Page 2 of Kylan (The Wylde Street Boys #3)

TWO

MAREK AKHURST

Nothing turned me on more than watching Leon work Kylan over.

When he activated the vibrating butt plug, the way Kylan arched and threw his head back. The way he welcomed the sensation, how his entire body reacted. His skin prickled all over, his nipples pebbled, his neck corded, his mouth open, eyes closed, hands clawing at the sofa.

And the way Leon teased him, lightly skimming his hands over Kylan’s chest, his tiny waist, making Kylan hiss and whimper.

When he tweaked his nipples, kissed him deeply, rubbed the lace that barely contained him, rattled the butt plug before pulling it out. The way that boy arched his back, yearning for more, begging and pleading for Leon to please, please fuck him.

And my god, the way Leon lifted that pretty skirt and sunk his cock into that tight little arse .

The way Kylan gasped and moaned, almost sobbing with sweet relief as Leon began to fuck him. Slow at first, but long and deep, taking him to that place he needed to be.

That place where nothing existed but pleasure and praise. It was a high, an ecstasy he could get nowhere else.

I understood that all too well. So did Leon.

It was why we chose Kylan.

The first time had been a one-off fluke. We’d been at 180 and walked out to find a petite boy on the corner of Wylde and Oxford. We’d asked him if he’d be interested in double the money and he was more than eager.

And earn his money, he did.

What we’d found was a boy who fit our list of needs so well, we eventually made it a weekly fix. In fact, he was so fucking perfect for us we made it a twice a week contract.

We liked a pretty little thing that we could share, that would welcome both of us, that we could dress up and pamper, then do all kinds of heavenly things to.

The thing about Kylan was, we soon learned, that he needed it as much as we did.

It was so easy to see how pretty he felt, how happy he was. Putting on a tiny skirt that twirled or pretty knickers and stockings.

Just like it was easy to see how much pleasure he got out of it. Having one of our cocks buried inside him while the other watched, or when we spit-roasted him—which was clearly his favourite—sent Kylan to his happy place. He got that glazed-over look on his face, in his eyes; satisfaction, relief, pride.

He was born to be a femboy.

Our femboy.

He thrived.

And watching Leon fuck him gave me a great sense of pleasure and pride as well. We’d always included a third in our bed for the pure satisfaction of watching the man we loved most in this world in his element.

Leon was a god amongst men.

To me, at least.

I adored him, loved him more than life itself, and watching him fuck another man turned me on in ways I couldn’t explain.

Almost more than when he fucked me.

And I know he got off on watching me fuck Kylan as well.

He was never sexier than with a femboy between us.

I fucking loved it.

This beautiful boy. So pretty, so fem, so eager to please.

His entire purpose was to please us, and in return we spoiled him, pampered him, cherished him.

Gave him pleasures he never knew possible.

But more than that, we took his mind to places he needed to go.

I could see it in his eyes when he reached that place of bliss. When Leon pumped his seed into him, Kylan gasped, smiling, over-awed, and his eyes... glazed over with pride and pleasure .

When it was my turn, Leon sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, Kylan’s face buried in his chest, body between his thighs while I got into position.

Leon kissed him softly, stroking his cheek. “Good boy,” he murmured. “You like to please your daddies, don’t you, boy?”

Kylan nodded.

I held Kylan’s hips and inspected his hole. He was gaping open, Leon’s come trickling at the edge, and absolutely glorious. “Ready for your second daddy?” I asked.

Kylan nodded again and Leon held him to his chest while I raised his hips. “That’s it, boy,” Leon cooed. “Keep your little arse up for him. Let him in.”

Sliding into Kylan was heaven and ecstasy all in one. Even with Leon opening him up, he was still tight. Warm, wet, and full of my lover’s seed. Knowing I was fucking Leon’s come into him was a level of devotion I couldn’t find anywhere else.

The way we shared this boy, the way we adored him equally. His small arse, his narrow hips fit in my hands so perfectly. I could grip him and fill him so thoroughly. He lay on Leon’s chest, cradled in his strong arms, his face in Leon’s chest hair as he took every inch of me.

Kylan whined and moaned, and I pressed my weight down on him. Leon’s arms slid around me, his eyes locked with mine over Kylan’s head, and he held us both as I began the slow climb to climax.

We sandwiched him, held him between us, as I thrust long and deep. Just how he loved it. His moans became louder, sharper, and he tried to roll his hips, tried to move.

Leon held him tighter.

“Does this feel good, boy?” Leon asked.

“Yes,” he cried.

“You like it when your daddies do this to you, don’t you, boy?”

He whined, an almost-sob. “Yes.”

Leon’s eyes never left mine. “I think our boy is about to come,” he murmured. “His cock is hard, rubbing against mine.”

“I’m gonna come soon,” I whispered. “He feels so good. Love fucking your come into him. Turns me on so much.”

Leon’s sultry smirk curled my insides, warm and lovely. “God, I fucking love you,” he murmured. “Love watching you fuck him. Love it when he’s between us like this.”

Kylan cried out, his small body stiffening and shuddering between us as he came. His arse clenched around my cock, milking me, and it brought me undone. Too much pleasure, too many sensations, so much love in Leon’s eyes as he watched me come.

I thrust into Kylan hard, holding his hips firm, and pumped my load deep inside him. I collapsed on top of him, his body wracked with aftershocks and soft whimpers, ragged breathing, and Leon’s hands on my sides, in my hair.

