30. Sex Swing

30

SEX SWING

OLIVER

"I'm calling couch chronicles. Everyone, come in here. Pop a squat. Hurry up!" I yell while sitting in one of the recliners on the tour bus, my hands forming a makeshift cup around my mouth.

Mazen is lying across the entire length of the couch. A shit-eating grin on his face only confirms what I know in my gut to be true. He and Soph had sex. I can almost smell the smugness, mixed with her mouth watering citrus scent, on him.

"We're on a bus, bro. No need to get all amplified."

"Says one of the reasons I'm calling this meeting in the first place."

Cannon swings open the bedroom door in the back of the bus, barreling out of it with Soph's legs snug around his waist. The sound of her sweet laughter has me itching to grab my guitar. Every sound she makes is lyrical.

He sits in the chair next to me, positioning our girl so that her back is against his front .

"What's up?" Soph asks, chin high, neck exposed.

"You screwed him." It's not meant to be an accusation but it falls from my lips like one.

Mazen answers matter-of-factly, not skipping a beat, "Several times."

"What's it mean?" I probe, looking at her inquisitively. "Was it just sex or more?"

Our lead singer doesn't let Soph answer for herself when he says, "More. A lot more than just meaningless sex. Right, baby?"

This time, her mouth parts, a half smile crossing her face. "Yep." That's all she gives. A simple, curt answer with a long P at the end.

"Baby?" Cannon's nose wrinkles before he offers us a seriously amused laugh. "I thought Rosella was weird. Baby, really?" We've never seen Mazen serious about a woman before. The pet name hits Cannon and me like a brick to the skull.

Is this our new normal?

Soph suppresses a giggle before Mazen's displeasure is shown by his quick retort. "Ollie calls her Fireball. She calls you HempDaddy or whatever that strange app thing you tried out was. It doesn't matter, man. I'll call her whatever I want," he chastises Cannon with that commanding manner he's perfected.

"What do you want to call me?" There's a trace of humor in Cannon's question. Though I've known him long enough to know that there's nothing funny about his request. The blue in his eyes turns neon at the prospect of Mazen's answer.

There's not an ounce of jealousy stirring in my gut like I thought there would be when this moment came to fruition. I find this situation more satisfying than anything. Soph's eyes widened, and her pulse sped up when I told her I got the impression that our band's singer might have a glimmer of interest in our drummer. I've always been good at reading people. When you're dealt a shit hand in childhood, like I was, sometimes, your intuition is as important as a hot meal.

Restless energy swirls between the four of us. Something strong like the thick air before a thunderstorm settles at our feet.

Nervously running her hands through her hair, Soph asks, giving Mazen an out, "Why do I get the feeling that this meeting is about more than nicknames?"

"It's about so much more than nicknames. Are we all together now? A lot changed in Chicago, apparently. I do want all the juicy deets, by the way."

Cannon rubs his hands over Soph's shoulders. He's nervous. "Why do we need a label?"

Standing up, I snatch his wrist, then lean down. My chest is now pressed tightly against Soph's. "Because you're mine, she's mine, and she's yours and his. That means our square is complete. I don't like people touching what's mine. I'm needy. Fucking sue me. I need to know that we're all in agreement that no one touches the unit that's not in the unit ."

When no one moves to put their hands in front of us in a hand stack—the universal symbol of camaraderie—or yells Go Team , I press, "Is that good with the three of you? Are you ready to commit to this … to the four of us doing whatever this is for however long—"

Soph interjects, cheeks red with trepidation when she asks, "The question I want to know is, are you all really ready to commit to one woman's kitten for however long we're all in? "

"Put a collar on me, Fireball. Yours is the only kitten I've petted since we met."

"I'll get your name tattooed on my dick right now, Rosella ."

She smiles. "Don't tempt me, Wilde."

I cough. "You won't be able to be with our girl for six weeks. Just remember that before you go tatting your dick like I did. Cannon and I will let you watch us with her though."

"What's a few weeks when I've already promised her forever?"

Cannon huffs. "You went to Chicago and came back as a lovesick puppy."

We all know he's joking. We all have it bad for our girl. It's hilarious hearing Mazen's smooth talk. We're not used to this side of him. The totally smitten side.

