put some clothes on.”
18
DEACON
Isaac has a great espresso machine. I make us cappuccinos once we’re dressed, and he compliments his once he has a taste.
While I’ve been occupied with learning his machine, I was able to tell him about the things Gray and Bailey have mentioned about my relationship—or lack thereof—with Evan. I also explain about how attracted I was to my last roommate and what a disappointment that turned into. I also fill in a little more detail about the kind of life I had on weekends before he came along.
Once I’m on the couch with him, he asks, “Do you think if we hadn’t had a good date that you would have noticed Evan differently eventually?”
I don’t do well with hypotheticals, especially when what’s happened has already happened. My brain can’t subtract Isaac from my life now that he’s in it. “I don’t know.”
I don’t love having to blurt out to people that I’m autistic. Most smart, intuitive people clock it after an extended conversation with me. They don’t always come out and ask, but I can always tell when they shift into making accommodations. They’ll simplify their questions, show fewer signs of impatience, and ask over and over, “Does that make sense?”
I fucking hate that question. Because the answer is usually yes, I’m not a fucking toddler. Do you hear yourself?
However, in this case, I want Isaac to know. He has a decision to make, and knowing might make it easier for him, especially after the conversation I think we’re about to have. “Questions like that are hard for me to answer,” I tell him. “I’m autistic and I have ADHD, so the way I process information is a little different. I can’t imagine not knowing you, so asking what if when I only know about Evan’s feelings because of you makes it hard for me to answer.”
Isaac frowns, studying my face, and I let him. “I hadn’t picked up on that.”
“No?”
He shakes his head and reaches out to brush a lock of hair off my forehead. “All right. Well, you’ve told me what everyone else thinks of you and Evan. What do you think about it?”
I blink, surprised he doesn’t have more questions, but I can move on if he can. Gladly.
“I wish I knew, but he keeps pushing me away or leaving. I was hoping to talk to him this weekend, too, but now I don’t know.”
“You don’t want to talk anymore?”
“What I’m saying is I was wanting to see if there was any chemistry, but being with you…”
“We have a lot,” he says.
“That’s probably not enough for you, though, right?” I ask.
“It’s a great start.”
“Which could end after one conversation with Evan if it ends up he does want more with you,” I say.
“I’m not really in a place where I want to choose between the two of you. Especially not after this weekend.”
Isaac’s diplomatic answer is gratifying, but it’s not the same as being sure about where I stand with him. “But you are going to talk to him, right?”
“I will. And just to be clear, if the two of you have unfinished business, I understand if you want to explore that.”
“Just to be clear…” I repeat.
“I’m not saying you should have sex if it’s not something you’re interested in. I’m saying if you did hook up, I wouldn’t hold it against either of you.”
I’m nodding. That’s more or less what I thought he was gearing up to say, but I’ve seen how Evan reacted to the new development between me and Isaac. He’s a mess. He’s missing work. He’s cried. He’s left town… “Look—I’m not sure Evan would appreciate all this outside pressure I’m getting to try and make out with him to see how it feels.”
“Oh, Jesus, I hope that’s not what this sounds like,” Isaac says.
“What else would you call it?”
“I guess in my brain it’s hard to fathom not wanting to hook up with Evan.”
That draws a small smile from me. “You’re a sucker for that ass, aren’t you?”
“Fuck, you have no idea.” Isaac rubs a hand over his face then takes another sip of his drink. “Does it bother you that I have a thing for him?”
“It’s more than a thing,” I say, “and it only bothers me because I like being with you, and I was excited to see where it would go before I talked to Evan.”
“I was too,” he says. “Before I found out Evan’s got feelings for you.”
“But nothing’s happened between him and me,” I say.
“I care about him, and I don’t want to hurt him.”
“But he’s already hurt,” I argue.
“And I want to fix it,” Isaac says.
“By giving him a chance with me?”
He scowls. “That sounds terrible. No. You’re not mine to give him. But I do want to tell him he’s got a chance with me, and by the way, I don’t want to stop seeing you. Okay, that sounded worse.”
