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He looks down at our cocks, letting spit fall from his mouth as his hands work it in as lube.

His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing washboard abs that clench as he straddles me, his hips undulating, legs spread wide over my thighs.

My balls start to draw up against his and I know he’s fucking got me.

I’m going to come for this motherfucker.

His hands tighten around us as if he knows, squeezing our heads together brutally and twisting on every pass. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, and I can’t explain why.

“Fuuuuck, I’m coming,” I moan as my vision fades to black, my abs tightening as I slightly lift my back off the lounge, my fingernails digging into the soft fabric cushion.

And do I fucking come. Ropes of it spurt out of the tip of my cock like a goddamn volcano erupting after being dormant for a century.

My cum covers our dicks, my legs shaking under him as my orgasm takes over.

He doesn’t stop his movements, jerking us easier now, using my cum as lube, but it doesn’t last much longer.

Within a few more strokes, he’s following me over the edge of bliss, coming all over us, our milky white seed mingling together in a sticky mess over his hand and my abdomen.

He groans as he unloads, a deep, masculine sound that is so rich and intriguing as it hits my ears.

The post-orgasm haze clears almost immediately and I realize what the fuck just happened as I scramble to get out from under him on the awkward surface of the chaise. The stranger’s hands grip my bare hips, strong, warm fingertips pinning me down below him. Fuck that shit.

“Time to get off, or I’ll move you,” I grunt.

This motherfucker just fucking smirks at me, the corner of his lip tipping up in a partial smile, an eyebrow raising.

I move quickly, thanks to years of professional boxing and MMA training with my brothers.

I flip us so that he’s on his back and I’m out from under him.

Releasing him and pulling up my pants quickly, I tuck my still-hard dick away and take a step back from the stranger without taking a second look at his reaction.

Just as I’m about to hit the front doors, ready to get the hell out of here before the panic gets to be too much, a large hand grips my bicep, pulling me into an alcove and shoving me against the wall.

I could fight him off if I wanted to, but this is the only damn place that I have to decompress and clear my head, and if I lose my membership because of this dick, we’re gonna have more problems than this one.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hiss quietly enough for him to hear me but not loud enough that it would alert anyone to a possible altercation.

“I don’t want to be done with you yet,” he states almost pleadingly.

I laugh under my breath as his hands fall on either side of my head, caging me in.

He starts to descend in the direction of my mouth but he’s reading this situation all damn wrong.

Placing my hand on his chest, I give him a gentle shove back a step—not wanting to offend him per the rules of rejection at the club—but making damn sure my point is loud and clear.

“Yeah, well, we’re done here. I’m calling it a night. That was a one-and-done, man.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

Fuck, he’s not making this easy. He’s definitely not supposed to be pushing so hard. How did this guy get a membership?

“Look, I got caught up in the moment. I’m not gay, in case you couldn’t tell by the pussy I was eating when you joined us.”

His eyes flick down to the outline of my rock-hard cock in my slacks, even though I just came.

“I don’t care what you think you are or aren’t, but your cock likes me, so maybe I can help you figure it out.”

My mouth drops open slightly, not sure what the fuck to even say to that or what the hell is happening to me tonight.

I’ve never had anyone read me so transparently, and his observations are spot on.

With one touch from this stranger, he just confused the hell out of me, but he’s right, my body is on board with everything he is offering.

I’ve had great sexual experiences before, incredible even.

But that? That was something entirely different.

He affected me on a molecular level. Rewired my brain chemistry at its core, and that right there is why I have to get the fuck out of here. Now.

“It was sex, man. Nothing more, nothing less. Have a good night,” I reply curtly before heading to the door and storming out of it.

This time, he lets me go. I don’t know if I could restrain myself a second time—from punching him or asking for a repeat—the fact that I don’t know which messes with my head.

What the fuck did I just do? And why the fuck did I just come harder than I ever have before?

After a late night at the club, morning comes sooner than I’m ready and my mind is swirling with the mystery man and how good his strong, powerful body felt straddling me, our hard cocks squeezed together.

His uncut dick as he spurted cum all over us.

The cum that mixed with mine that I had to wash off of me before bed last night.

Everything about him was strong and masculine, and it really fucking did it for me.

Which I’m struggling to understand today.

How the fuck did I enjoy that as much as I did?

I’ve never been curious about men, but I’ve also never shared women with male partners before.

My thoughts war with the events, everything playing over again like a fever dream.

Did I seriously hook up with a man last night?

The sheer power of my orgasm and how goddamn right it felt is enough to rattle me to my core, but damn, that was one hell of an experience.

Sitting at my desk at my family’s distillery, earlier than normal, I boot up my computer to start my day on autopilot.

I’m the marketing executive and brand ambassador for Aspen Ridge Distillery in a tiny town hidden away in Western Washington.

My three brothers and I run the entire operation together with the help of a huge staff of qualified employees, whom we treat like family.

The company has been in our family for decades, and while we weren’t ready to inherit the business this young, we were all prepared for it, having grown up on the grounds, and each settling into a position of our own here—some of us easier than others.

My oldest two brothers, Sawyer and Dallas, are twins.

Sawyer fills the CEO position, and Dallas is our COO; both of them are in roles they fit perfectly and have always wanted.

Our brother Liam is doing what he loves most as one of our two master distillers, and then there’s me, who kind of fell into this position and am just trying to do the best I can at it.

We also have a little sister, Kinsey, who wants nothing to do with the family business and is about to start her second year of teaching kindergarten at our tiny town’s elementary school.

She’s the smartest one out of the five of us for not making a career out of the family business.

Working so closely with my brothers has its pits and peaks.

And since I’m the youngest, some days, there are a lot more pits than peaks.

Like I summoned the fuckers—shithead, dickhead, and spunk rag barge into my office like they own the damn place.

Which, I suppose we all do, but it’s the one space that’s mine here, and a little respect would go a long way.

But I’m just the playboy younger brother that no one takes too seriously.

So, why would they? I shake off the intrusive thoughts.

They don’t know I harbor some resentment for how much more at ease they each are in life, but isn’t that normal when you’re the youngest son of five kids?

Liam takes a seat in one of the chairs across from my desk, Sawyer standing off to the side with his arms crossed, as Dallas walks up to the front of my desk and drops a manila folder on top of it. The contents spill out slightly—a bunch of articles and a photograph.

My heart heaves, lodging itself in my throat as my palms start to sweat.

I’d recognize that face anywhere—his rich brown hair perfectly coiffed, his chiseled jaw dusted with two-day scruff, blue eyes sitting behind a pair of round glasses that surprisingly suit him.

The room starts to close in on me while simultaneously spinning as dread settles in the pit of my stomach. How the fuck did they get this?

I pick up the flimsy photo between my thumb and forefinger, looking at it with what I’m hoping passes as a puzzled expression, before flicking it back into the pile of paper.

“Who the fuck is this?” I ask my brothers, playing semi-ignorant, considering I don’t actually know his name or anything about him.

I’m taking a chance that they don’t know what happened last night.

Unless fucking Dallas and his girlfriend Blaire happened to show up and saw us.

While Dallas and I are both members at Temptations, we have different interests, and Dallas has always headed to the back private rooms while I stick to the floor.

We’ve never run into each other before organically.

Plus, why the hell would he look into who I hooked up with?

Nah. This is a bomb that I’m going to feel the effects of for a while, and I brace myself for the destruction.

“That,” Dallas says as he points to the printed photo of the man who jerked both of us off last night, “is Griffin Nash. His family owns the entire fucking Northwest Explorer that has been dicking you around for months. Meet your pain in the fucking ass.”