My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan Was Supposed to Be Straight
Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy
Chapter 8: He Texted Me The Next Morning
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8: He Texted Me The Next Morning - When I agreed to a chill weekend at my best friend's place, I didn’t expect his older brother Dylan to be back—or to look like that. I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Ma Teenagers Consensual Romantic Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Humor Western Brother DomSub MaleDom Spanking White Male White Couple Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Size Nudism Slow
Becca, my sister found me doing Zumba in the living room. Again.
“Why are you always halfway sweating when I walk in here?” she called from the kitchen, digging a spoon into a jar of peanut butter.
I was in a tshirt, dripping in sweat, black gym shorts dangerously low, trying to keep up with this overexcited Australian woman on YouTube screaming about hip rolls and pelvic engagement. Yeah, I gotta sculpt my butt if I want two hot men drooling over it.
“I live here too,” I panted, flinging my arms out in something that might’ve been a turn. “If anything, you’re always walking into my moments.” Yeah, I was talking about how she almost caught Dylan fucking me in the living room yesterday.
She strolled over, leaned against the doorway, and watched like I was her morning entertainment. “It’s giving ... over-caffeinated twink energy,” she said, spoon between her teeth. “And also? Some very specific sexual tension.”
“I’m literally doing cardio., Becca. Chill.”
“Sure,” she grinned. “Tell that to your phone, which has buzzed five times in the last two minutes. Is it that hot dude Dylan sending you morning-after nudes?”
I stopped mid-workout.
“Sis, don’t ... shut up you bitch.”, I laughed.
She was already lunging for the phone.
“Give me that!” I half-yelled, half-laughed, lunging after her. But she was slippery, ducking away with the speed of someone who’d been reading my drama since preschool.
“If he’s sending you dick pics, I need to see!” she said, dancing out of my reach. “For research purposes, of course...”, she grinned.
“It’s not ... Jesus, Becca...”
She looked at message that popped up on the screen, tongue poking out in concentration.
And then she paused. “Oh,” she said. “Wait. This isn’t Dylan.”
I froze. “ ... Don’t read that.”
But it was too late.
Her brow arched as she read the preview aloud. “‘Lunch today? My treat. ☕🍽️’.”
“Okay, who the hell is ‘Elliot💫🥖’?”
I lunged again.
She rolled away, cackling. “You saved him with a sparkle emoji, Troy? Seriously?.”
“Give it,” I hissed.
“Not until you explain why Sparkle Baguette is texting you about lunch,” she teased, still scrolling. “Weren’t you just at Dylan’s last night?”. (Yeah, I went back to his apartment again after our morning fuck session. Guilty)
My face was burning now. “Becca...”
She stopped cold. Then she looked up, eyes gleaming. “Troy. You two-timing little slut.”
“I’m not,” I said. “We didn’t do anything.”
Her grin was pure chaos. “Didn’t do anything? What, did you stare deeply into each other’s souls while he fed you croissants? And I am not really talking about an actual croissant.”, she laughed again.
“He made me dinner!” I said defensively. “It was just ... pasta. Wine. Talking.”