I never felt closer to Leon than I did in that moment. In every moment like this. When we shared Kylan, when we watched each other. The eye contact, the indulgence, the hedonism.

And sweet, sweet Kylan . . .

He was limp and pliable, sated and adored.

I pulled out of him and ran my hands over his back before kissing his shoulder. “Are you okay there, sweet boy?”

He chuckled out a sigh. “Yes, daddy. Never better, daddy.”

Leon stroked Kylan’s hair. “You made a mess on me, boy.”

“Sorry, daddy,” he replied. “I couldn’t help it. It feels so good when you press me between you. When you both want me at the same time.”

I sat back on my haunches and spread his arse cheeks. He was well used, and the mix of our come was leaking out.

“So beautiful.” My spent cock twitched. “Fuck, I almost wanna go again.”

“I’ll take more, daddy,” Kylan said. “Whenever you want me.”

Twenty years ago, I would have. I’d have fucked him three or four times in one night. But as willing as I was, forty-seven-year-old me wasn’t as capable.

Leon chuckled and lifted Kylan’s chin, bringing him in for a kiss. “Greedy boy.”

Kylan nodded. “I want to make you happy,” he said earnestly.

“You do, darling,” I murmured. “But we should shower, clean us all up. ”

I knew Leon wouldn’t love having that come dry on his skin. Not that he was a neat freak or a germaphobe. He just preferred to be tidy, organised, and clean.

I helped Kylan kneel on the bed, and I held his hand as he climbed off and got to his feet. I lifted his chin and kissed him softly. “You’re such a good boy.”

He preened. “Thank you, daddy.”

Then I held out my hand for Leon, and as he sat on the edge of the bed, I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “My king.”

He laughed as he stood up, kissing me soundly. “My king,” he said back to me. Then he kissed Kylan. “And our pretty princess.”

He revelled in our praise.

Our shower was a large walk-in with double detachable showerheads. Lavish and pretentious, maybe, but then again, this whole house was.

So were we.

We were indulgent. We liked the finer things.

Like Kylan.

We showered him, bestowing him with gentle caresses and soft kisses. My god, how he shined.

Compared to when we first met him, first had him. That Kylan had been rigid and scared, unsure of what we might do, or if we might hurt him. He’d been in a permanent state of fight or flight, it seemed. Like a bird brought in from a storm.

Now he was free. Free to be himself, free to be touched and kissed, free to feel safe and cherished .

He radiated contentment the second he walked through our door. The change in him was day and night.

He felt safe here and secure.

No one could hurt him. Or worse . . .

Two nights per week, he was with us, and we wished it was more. But we travelled with work, and we had late nights, early mornings. And some nights we needed to unwind with a few drinks at 180, just the two of us.

But these nights with Kylan had brought us closer, and I wasn’t sure how that was even possible. Leon and I were watertight. Always had been. Never one moment of doubt, never one argument. Since we met all those years ago.

Yet somehow this boy had brought a new element to us, to our relationship, to our home, and to our bed.

A nurturing side, where we could watch each other thrive and grow with kindness and adoration—and smoking hot sex—with another man. Where Kylan was the conduit for mine and Leon’s love for one another.

A much younger man. A twink with a slight build and a big heart. A femboy who needed so much love and attention it took two daddies.

“Here he is,” Leon said. We were standing in our kitchen, wearing our lounge pants and not much else, waiting for Kylan to come downstairs. He was wearing my silk robe, undone of course, small black panties, and soft black dainty slippers.

His hair was still damp, neatly brushed to one side, and a touch of pink lip gloss. He was shower-fresh, his clean skin flushed pink .

“You look beautiful,” I whispered, running my thumb along his jaw. “Beautiful enough to eat.”

Leon chuckled. “We need to feed him first. I thought I’d make you a nice salad with sliced steak. How does that sound?” he asked Kylan.

Leon loved to cook and potter around the kitchen. He spoiled us both.

“It sounds amazing,” Kylan replied softly, sliding his arms around him and giving Leon a cuddle. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Hm,” he said, flustered by the attention, but the hint of his smile gave him away. “Now be a good boy and do some reading while I make us dinner.”

“Need me to help with anything?” I asked him.

Leon leaned over and kissed me. “No, love. Go and sit with him in case he has any questions.”

I took Kylan’s hand and led him to the study. He knew the routine. He knew where his books were and where he was up to.

Was this part of our agreement?

No, not in our contract anyway.

But he’d shown interest and ability, so it was a natural progression. We made it a point of doing this once a week, and Kylan was advancing well.

Kylan went to his seat and opened his first book. He looked so quaint in the robe and slicked down hair, his rosy cheeks and shiny lips. Like a star from the silver screen.

Just gorgeous.

I kissed the side of his head. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are right now,” I whispered. He made my heart swell with affection, and pleasure pooled in my belly. Leon and I had often spoken of the constant attraction toward him, the constant sexual desire, the need to act out every impulse, every whim.

“I’d ask you to sit on my lap,” I murmured, unable to take my eyes off him. “But I fear you won’t get much homework done.”

He looked up from his book, mischief tugging at his smile, then stood up with his book in hand and walked over to me. His robe fell open all the way, his panties barely concealed anything; his long, lean thighs and small waist took my breath away.

Then he sat on my lap, making no attempt to conceal himself with his robe, and opened his book.

“Can you help me read, daddy?” he asked shyly while pressing against my crotch.

Little minx.

“Of course, princess,” I said. I took a look at the chapter heading he was starting from and read it out loud. “Statutory interpretation: Principles and Context, Chapter Eight.”