Page 5

The moan ripped from Malcolm’s throat is hoarse and raw and so loud Rowan’s surprised all the glass toy cabinets haven’t shattered around them. It drowns out every single other sound in the room, everyone else’s groans and grunts and leers and jerking, and Rowan wants to bottle it up and save it for whenever he needs a reason to get hard at a moment’s notice.

Malcolm’s ass clenches wildly, and his eyebrows knit together. As if in slow motion, his breath leaves him in a rush and his cock erupts in Rowan’s hand, coating his fingers with hot come. Rowan strokes him through it, senses finally returning to normal after nearly blacking out everything around him to focus entirely on the man beneath him.

He’s only human, and Rowan can’t hold back any longer.

The slowly building pool of heat in his belly turns into an inferno as he finally focuses on taking his own pleasure, using Malcolm exactly how he so obviously wants to be used. He pistons into him, body in overdrive, muscles aching. As soon as he feels his balls tighten, he forces himself to pull out and fist his cock, and in two, three, five tugs his vision whites out and he’s coating Malcolm’s vine-covered hips in come with a deep satisfied groan.

Malcolm drops to the bed, boneless, as soon as Rowan releases the back of his neck to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. And fuck, he’s beautiful, sprawled on the bed without a care and dripping come and sweat and fucking glistening under the overhead lights like he’s made of goddamn Swarovski crystals.

He could spend the rest of the night admiring him, but the night’s not over.

“I think it’s time to see how much of a cock slut he really is,” Tats says.

As if all of that hadn’t already proved it a thousand times over.

Rowan would say they should take a breather, give him a break, but Malcolm sits up in one fluid motion, rolls onto his knees and spreads his asscheeks apart, giving Rowan a perfect view of the hole he’d ruined and the come from everyone else still dripping out.

Fuck .

“Well?” he asks. “Who’s gonna be the first to double dip?”

“Shit, look, he’s practically gaping already,” someone behind Rowan calls.

“Nah, but he will be soon,” someone else laughs.

“I want him first,” Leg Day says.

“Me too,” the Japanese Tweedle adds. He lays down on the bed on his back, tugging Malcolm with him until he straddles Tweedle’s hips. Without prompting, he sinks down onto the man’s cock with a contented sigh, hips rocking in a steady rhythm as he fucks himself.

It’s as captivating a sight as Rowan thought it might be, even at a leisurely pace. His eyes rove over every inch of Malcolm, biceps and thighs flexing, abs rolling, head lolling back, cock starting to perk up again after only a few minutes of being soft. And when Leg Day sidles up behind him and presses in two lubed fingers alongside Tweedle’s cock, Malcolm’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Fuuuck yeah, keep goin’.”

“That’s the plan,” Leg Day replies.

He works his fingers around the rim, tugging and twisting while Malcolm’s rocking his hips against him. By the time he works in a third finger alongside Tweedle’s cock, Malcolm is practically whining for him to get on with it .

So he does.

Get on with it .

Rowan’s transfixed as he watches Leg Day slick his cock and press it into Malcolm’s hole beside Tweedle’s. It goes in like fucking nothing , and shit, Rowan can feel himself getting hard again.

The response from the crowd around them is deafening, a chorus of “Fuck yeah” and “Take it” and “Fuckin’ slut” erupting from all sides, fighting over the increase in the slick sound of hands on skin.

And Malcolm fucking keens.

“ Ooooooohhh… !”

The long drawn-out noise bursts from the back of his throat as he buries his face in the shoulder of the man beneath him, gripping his biceps.

All the porn in the world doesn’t compare to how he looks, how he sounds, as Leg Day pulls out halfway and thrusts in. Malcolm’s mouth forms a perfect O, and his eyes scrunch shut as Tweedle finally starts moving as well.

They may have been shit on their own, but together the two find a steady rhythm, one thrusting in as the other pulls out, keeping Malcolm stretched beautifully around both of them. And when Tats makes his way to the front of the bed and presents his cock to Malcolm, he deepthroats it immediately and moans wantonly.

Rowan’s mouth runs dry. Falls open. Hangs there for a few seconds before he gets a hold of himself and snaps it shut. Drops back open as one of the men fucking Malcolm comes with a groan and the other keeps fucking him, shaft coated in come.

Rowan feels hot all over. Numb at the fingertips. Fuck , he thinks, get it together . You’ve seen this shit hundreds of times.

But he hasn’t. Not really. Not in person.

Not with a greedy bottom who cries out in pleasure when he gets both his holes stuffed with cock. Most of the similar porn Rowan’s seen focuses on the pain, and Rowan’s never been into that. He gets off too hard on his partner enjoying himself to like seeing people in pain.

