Dylan waited, but Angelo had nothing more, apparently too drunk and horny to articulate anything sensible. Another rush sluiced through Dylan.Happy, drunk, and horny Angelo was his favourite.
But he fought all thoughts of what might happen when he finally got Angelo alone and turned Jevon’s words over again. “We don’t get weird about playing—with Rhys or anyone else—because it’s an intrinsic part of our relationship. We met at the club and built on what we found there. Rhys was part of that, so being around him is a slice of our normal, even if our friendship has moved on.”
“Makes sense,” Jevon said. “But I wasn’t really thinking about it like that. I’m not jealous, man. It’s just, I’m still learning about fancying fellas, so I was more worried about getting wood in the corner thinking about it.”
Dylan burst out laughing, the booze and easy companionship unravelling another knot of tension in his chest. “Don’t be shy about that. We love that shit.”
“It’s true,” Rhys spoke up for the first time in a while. “And we should probably go if you don’t want to see these two put on a show. Angie’s got that look going on.”
Jevon’s gaze was more curious than anything, and he made no move to get off the armchair he and Rhys were reclining on. He slid his hand absently along Rhys’s thigh. “I don’t mind if they don’t?”
Dylan didn’t mind, and he had absolute confidence Angelo didn’t either. He turned away from Rhys’s obvious surprise and pulled Angelo on top of him for the real kiss he’d been craving since the last one they’d shared at the clinic, when Dylan’s brain had been turned so inside out by Angelo’s graceful dancing, he’d barely been able to speak.
Their lips met, and love and desire wove together, creating a melting pot that was set to boil over any moment if Dylan didn’t get a grip on his tenuous self-control. Because when it came to Angelo, he’d never had much. Every time they touched, the very first time came rushing back to him, that rollercoaster night in the club when Dylan had chased oblivion and instead found his heart.
Fuck, I love him.
I want him.
I need him.
Like the resting Dom in Angelo had heard Dylan’s call, Angelo came to life. His gently exploring hand disappeared, and he crawled over Dylan on the couch, his arousal clear through his worn-soft sweatpants. He kissed Dylan again, harder this time—searching... questioning.Are we gonna do this? Here? With them?
Dylan didn’t know the answers, but when he forced himself to glance over Angelo’s shoulder, he found Rhys and Jevon were engrossed in each other—demanding lips and wandering hands. Jevon seemed dominant, but it was hard to tell with Rhys restricted by his strapped ankle.
Thrusting his hips to catch some beautiful friction, Dylan brought his lips to Angelo’s ear. “Bedroom,” he whispered. “But leave the door open.”
Jevon didn’t appear a man easily led, even after a night on the rum, but putting some distance between them with an open invitation seemed a safe compromise with the filthy orgy playing out in Dylan’s brain.
Angelo’s too, if the reluctant glance he tossed over his shoulder as they slipped out of the room was anything to go by.
In the bedroom, he threw Dylan down. “Strip.”
“Yes, sir.” The term was playful and not one they often used when they occasionally dabbled in BDSM, but combined with the thrill of being watched, it dripped throatily off Dylan’s tongue.
Angelo’s eyes darkened in response. He helped Dylan undress and tossed the clothes aside, shedding only his own T-shirt to add to the mix. “On your knees.”
Dylan obeyed and lowered his chest to the mattress, leaving himself open to Angelo’s mercy.
Or not. Angelo was the king of edging, and as his tongue swept over Dylan’s hole, light and teasing, Dylan knew he was in for a hell of a ride. He chanced a glance up and met Rhys’s sultry gaze.
Game on, motherfucker.
* * *
“Harder,” Dylan gritted out. “Fuck me harder.”
Angelo grabbed Dylan’s hair and pushed his face into the mattress. “Quiet.”
As if that would ever happen, but he said it anyway because Dylan fighting back, squirming out of his hold so he didn’t miss a moment of Jevon riding Rhys, lit Angelo on fire. He held Dylan firm a few moments longer, then set him free, fucking him with abandon while the party was just getting started in the other room.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had been going for hours and Angelo had been too wrapped up in Dylan to notice. Either way, he knew Rhys’s come face well enough to guess he was about to blow. Angelo fucked Dylan harder and tracked Jevon’s muscular back as he rolled his sensual hips. Rhys’s head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut, but their hands, like Angelo’s and Dylan’s, were tightly clasped, like they couldn’t let go, even if they wanted to.
Years ago, watching loved-up couples fuck each other’s brains out had scratched Angelo’s soul, but he adored it now, sucked up the warmth and mixed it with the burning love he carried for Dylan. Sex was sex, but love was love—there was nothing like it.
“Angelo.”
Dylan’s desperate plea broke through the pound-shop poet in Angelo’s brain. He squeezed Dylan’s hand ever tighter and gave into the pleasure building inside him. Heat coiled in his belly, tighter and tighter, and blood roared in his ears as Dylan unravelled, his guttural cries loud enough to pull Rhys out of his Jevon-induced trance.