Hell, I've never seen him have a serious relationship since middle school, and even that was fleeting. Kari Weatherby attended school with us for three short months. Then broke his heart when she was uprooted by her parents, who were both enlisted in the Army and had gotten new orders, and she was forced to move across the country. Mazen bid his first love—I use that word as loosely as possible—goodbye, then swore off women after that, claiming that he'd never allow his heart to be stomped on again.

The memory makes me laugh. He wrote a song titled "Army Brat" in our Government class, and when Mr. Reasor caught him doodling little hearts around Kari's name, he made him stand up and sing it to the entire classroom. Mazen being Mazen didn't mind, and Mr. Reasor didn't know he'd grow up to be a Grammy-winning musician.

"I don't hear you making inked promises, little drummer boy." It's Mazen's deep voice that tugs me back into our conversation.

"I got your little boy." Cannon's threat speaks right to the appendage in my pants, as if my cock is a microphone, and he traded in his renowned drumsticks for the spotlight.

Simmer down.

"There's nothing little about Cannon." Soph's eyes widen. "I'm warning you."

"You seem to take him just fine," Mazen quips.

"And you three have turned a serious conversation about our commitment to one another into foreplay. Unless we're skipping the hand stack for a genitals stack—which, I'd like to add, I am game for—let's all agree that we're committed to the unit, and anyone else outside of the unit can get their rocks off elsewhere."

"Are Murphy and Vanna unit adjacent?" Soph asks. "Like we don't want to have an orgy, but we care about them in a platonic way."

"Yeah," Cannon pauses, looking at the lot of us. "I'm in , but out of this conversation."

Couch chronicles come to an end when he kisses Soph on the lips, then announces he's going to the gym. Which is code for I'm not good with feelings or talking, but I am good at lifting weights .

The vow we entered into about exclusivity within our group is solidified as we burn blacktop toward our next destination. When our next show comes to an end, and we're racing off the stage, it's no longer to rid our adrenaline with random women or drugs.

The heated glances, seductive smiles, promises of dirty, filthy acts following our show, and lust-filled adoration make up Soph's face as she watches us perform with her sister by her side. If heart eyes were a real thing, Soph has perfected them.

She's more than our tattoo artist turned muse. She's so much more. She's our tower of strength in the madness of the lives we've built. She's the ink that has seeped into our skin, forever ingrained. Sophia Lozier is our world.

We're hot, sweaty, and a little more revved up than we usually are after a show. When we bid Lacey a farewell for the evening, a thick air of wanton need settles. We've all been on edge for days. Releasing some tension is my only goal this evening.

Ashton is taking one for the team and keeping Lacey and Jupiter occupied while we—the three of us—show Soph just how serious we are about the vow we made to cherish her.

The sound of the door opening alerts me and Cannon that the after-party is about to begin, and we jolt into a standing position. Mazen opens the door of our bus, helping to guide Soph to the steps before he closes it and latches it behind him. It's harder than it should be to guide her up the narrow path, given the fact that she's been blindfolded.

"I got you, baby," Mazen coos from behind her.

"What's with all the secrecy?" She turns her cloth-covered face to look over her shoulder.

He gives an impatient shrug that she doesn't see. "Ollie has a surprise for you."

"Not for all of us?" The need in her voice, the pout in her dissatisfaction, is palpable .

It's been one full week since we've been back on tour. One week of heated make-out sessions between sets. Gentle caresses during our tattoo sessions and savory glances that have guided us to this evening.

"For all of us," I confirm, taking her hand in mine.

The corners of Soph's mouth turn upward, and her cheeks turn an adorable pink.

"Remove the blindfold," I instruct Soph as the three of us stand before her, along with the black apparatus hanging from the ceiling of our bus.

The cloth falls from her eyes to the floor, along with her jaw. "Why do you guys have a sex swing?"

"I … it's … we," Cannon sputters.

"Use your words," Mazen demands in a tone that borders on a reprimand or a promise of something more that I haven't fully accepted might be brewing.

The truth is, since they've been back from Chicago, it hasn't only been Soph's eyes that have darted between Cannon and me with interest. There's a curiosity burning in the depths of Mazen Wilde's sword-tinged irises that is both unnerving and tempting. Tonight isn't just about pleasing Soph. It's about solidifying our foursome, the unit finally becoming one. In the sexual sense, that is. Tonight is our initiation, a commitment ceremony.