And Malcolm is definitely enjoying himself. There isn’t a shadow of a wince on his face or a trace of an uncomfortable arch in his spine. Raw, open pleasure .

Rowan’s so transfixed that he misses the other guy coming entirely, only noticing when the men swap out.

Next up are Cupcake and Shortstop, the sheer size difference between the two men almost comical, but fuck if they don’t work well together. Cupcake is beneath, Malcolm almost unable to straddle his thick hips properly. But he’s clearly flexible enough, legs spread wide enough to reveal Cupcake’s pelvic bones protruding between Malcolm’s inner thighs.

Rowan wants to taste those thighs. Wants to run his hands over them with Malcolm spread out above him.

He’s going to zone out the rest of the night thinking of all the things he wants to do to Malcolm if he could only tell all the other guys in the room to fuck off. But he’s here to watch as much as he is to participate, and he forces himself to put aside his fantasies for a rainy day—or a sunny day, or any day, really—and fully take in the beautiful sight of Malcolm surrounded by cock.

The men pair off with whoever’s nearby and pass Malcolm around, fucking him two at a time, almost everyone opting to sandwich Malcolm between them, one fucking up into him and the other joining in from behind. Anytime someone slips out, Malcolm barks a command to “Get the fuck back in me,” followed by a clipped moan when both cocks are back inside and thrusting into him.

Shirley Temple and the Van Damme guy get creative, both lying back on the bed with their asses and cocks pressed against one another, forcing Malcolm to squat low over them and take them side by side. He groans at the new stretch, uses their legs for leverage, and fucks himself down hard enough to bruise. He rides them until both their ends, miraculously showing few signs of exhaustion despite the brutal pace and position.

God, Rowan wants to wear him out until he can’t move or even think about it.

And much like earlier, Rowan’s tired of waiting. Tired of watching. He’s rock hard again and desperate to feel Malcolm around his cock alongside someone else.

Go out with a bang, or something like that.

He climbs on the bed for what feels like the twentieth time tonight, trying to not let his eagerness show but probably failing spectacularly. There’s a time and place for being aloof and uninterested, but here and now isn’t it.

No, he wants Malcolm to know how badly he wants him.

The little spark Rowan swears he sees in those gold eyes makes him wonder if he’s alone in that want.

“Think you can take me with someone else?” Rowan asks him.

“Still waitin’ for you to make me cry.”

“You’re not ready for that.”

“ Tch .”

Every other time Malcolm’s been fucked tonight he’s been more or less manhandled into position or shown or told where to go. This time, he pushes Rowan onto his back and straddles him, one hand pressed flat to his chest while the other reaches back and strokes him. He doesn’t know if Malcolm’s hand is slick with lube or come or spit or all three, but he couldn’t care less as Malcolm raises up and sinks down onto him with a quiet “ Unhh .”

And when he leans forward and rolls his hips, taking Rowan’s cock all the way in and hovering mere inches above him when he drops back down, Rowan’s brain short-circuits. Because he’d fucked him face-to-face before, but they’d still had a fair amount of distance between them. Now he can see everything, and Malcolm’s face is almost as captivating as his ass.

He senses another person slide up behind them before he sees him. It’s Tats. Rowan’s glad—next to Malcolm, he’s the most attractive one of the lot, and with his long cock, sure to drive Malcolm crazy.

Malcolm stills above him, and Rowan has exactly zero seconds to prepare himself when he feels the head of Tats’s cock slide along his shaft and push and—

—and Rowan’s gonna pass out. For real this time.

Because fuck , all he can think as the other man works himself completely inside is Tight tight tight tight tight, fucking shit, TIGHT .

But Malcolm’s hole stretches to accommodate both of them while he lets out this beautiful, unhinged moan that cuts off like he ran out of breath right in the middle of it.

“Jesus fuck ,” he gasps.

Yeah. Jesus fuck is right.

It’s so good and they’re merely sitting still, the three of them panting in unison, and someone needs to move immediately or Rowan’s going to blow from the searing heat and pressure around his cock.

Mercifully, Tats begins to move, slowly at first as he acclimates to the feeling. He keeps a steady pace, only increasing incrementally after a few dozen strokes.

And God, it’s indescribable. Like Rowan’s fucking someone and getting jerked off at the same time. The defined ridge around the head of Tats’s cock drags along Rowan’s shaft over and over, the sensation ten times hotter than anytime Rowan’s jerked his cock alongside someone else’s, solely because they’re both inside someone else.

But as much as he’d love to lie here and let both of them pleasure him, he wants to move .

He raises his knees as best he can, plants his feet, and thrusts up into the tight heat as Tats pulls halfway out.

“Mmmmm fuck!” Malcolm cries out above him.

Perfect.

