42. Dex

Ifist my cock harder and lift my head so I can see her face when I enter her. Her eyelashes flutter, teeth dragging at her lower lip as she struggles to accommodate me. But she doesn't look away from my eyes, and I push, push, push.

The dam is open, the restraint and manners and innate sense of decency and all that bullshit—all gone. I wanted her last week; I wanted her tonight when she was moving and stretching and crafting languid, achingly beautiful shapes with her body; I wanted her while I was tonguing her and finger fucking her, and now it's my fucking turn.

She lets out a low, guttural cry when I bottom out in her and I get it, because I feel the same. Our eyes are locked, our faces inches apart, her body taking me in, welcoming me home. ‘So beautiful,' I grit out, which is uncreative but the simple truth. I'm need and sensation, and her unctuous inner walls have my dick in a chokehold the likes of which I've never known—the happy bonus of fucking a world-class dancer, it seems.

‘Isn't she stunning?' Max murmurs from beside the bed. ‘And she can take it so hard. Have a go and see for yourself.'

One half of me wants to slap him and tell him to fuck off, but the other half wants the edge, the uncomfortable awareness his presence brings. I'm performing for both of them, and I find myself wanting to impress Max with my moves and stamina and technique as much as I want to wow Darcy with the things my cock can do to her body.

Besides, I need to let rip.

I need it so badly.

I begin to move properly, muscles firing as I brace above her, my hips rolling so I can drive my dick into her welcome heat over and over. She winds her long, supple legs around my waist, her chest rising and falling as she takes what I'm giving her. She feels astonishing, and yet I'm not sure she'll be able to come like this.

‘Hang on,' I tell her, bracing my weight on one arm so I can reach behind her for a scatter pillow. I keep hold of the condom and pull out of her, Max jumping in to help. He wedges a couple of pillows under her bum as I get on my knees. This way, the angle's better for her, and I get a fucking fantastic view of her naked body, arms outstretched still.

I position myself between her legs, sitting almost back on my heels, and slide my cock through her folds again, wishing I was naked with her. But as I grip her hips hard and push hungrily back inside her, the quality of her moan tells me this is far, far better for her.

And for me.

Until Max puts a knee on the side of the bed, that is, and grips his weapon like he's planning to fire it. Those blue eyes, which seemed so cold earlier, are fire as they stare at the exact place where my dick is pushing into Darcy's body. She's writhing beneath me, arching away from the pillows each time I hit home, so obliging and beautiful and perfect.

‘Look at our little whore,' Max croons, stroking his cock. ‘So exquisite, and so needy. She's already come once, but she needs to come again around your cock, doesn't she?'

‘She does,' I grit out, hastily averting my eyes towards Darcy, because there's something deeply disturbing and quite entrancing about the firm, steady strokes he's administering to the monstrous purple-headed beast in his hands, the beast whose anger is so at odds with the deceptive calm of his tone.

He leans forward, using the tip of his dick to rub her nearest nipple, lacquering it with precum as he fondles her other breast with his fingers. She moans loudly, incredulously, bucking harder against my next thrust, and I automatically put my hand to her clit, because I'm damned if Max is the only one allowed to stoke her flames.

Fuck, she's wet. Her clit is a glossy little button, thanks to her arousal, and I watch with awe and fascination and not a little emotion at the miracle that is Darcy submitting to, responding to, our joint efforts.

To my dick, my fingers.

To Max's dick, Max's fingers.

It's a symphony of rubbing and dragging and pinching and stroking as we play Darcy's body like the most delectable instrument. She's growing more and more fevered, her sounds and movements growing more desperate as, together, Max and I wind her higher and higher. I'm falling into an altered state myself, a state where my world has shrunk to the tight, hot shunts of my dick.

Then Max is straightening and standing, his hands leaving her nipples as he instead starts to stroke himself properly with sharp, firm tugs.

‘I'm going to come all over her while you come inside her,' he says, and Darcy whimpers an anguished oh God. I don't blame her, or him. In fact, I increase the savagery of my drives, because the idea of the two of us marking her, branding her, in our different ways while we have her at our mercy is too much.

I can't stop my eyes from darting between him and her. Her face, her eyes, her cries as she takes the epic fucking pummelling I'm giving her. His increasingly violent masturbation, the contrast between his still-immaculate work clothes and that angry, primal dick, the monster whose thirst can't be easily slaked. His handsome face is contorted, writhen with lust, and I'm aware of thinking I knew it. I fucking knew that's who he was under the Italian shirts and the lethal, practiced smile.

We're all making noises, too far gone and too turned on to be self-conscious. Darcy's whimpers go straight to my cock, an unspoken plea for more, harder. Max's low, rough grunts echo through my balls, their undeniable maleness reminding me she's outnumbered. Overpowered.

And then he roars a single, strangled fuck before he's ejaculating, pumping his seed all over her and the bed. It hits her stomach, her tits, her jaw, in perfect, creamy splatters so satisfying, their smacks against her skin so audibly wet, that it has every primal cell in my body celebrating. I'm about to come inside her, but if I could, I'd come everywhere. In and out. All fucking over her.

The sheer filth of having one man come all over her while another fucks the living daylights out of her must hit Darcy anew, because her cries go from shock at Max's wet onslaught to a whole new level of desperation.

Her hips are off the pillow, meeting me thrust for thrust as my balls slam against her. She's so fucking close, and while sweat is pouring off me and my impending orgasm is knocking on the door, I'm damned if I'll leave her anything less than wholly wrung out.

Max's exhale is long and shuddery before he releases his dick and puts a knee on the bed again, smearing his cum over her breasts and using it to rub and pinch and tweak her nipples, and Darcy pretty much screams the club down as she shatters around me. I pump and pump as her muscles milk my dick dry and the sight of her, tied up and screaming and covered in another man's cum while she climaxes on my cock, short-circuits what was left of my brain.

I am so fucking close. I am?—

Darcy's cries are growing subdued, her convulsions are easing, and I'm only vaguely aware of Max bounding off the bed as my balls tighten. I squeeze my eyes closed, blocking out everything for a moment that isn't the sensation of heat flooding through my lower body, the impossible rising, tightening, readying of my balls.

But the mattress dips behind me, and there's even more heat—body heat—right up against my back, and Max is gripping my biceps, his breath warm against my neck, his voice so urgent and confiding and intoxicating that it drains my brain of any residual blood flow.

‘You're doing so well,' he tells me. ‘Fuck, look how hard you've made her come with your big, beautiful dick. Now take what you need. Fuck that greedy little cunt of hers and take something for yourself.'

I nod to myself. I'm delirious. Yeah. I'm going to take—I need to—I'm?—

Right as my body releases its orgasm with all the violence of a catapult, Max lowers his face to my shoulder and bites me hard through the fabric of my shirt, so hard his teeth may well have found naked flesh. The pain is shocking and excruciating and intrusive, and it's fucking petrol on the flames of my orgasm.

It's less that I come than that my orgasm happens to me, like an explosion that rips through everything in its path, sparing nothing and leaving in its wake total oblivion.

That's how I feel as my climax subsumes me, annihilating time and space and sending me spinning through a vacuum as my physical being empties itself shudderingly into the condom, leaving an exhausted, stupified shell of a man.