Mazen's authority is like the ripple of courage that Cannon needs. Standing a little taller, he says, "We want to worship you like you're our queen. I want you … we want you in the swing like it's your throne. Sit on it. Command your kings to deliver the pleasure you need and deserve. Make us kneel for you every day until you finally grow tired of us."

Confidence soars through the bus and my veins. "That's something I can get behind."

"Did someone say behind?" Mazen laughs. "I call dibs on that ass. Her ass," he quickly clarifies, though I don't miss the second his eyes meet Cannon's in a quick appraisal.

"Fuck no, I haven't had her ass yet." I throw up my hands in disgust. "I bought the damn swing. I get to call dibs."

"Sit on your throne, and strap yourself in. We'll all get a chance to own her, just like she owns us." Cannon's voice is as clear and crisp as the desire budding in the small space between the four of us.

We strip naked so quickly it's like we've been dared to. There's no shame between my friends or our girlfriend. That fact solidified when I informed them of our plan to share Soph after the sex swing I purchased on Amazon was delivered this morning.

"A couple of rules," I say as Cannon finishes pulling the last strap over Soph's thigh, securing her in place. She looks like a goddess, bound before her hungry servants. "You're going to guess which one of us is fucking you. If you guess right, you get to decide which one of us fucks the other."

A moment of uncertainty I can only describe as frozen stillness settles, tethering our mounting desires and the rule I just laid out before us.

Dipping her chin slightly, Soph asks, "What's the next rule?"

"I'm glad you asked, Fireball." I chuckle wickedly, ready to toss my own wrench into our well-conceived plan.

Forcing people together isn't usually my style. Neither is lusting after the men who have been my best friends for years, yet here we are, dicks swinging and nipples taut.

"Whoever you guess is screwing you has to eat the cum you'll milk from the person to his left."

As I finish, Mazen shakes his head adamantly, signaling his unacceptance of this rule. Though we discussed sharing her in the swing previously, I will admit that tossing this rule into the mix will certainly shake things up. Call me curious, but I want to see if my instinct on the lustful glares Mazen's been trying to hide holds any weight.

"Sorry, boys. I was all in. Don't think I can screw my future wife in a sex swing in front of you anymore. It's degrading." As he uses exhibitionism as an out, his thick eyebrows unconsciously furrow.

Bending him to my will, I remind him about our conversation this morning. "We made a pact. A fuck Soph senseless solidarity pact. Like hell you're backing out." It's now my own brows setting into a straight line.

Cannon's voice is gruff as he steps into Mazen's personal bubble. " Your future wife?"

There's not an ounce of understanding in his glare, telling me that he comprehends the real reason Mazen is stalling.

Hell, two minutes ago he was all, "I call dibs on that ass."

It's not hard to miss the fact that we're all naked, grown-ass men when Cannon steps close enough toward Mazen that his hardening cock brushes against his. Drummer on singer is like an X-rated MTV special of my dreams.

Roughly, Mazen thrusts himself away, only to back into the small dinette table behind him. Cannon's relentless, gaining the few steps it takes to position himself directly in front of our singer once again.

"Don't act like you haven't been watching me as hard as I've been watching you this week." Cannon's rough voice matches his exterior as Mazen stares at him in mute invitation .

"A humorous surprise, but not a shocking one. Right, Soph?" I petition.

She stifles a grin from her spot in the swing, dangling from the ceiling like a potted plant, and I can see the moment she begins to recognize her own needs. She loves to watch me and Cannon. Sometimes, she doesn't even participate. She just sits back, vibrator humming against her clit, as he ruts into me and then me into him.

Male-on-male action is her ultimate aphrodisiac.

Mazen's eyes grow as wide as saucers before they hone in on our suspended queen. "I love you , Sophia." There's a plea in his tone, a promise that she owns his heart even if his body craves something she can never give him.

I know what you're thinking—things are moving fast— it's only been a handful of weeks that we've been on tour. The difference in our timeline is that we've been living in close quarters, spending almost every waking minute with each other. Our relationship timeframe can easily be tripled, equating to months of dating at this point.

"I love you, too, but that doesn't mean that I don't also love them. I think you love them both, too, even if it's in your own way. Even if you're not ready to admit how much and in what ways yet. We've all waited a long time to find one another. I'm sure they'll wait until you're ready."