“If you want to see both of us, I can do that for a while, but I’m gonna need a decision at some point.”
Isaac groans. “Why? Why does it have to be one or the other?”
The question blindsides me because not only was I not expecting it, but it’s got me imagining a way different scenario than the one where eventually Isaac and Evan walk down an aisle together. A scenario that my dick gets ahead of itself with. This whole idea of seducing Evan just to see if I like it takes on a whole new layer when I add Isaac into the mix. “How would that work?”
“It probably wouldn’t,” he admits. “But it’s like the one way everyone gets at least half of what they want.”
I run a hand through my hair, tugging the strands slightly to try and distract my cock. “I’ll let you bring that up with him.”
Isaac laughs. “You’d be into it, though, wouldn’t you?”
Yes. I fucking would. Isaac’s sex life is my new obsession, and whether he’s fucking me or someone else with me, I’d be very, very into it. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that.”
Isaac reaches over to palm the growing bulge in my pants. I catch his head and plant a kiss on him. He responds with an open, eager mouth.
Apollo greets me when I get home early in the evening. I had no way of knowing when Evan would be back, and I have mixed feelings about it. The kitchen is clean, and the apartment is quiet except for the click of Apollo’s nails on the floor and his low, snuffling sounds as he sniffs me while I pet him.
I’m a little hurt by the fact that Evan skipped town after I more or less told him my life story, but I’ve gathered his parents are always asking him to visit, and I guess with the mess we’ve got happening here, dealing with his dad seemed more pleasant. I’m wondering how Apollo went on the plane when Evan comes out of his bedroom, and it’s the first question out of my mouth.
“He stayed at Sam’s.”
My head jerks up to look at my roommate. He’s barely in the living room, and he’s wearing short gym shorts that show off nearly every inch of his sculpted legs and a black hoodie. His hands are jammed in the front pocket, and his hair is a mess. “Why?” I ask, feeling another wave of disappointment crash over me.
“I didn’t want you to have to deal with him. I figured you had plans for the weekend.”
“And Sam didn’t?”
“Sam has a dog,” he says simply.
“And?”
“And—he already arranges his schedule around a pet, and it seemed easier to ask him to deal with one more than ask you to rearrange all your plans.”
“I would have.”
His smile is grim. “I know. But I wouldn’t.” He snaps his fingers to get the dog’s attention. “Come on, buddy.”
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Just my room,” he says.
“Hold on a second,” I say, louder than is called for. “Can we talk before you lock yourself in your room. You’ve been gone all weekend.”
He blinks like he’s not understanding something. It’s not Evan’s fault that he doesn’t know the something Isaac said to me today unlocked the roommate fantasy floodgates. I can’t tell if I’ve been repressing or avoiding them until now, I just know that once they started, Evan might as well have been on the couch with me and Isaac this afternoon. I halfway expected to turn to the side and see his dick there, waiting to be sucked when I was plunging deep into Isaac’s ass again. And then when we flipped around so he could finish inside me, I came again to the image of Evan straddling me to sit on my face.
His thighs in those slutty short shorts are bringing up all kinds of filthy thoughts, so I force myself to meet his eyes. I get that I have permission to explore whatever here, but not from the person who matters. After the amount of sex I’ve had in the last forty-eight hours, I shouldn’t be so horny, but that’s never been the way it works with me. The more I get, the more I want. I hyper focus. I binge.
“What do we need to talk about?” he asks.
Fuck, I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t want to talk. “Have you heard anything more from Millie?”
“Other than seven unsolicited nipple pics, no.”
“She’s sending you pictures of her tits?”
“Manon’s. Sorry. Dog nipples. She wanted me to see how puffy they’re getting.”
“Gross,” I say.
“Yeah. Made for an interesting jump scare every time I opened my phone.”
“Have you eaten?”
He waves a hand between us. “I don’t need you to feed me. My stepmom stuffed me full enough for a week.”
