My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan Was Supposed to Be Straight
Copyright© 2025 by StoriesByTroy
Chapter 14: Sweat, Lights, Tension
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 14: Sweat, Lights, Tension - 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 Cheating Sharing Brother DomSub MaleDom Light Bond Rough Spanking White Male White Couple Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Size Nudism Slow
Dylan’s skin was hot under my fingers.
That was the first thing I noticed. Not the way Dylan’s pecs strained as I peeled off his sweat-slick compression shirt. Not the way his abs flexed when I pulled the damp fabric over his head. Not even the way his eyes never left mine. Just the heat of his skin. Alive. Real. Familiar.
As the shirt finally came off, time slowed for a beat. His bare chest was slick with sweat, every line of muscle catching the studio light like it was sculpted just to tease me. His collarbone glistened. His abs; tight, defined, ridged like stone shifted as he moved, and my eyes couldn’t help but trail down, following the veins along his arms to the waistband of his black compression shorts.
And then lower.
Because of course they did.
The fabric clung to him, wet and low, and I could see the heavy outline of his cock beneath it. I swallowed hard. Every inch of his body was a reminder. Of last night. Of the way he moved when his cock was inside me. The way his breath had gone ragged right before he told me to keep looking at him while he claimed my hole.
Now I couldn’t stop.
My cock stirred in my jeans, slow and stubborn. I shifted my posture, trying to hide it, but it was no use. My body knew him. Knew what it felt like to be under him. Wrapped up in him. Open, aching, full.
And his eyes were locked on me like he could read every memory crashing through my head. Every craving I hadn’t figured out how to bury.
He smirked.
And just as I tugged the shirt over his head, while my fingers grazed the bare skin of his ribs, he leaned down; close enough for only me to hear. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he murmured, breath brushing my ear. “The French guy.”
My hands stilled for half a second.
“The one who kisses your forehead while he fucks you.”, Dylan whispered.
I swallowed hard.
“The one who fucked you ... and you still came to me after.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.
His shirt finally slipped free from his arms, and the tension between us snapped like a pulled thread. Before I could catch my breath, Elliot’s voice cut in from behind the lens.
“Perfect,” he said, from behind the lens. “The sweat adds intensity. Let’s keep it raw.”
I stepped back quickly, heart pounding, forcing myself to look anywhere but at Dylan’s body or worse, his eyes. I rubbed my palms against my thighs like I could wipe the memory of his skin away.
“Let’s keep it raw,” Elliot said again, adjusting his camera settings. “Lose the protein tubs for a few, yeah? Just movement now. Light stretches. Natural poses.”
Dylan nodded and turned back toward the light setup, every muscle shifting like he knew I was still watching. I tried not to. I tried to sit down, cross my legs, scroll through my phone; anything that made me look normal.
But I couldn’t ignore the throb between my legs. Or the heat crawling up my neck. I wasn’t just remembering last night. I was reliving it. Every thrust. Every growl. Every time Dylan had said my name like it meant something.
I pressed my knees together tighter.
Dylan reached for a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, tilted it to his mouth, and took a slow sip; throat bobbing, biceps flexing like he knew exactly what he was doing.
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