Chapter 6

At a college reunion, Noah hooks up with Wes—the jock who once bullied and outed him out of repressed desire. Things get hot fast, but just as Noah’s on his knees blowing him, Wes’s best friend Ryan walks in. Instead of stopping it, Ryan watches—then joins. Now Noah’s between both jocks, taking control, teasing them until they’re begging for more.

“Let me help you, Noah.”

I froze for half a second, Wes’s cock heavy and twitching in my hand, my lips still slick from taking him in.

Ryan leaned closer behind me, voice low and teasing, breath brushing my neck. For a second, I really thought he was going to join in—whip his cock out and push into my mouth too. But then— His hand slid gently to the back of my head. Fingers threading into my hair. And he pushed.

Not rough. Just steady. Guiding me down, easing Wes deeper between my lips. I let him. My throat tightened, jaw stretching to take more, my hands braced on Wes’s thighs as Ryan whispered, “Yeah ... just like that.”

I moaned around it. Let Wes slide deep. Felt the head bump the back of my throat. Above me, Wes gasped. His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the bed. “F-fuck, Noah—shit.”

“Damn,” Ryan muttered behind me, voice getting thicker. “You’re good at this.”

His other hand dropped to his gym shorts. I didn’t have to look. I could hear the rustle of fabric, the low hiss of breath when his fingers wrapped around his own cock.

“You do this often?” Ryan asked casually, palm sliding slow under the waistband. “Suck your bullies off in hotel rooms while their best friends help?”

Wes let out a choked laugh. I glanced up at him with my mouth still full. Ryan chuckled. “Ngl, the dude does know how to suck a cock.”

He exhaled, slow and sharp. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend,” he added, his voice thick now, “I’d probably have you blow me too. Right here. With my mate.”

Wes let out another moan—louder this time. He looked wrecked. Flushed, sweating, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His cock throbbed in my mouth as I sucked slow, tongue working the underside, one hand gently cupping his balls.

Ryan’s hand was still in my hair, still guiding. Not forcing. Just adjusting, like he wanted it to feel good for both of us.

“Jesus,” Wes whispered. “Noah, I’m not gonna last...”

I pulled back, letting his cock pop from my lips with a wet sound, my hand taking over as I pumped him slow. “You okay?” I asked, voice hoarse, lips shiny.

Wes nodded. His eyes were glassy. “Yeah, just ... yeah.”

Ryan leaned back, his hand dropping to his own cock again, stroking through his shorts now. His bicep flexed as he worked himself, his eyes locked on me like he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. “This is fucking unreal,” he muttered. “I thought I was just coming back to shower.”

I smirked. “Welcome to the show.” Then I went back down. Slower this time. Letting Wes feel every inch. Letting Ryan watch. The room filled with the sounds of it—wet slurps, Wes’s panting, the soft shh shh of Ryan jerking off beside me.

We stayed like that for a while.

Three bodies, three different rhythms, but somehow synced. Wes clenching the sheets. Ryan rubbing himself slow. Me, halfway on my knees, halfway lost in the taste and heat and chaos of it all.

And then—Wes’s voice broke through.

“Noah,” he groaned. “I really want to fuck you.”

I paused. Lifted my head, slowly. Wes’s cock glistened, red and twitching, his abs clenching like he was right on the edge. I blinked up at him. “In front of him?” I said, cocking a brow. “Really?”

Wes hesitated. “I mean—”

I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Damn, Noah,” Ryan muttered, still jerking himself. “Don’t leave him hanging like that. Look at his tip. Shit’s redder than his face.”

Wes groaned, frustrated, his cock twitching helplessly in the air.

I smirked. “Wes...” I leaned in, close enough that he could feel my breath on his shaft. “If you want to fuck me, you’re gonna have to earn the rest.”

He blinked. “Earn it?”

I stood slowly. Licked my lips. “Earn the apology. Then earn the rest of me.”

Wes looked wrecked. Ryan was still palming himself. The whole room smelled like sweat and precum and tension. I grabbed my shirt off the chair, tossed it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Wes asked, voice hoarse.

I paused at the door. Looked back. “Think of this as halftime,” I said, grinning. “If you want more, figure out how to say sorry.”

Then I opened the door and walked out—leaving them both hard, breathless, and dying to follow.