Page 47 of Flagrant Foul (Totally Pucked #3)

Sev Delorean

“Do you want me to go to my room?” Teddy asks. “I don’t mind. I know some people need space after sex.”

The answer is complicated and hard to put into words because, usually, I am one of those people.

Usually, there’s a strange, unpleasant undercurrent of how did I get here?

or how did that happen? after I’ve had sex with someone new.

Usually, I feel a little uncomfortable. A little strangled.

A little like I’ve done something wrong even though no part of me consciously thinks there’s ever anything wrong about consenting adults having sex.

This time, it’s different.

I have done something wrong.

I’ve done exactly what Nate asked me not to. Exactly what I’ve been trying not to do for years.

Do I feel guilty? Yeah, of course I do. This is going to hurt Nate badly. Of course I feel guilty about it. I love him. I value his friendship above most things in life. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt him .

I pull Teddy as close as I can possibly get him, tucking him in against my chest as I curl my body around his and tell him the truth.

“I want the opposite of space.” I kiss the back of his head and tighten my grip on him until I hear his ribcage adjust. “In fact, if I hadn’t already fucked your ass to shreds, I’d be inside you right now.

Not fucking. Just owning. Just taking up space in your body so that even in your sleep, you don’t forget who you belong with. ”

He laughs. Or he tries to. His laughter is muffled by how tightly I’m holding him. A soft, spluttery sound that’s almost as angelic as it is filthy.

He stills, and after a while, his breathing lengthens. Mine does too.

My phone rattles on my nightstand as a message is delivered. I try not to tense, but I do. He does too.

“Do you need to get that?” he says softly. “It’s okay if you do.”

We both know who it is.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” I reply, closing my eyes to chase the guilt away.

Here’s the thing; like I said, I feel guilty.

I do. It’s heavy and unpleasant and so fucking uncomfortable it feels like something crawling over my skin.

I’m anxious about everything. I’m worried about how Nate will react.

I’m afraid of his judgment, his anger, and his disappointment, and more than anything, I’m scared of losing him.

All those things were true before I laid a hand on Teddy, and they’re still true.

But do I regret what I’ve done? Not for a second.

I’m in the kitchen, blinded by the morning sun blinking off the ocean. That, and by Teddy, shirtless, and in a pair of low-slung sweatpants.

He blinks at me and shakes his head emphatically, showing a bright line of white teeth to drive his point home. “I’m not sore, Sev. I swear. I’m fine .”

It’s a lie. A white lie, but still. He’s not the only one who’s been watching for years, studying every detail, every expression of someone else’s face. I can tell things like this about him too, and right now, I see a tiny trace of untruth in the brightest bluest striations of his eyes.

“Didn’t you say you usually do side stuff, hmm?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you said? ’Cause I seem to remember something like that. I seem to remember you saying you found it hard to relax enough to take a dick that wasn’t mine… ”

“Yes, but…”

“No butts,” I say firmly. “At least not for a couple of days. You took a pounding yesterday, and you need to give yourself time to recover.”

He looks down and his bottom lip juts out. It’s such an eye-wateringly adorable pout that I’m forced to stop what I’m doing and suck that plump, bratty lip into my mouth and keep it there.

He responds by throwing his arms around me, laughing, and humping my leg exuberantly, not stopping until I push him away, turn him to face the kitchen counter, and land a loud warning smack on his right ass cheek.

“You think that’ll stop me?” His eyes dance in a way I’m pretty sure can’t be normal. I react in an animalistic way that I’m a hundred percent sure isn’t normal. “It won’t, Sev. It’ll make me much, much worse.”

I bend him over the counter and rub the spot I slapped, trying to collect my thoughts and get a semblance of control of myself. The swell of a perfect mound of flesh against my palm puts paid to that. My vision goes cloudy, and I completely forget what I was trying to achieve.

Instead, I ease his sweats down and make an awful sound at the sight that greets me, guttural and way more affected than I should be.

I rub his ass again, watching in wonder as my hand travels in slow circles over the globes.

My skin is darker than his. Not much, but enough for the contrast to be noticeable.

Enough for me to notice and like how it looks.

His ass is a marvel. A spectacle. A sight for sore eyes.

Soft skin.

Soft, smooth skin.

Soft, silky skin that’s warm and inviting.

He looks back at me over his shoulder and shakes his ass at me. His cheeks quake gently.

I spank him again, and yes, I admit, it’s a spanking, not a smack by any stretch of the imagination. I’m as bad as he is. I must be because even I can’t deny that I’m actively encouraging him to succumb to pants feelings.

A little gasp follows the impact, chased down by a tiny purr and a slight, seductive arching of his back.

It’s too much for my knees. They give way, and I sink onto the floor.

I turn him around, steering him by the hips so he’s facing me as I look up at him.

He’s as beautiful as anything I’ve ever seen.

More beautiful. He’s an explosion of blue eyes and pink lips.

A wry smile and a snarky tilt of his head.

“Now this,” he says, looking down at me, “is the stuff wet dreams are made of. ”

I ease his pants down until they’re pooled at his ankles, and I smile at his dick. “So pretty,” I mumble before shoving as much of it as I can into my mouth.

It is pretty. It’s so, so pretty. Cut and pink and perfectly formed. It stands up at an arrogant angle, jutting away from his body and curving back toward his navel. It’s so hard that I have to catch it in my hand to bring it to my lips.

His head slides over my tongue, the ridge scraping just enough to make me moan. I suck him into my throat without a thought in my head. I don’t think about what I’m doing, or whether I’m doing it right. I don’t wonder if it feels good for him or if he likes what I’m doing.

I look into his eyes and see everything I’ve ever needed to know written across them.

He widens his stance, spreading his legs as much as the sweats knotted around his ankles allow, and begins to thrust. For my part, I let him, relaxing and warbling ecstatically around him.

The whole time, he looks down in dull amazement, running his hands through my hair, gently at first, and harder as his orgasm chases him down.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispers over and over.