Rowan wants to hear more of it.

He almost regrets telling him to shut up earlier, because Malcolm isn’t being bratty now. Now he’s moaning around the two cocks inside him as eight others are being jerked to the sight of him because he’s loving this. If Rowan could set Malcolm’s moans as his ringtone without it being weird, he absolutely would.

But Rowan silently vows to make sure Malcolm never forgets this. He pushes past the overwhelming feeling of needing to come again, past the burn in his muscles, past the urge to catalog every single second of this night, and fucks up into him with everything he has.

He and Tats have a good rhythm. Fast. Hard. Balls slapping against each other’s shafts on every stroke, and Malcolm is eating that shit right up, moaning for faster, harder, deeper, just like that .

Rowan’s pretty sure he blacks out, because before he knows it, Tats says, “ Nnng , I’m gonna come!” seconds before his pace stutters and his cock twitches alongside Rowan’s.

And God, Rowan can feel the wetness and the warmth, and it’s almost enough to make him come on the spot, but he doesn’t want any of this to be over yet.

Malcolm groans when Tats pulls out, leaving Rowan inside him. No one else steps up to replace Tats, but The Rock look-alike kneels against Rowan’s side and feeds his cock to Malcolm like it’s a treat, and judging by the eager way he sucks it down, like he’s done every single time tonight, it might be. He works The Rock expertly, slurping around the head and using the one hand that’s not holding himself up to stroke his shaft in time with his head bobbing. Rowan knows exactly how that feels, and it’s a miracle that the man manages to last as long as he does.

“Gonna come,” The Rock grits out.

And Malcolm wraps his hand around the back of his thigh and pulls him forward, deepthroating him as The Rock’s hips stutter and he comes with a groan.

Malcolm licks the man’s cock clean, sucking on it until it starts to soften, and The Rock pulls away. Malcolm locks eyes with Rowan, makes a show of swallowing The Rock’s load, and for good measure, opens his mouth to let Rowan see there’s nothing left. Exactly like Rowan made him do earlier.

And look.

Rowan can share.

Rowan is good at sharing, because he’s the middle child of a family of six from a neighborhood where people took care of each other. But he hates it. Now that he has a taste of having his own things, he never wants to have to share anything ever again. And apparently that desire extends to Malcolm too. The entire night has been hot as fuck, but he doesn’t want to see him get other people off or see other people get him off. He wants to do it himself or make Malcolm do it him self under Rowan’s watchful gaze.

So he shoots up, pulls out, and coaxes Malcolm onto his knees. He pulls his back flush against his chest as he pushes back into him in one smooth stroke, marveling at the slight resistance he still somehow feels. He squeezes Malcolm’s pecs, feels the pounding of his heart reverberating through the taut muscle.

He stills when he’s fully seated, Malcolm groaning low and dipping his head forward as if it’s the first time a dick’s entered him tonight rather than the hundredth.

Rowan slides a hand up from his chest to his throat, skimming his hand along the long column of his neck until he’s cupping his jaw and leaning his head back nearly on Rowan’s shoulder. He doesn’t apply any pressure, keeping his touch featherlight. As much as he’d love to choke him properly, it’s against both Malcolm’s and the club’s rules, and he wouldn’t cross those lines for anything.

But the sensation must be doing something for Malcolm if the sharp inhale through his nose is anything to go by. Or the ragged breaths that follow when Rowan starts stroking him with his other hand, Malcolm’s cock hard and warm and slippery with come. Rowan ghosts his fingertips along Malcolm’s neck and jaw, feels Malcolm clench around him in response and buck his hips back.

“Come on ,” Malcolm growls.

Impatient. Back to being a brat. Malcolm grinds his ass into Rowan’s hips the best he can but groans in evident frustration at not being able to get fucked like he wants.

“Hm?” Rowan teases.

“Fuck me, Re— sh-shit .”

Rowan huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Gonna have to use a different name for me ’less you wanna accidentally safeword.”

“Nng!” Malcolm groans, bitten-off curses spilling from his lips as Rowan pulls back and pushes in, pace slow but thrusts hard.

Rowan can hear the struggle in his voice. The knowledge that if he calls him Red like he did earlier, like he clearly wants to again now, Rowan’s going to stop. That Rowan has to stop.

“Or better yet, I could make you call me sir. Or master.”

It’s not really the time or place for it—this isn’t a scene scene, not like that—but he wants to see Malcolm’s reaction to it. And Malcolm nods, a quick dip of his chin to his chest. It’s too neat. Too practiced for Rowan’s liking. No fight, no resistance, none of the fire he’s seen all night. None of the desperation , which means he’s only doing it to get what he wants.

But…

I can count on one hand the number of times he’s topped .