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“I’m not stopping, baby.” I slam into him and he sobs. “You’re gonna come for me one more time, aren’t you? Three times tonight, Finn, look at you, you needed this so bad—”

“Yes, yes, please—”

His ass is clenching around me in rolling pulses, dragging at my cock on every thrust. I look up and Sawyer is watching me, eyes dark, lips parted, and that’s the last thing I can take.

I come with my eyes on my best friend, pounding into my roommate. It rips through me, wave after wave, my hips punching into Finn as I pulse inside him.

“Fuck, Sawyer, he’s milking me, his ass is so tight, he’s pulling it right out of me—”

Finn cries out, sharp and broken, and then he’s coming too, his cock pulsing in my fist. His whole body locks and shudders and clenches, and his ass milks me through every last aftershock until I’m gasping, my forehead dropping onto his sweat-slick back.

For a long stretch there’s nothing but breathing in the dark.

I ease out of Finn slowly, holding the base of the condom, and he whimpers at the loss and collapses forward onto his elbows. I deal with it, my hands shaking again.

When I turn back, Sawyer is stretched out on his side, one arm under his head, watching Finn catch his breath. There’s cum drying on Finn’s lower lip. Sawyer reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb, and Finn turns his face into the touch, and something in my chest does a slow, dangerous roll.

Because here’s what I know now: I want Sawyer too. Not just want him here, watching, involved. I want him. I want my hands on all that golden muscle, want to know what sounds he makes when he’s the one being taken apart. The thought turns me on so much that I could probably get hard again right now, pull out of one and bend the other over. I could fuck my best friend tonight. The want is that strong, that specific.

But Sawyer walked into this room tonight a straight man, and he’s probably still processing everything. I can see it working behind his eyes even now, the questions lining up, waiting for daylight. One more thing tonight might be what sends him running, and I will not risk that.

Not tonight. But someday.

I climb back up the bed and pull Finn against me. Sawyer shifts in on his other side, and we fit together in the dark like we’ve been doing this for years. Finn is already half-asleep, warm and pliant between us, one hand curled against my chest.

I lie there and let the truth settle in me, calm and certain as a play I know will work.

I’m not done with either of them. Not with Finn, who I’ve wanted for two years and finally have. Not with Sawyer, who I apparently want more than I’ve ever admitted, even to myself.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be done with either of them.

9

Sawyer

Heat is the first thing I register when I wake up. There’s a weight across my chest, and the room smells like sex. For a second my eyes open to a ceiling I don’t recognize, and then I remember I’m in Nolan’s bed.

I lie there and let my brain assemble the pieces of last night: Finn’s mouth, Nolan’s voice giving orders in the dark, my hand wrapped around Finn’s cock while Nolan bit marks into his hip, the way I came so hard I saw static.

Holy shit.

I turn my head carefully. Finn is wedged between us, on his side, facing me, his dark hair a mess across the pillow, his lashes lying in crescents against pale skin, his lips parted and still a little swollen. From my mouth. From Nolan’s. His hand is curled against my chest, loose and trusting.

On his other side, Nolan is flat on his stomach, one arm thrown over Finn’s waist, his face turned into the pillow. Even asleep he looks somehow put together, golden-brown hair falling over his forehead, the broad line of his shoulders rising and falling.

I keep waiting for the panic to show up. I had sex with two men last night. My best friend and his roommate.

But the panic doesn’t come. What comes instead is a slow, spreading warmth in my chest, because holy shit, it was life-changing. There’s no other way to put it. I’ve had sex before, good sex, or what I thought was good sex. Last night rewired something. The memory of Finn’s mouth alone, the heat of it, the way he took all of me and moaned like he loved doing it, sends a throb straight to my groin. Twenty-three years of thinking I knew what I was into, and one night flipped the whole board.

Even the shower. After everything, when we were all wrecked and sticky and half-dead, Nolan looked at the two of us and said, “Shower. Now.” And we went. All three of us crammed into their tiny bathroom, the one with the knocking pipes. The water ran hot, and Finn stood in front of me with his hair plastered down and soap on his collarbones, and he wrapped his hand around me and jerked me off, slow and perfect, while Nolan stood behind him with his chin on Finn’s shoulder and watched. Neither of them could get it up again. They were both wrung dry. But they were determined to make me come again. Because I was behind, as if that was an injustice that needed correcting. I came with my head against the tile and two men holding me up.

They’re both so generous, in completely different ways, and I can’t decide which one undoes me more.

I let my eyes drift back to Nolan.

My best friend and my teammate. I thought I knew him top to bottom. I knew he was caring, that he kept track of people, remembered the small stuff, showed up when it counted. What I did not know was that Nolan had that voice in him. That calm, absolute command. He told me to get on top of Finn, and I did. He told me to fuck Finn’s mouth, and I did. He told me to hold on when I was dying to come, and I held on, because some deep, dumb part of me wanted to do exactly what he said.

And I liked it. A lot.