The undeniable fact she tosses into the air lodges itself in all our lungs, forcing us to accept her words to be true. It holds a smidge of validity that exceeds the friendly love that has kept us tethered since childhood.

Sophia has never once shied away from what she's desired. Not since the first day we met in her studio. I came harder than I had in years, then watched it drip down her leg. I knew she'd be mine then. I felt it in the organ under my sternum. I just didn't know she'd end up being ours … or we 'd all end up belonging to one another in ways we never fathomed.

The masterful persuasion she casts over everyone she meets is a talent she has perfected. Make no mistake—tonight's plan was all mine, but Soph has taken the reins. Just like I knew she would. She wouldn't have three men ready to take a knee otherwise.

"What if I told you I'd love to see Cannon's mouth on you?" Her eyes land on Mazen's long, erect cock.

There's a deliberate indifference sprawled across Mazen's face. It's almost as if he's trying desperately not to react to how good the prospect of her request makes him feel. He doesn't need to voice what the thrill she's wishing for is doing to him, it's evident by his body on full display.

Holy shit. This is really going to happen.

I push down the tinge of negativity that threatens to claw at my mind because of the taboo totem pole we've now chained ourselves to.

Soph continues from her spot, front and center in the suspended swing, "What if I love you, Oliver, and Cannon, and they love you back just as hard and deeply? Would you allow that?"

She doesn't offer any time for him to answer before she adds, "You pointed out the fact that I didn't have to be alone anymore. Not in my grief or the daily mundane things that will come up. The same can be said for you, Maz. Lean on them as hard as you leaned on me when we were in Chicago. I promise none of us will let you fall."

"If our girl wants you to suck my cock, little drummer boy, what are you waiting for?"

As though Mazen's words unveiled a red carpet at his feet, Cannon lowers his large form in front of Mazen in a sweetly intoxicating act of submission. Before he opens his mouth, he glances over his shoulder to catch a glance at Soph and me. There's a silent question in his blue eyes, begging for my permission.

The simple dip of my chin sends a surge of delight throughout the tour bus, and a couple of things happen at once. Cannon buries his face in the corded muscles of Mazen's groin. My eyes dart to Soph's then back to the vivid imagery in front of us, just in time to see Mazen's hands gathering the wealth of blond hair at Cannon's nape as he impales his mouth with fervor.

My rules are forgotten, tossed aside like the thought of condoms. We've all been tested, and after tonight, we're devoted to each other forevermore.

I spin Soph around in the swing, plummet into her slippery hole, and prepare to break for the woman who has become our queen, our world.

Her wet opening accepts me greedily.

"Fuck, you're so wet, Fireball."

A giggle mixed with a moan falls from Sophia's parted mouth. "Can you blame me? That's so freaking hot."

I don't have to divert my gaze from hers to know she's referring to our drummer blowing our lead singer.

"Not one bit, baby," I reply, holding the black straps of the swing tightly in my grip. "As good as I know Cannon is at giving head, I'd much rather be buried in this sweet little cunt of yours."

"Harder," Soph begs, her need to be pushed to the brink far exceeds my words of praise.

I oblige her request using the swing's momentum to pound into her wet opening with force.

That's the thing about our girl, to the world she appears one way, but with us—in the safety of our circle—she's free to let the depraved woman that resides in her soar without judgment.

Plunge after unmerciful plunge, the heady feeling of my impending climax builds at the base of my spine moments before my thighs begin to shake.

"Fill me up, Ollie. I want all of your cum."

On a ragged breath, I empty myself into my queen.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit," I pant, chest rising and falling as I stand before her.

Cannon stands, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "My turn," he gravels before taking a large step away from Mazen and bridges the gap toward Sophia.

Before he can sheath himself inside of her, she holds up her hand and turns her head toward the side to face Mazen. "Did he swallow it all?"

Our singer's Adam's apple bobs harshly as he swallows. "Yeah," he answers, breathier than normal.

"Good." She winks in Mazen's direction before turning back to face our drummer. Her beautiful lips curve into a mischievous grin when she says, "Fuck me as hard as I know you want to fuck him."

The intake of breath next to me tells me more than Mazen's lack of words ever will.

We get lost in the mayhem of slick bodies, open holes, and a melody that will never be forgotten. Nothing but the beating of our quickened pulses, growls of pleasure, and the exclamation of our joined passions fill the air for a solid three hours of suspended time.