Page 63 of Courting Danger

Roan glanced over his shoulder at them and grinned. “Never mind. I withdraw my protests about it being unfair.”

“Thought you’d see it my way,” Ocean declared.

Pope laughed right along with him, the same low, silky sound blending into a beautifully wicked harmony. Despite how hard his cock was, Danger wasn’t in any hurry to sit up and sucked Pope’s cock several more times until he shoved at Danger’s shoulder, a silent demand that he move.

Fine, but only so he could take part in the next bit of debauchery, as Ocean stood on shaky legs, closing the distance between himself and the table with two slow, shambling steps. Even his hand wasn’t steady when he brushed back the sweat-dampened hair plastered to his forehead and lifted the long hairin the back to let cold air touch his flushed, sweaty skin. He didn’t so much sit as his knees gave out, dropping his naked ass on the heavy wood with a thud. Squirming, Ocean scooted back on the gleaming surface to sprawl like a tatted angel, giving them a target for the bit of fun they’d discussed earlier in the day.

When Pope stepped up behind Roan and positioned him where he could paint Ocean’s belly, Danger saw exactly what he intended to do when he reached around him and started stroking Roan’s cock.

“Was this what you were after, boy?” Pope growled in his ear, loud enough that they could all hear him. “My hand on you, stroking you, maybe letting you come this time, or perhaps I should mimic what Ocean did to you and make you wait it out longer.”

Roan sucked in a breath, his gasp sounding both outraged and offended.

“That’s what happens when you put your pleasure in someone else’s hands,” Pope declared. “They might decide to bring you instant relief or prolong things so long it begins to feel like torture, like these long, slow strokes right here. You won’t come from this, but you want to, don’t you? Wanna paint all that tanned and inked skin with your release.”

Fuck, now Danger wanted to come too, and he’d barely begun to stroke himself.

“Bet you wish I’d stroke you the way you were riding him, like a jackrabbit in heat,” Pope growled, speeding up, but only for a moment. “You rode that cock like it was a bucking bull. Did it feel good impaling you like that, hard, deep, each time you dropped down on it?”

“Gods yeah!” Roan gasped, whining the moment Pope slowed back down again.

“My favorite part was watching your head tip back, rainbow reflections from the chandelier prisms waltzing across yourskin,” Pope growled, stroking him slowly again. “Watching your abs ripple, his fingertips digging into your ass, leaving red indents behind whenever he moved them. Listening to you groaning in between kissing with abandon, wild one moment, slow and seductive the next, all to get here and know that maybe I won’t let you reach the other side.

Oh, that was cold.

Cruel even.

As well as wicked and delightful.

This time it wasn’t just Roan who was upset about the possibility of not getting what he was after. Ocean looked downright regretful about having started this game in the first place, while Pope wore his trademark nondescript smirk, meaning that there was no way in the world of telling if he was about to do something delightful or cruelly dash Roan’s and Ocean’s hopes in the most wickedly frustrating way imaginable.

Danger was torn between keeping up with their pace or plunging headlong into a desperate race to feel his orgasm wash over him.

Despite Ocean’s cock lying spent on his thigh, several of the words Pope uttered left it twitching like it was trying to stand back up again. Youth and their refractory period. Damn, it would be fun to be in his twenties again, getting it up over and over until he came so often he couldn’t even see straight.

Pope was toying with them now, slowly building his strokes, filth still pouring from his lips as he wound Roan up further.

“How do you feel about cleaning him off, after we’ve all covered him in our cum?” Pope growled.

“I don’t mind getting the washcloth and filling the basin with warm, soapy water if it means I get to come,” Roan grumbled.

“And if I want you to clean him with your tongue?” Pope asked.

“Then I’ll make sure not to miss a single bit of it,” Roan replied when Pope stroked him again.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Pope declared, increasing his strokes until Roan’s release spurted across Ocean’s belly, abs, and chest.

Danger added more to his thighs and cock moments later when Ocean made eye contact with him and blew him a kiss. As if he hadn’t looked like a debauched angel before, that kiss was like wildfire singing through Danger’s blood; several drops splashed against Ocean’s balls, his inner thighs crisscrossed with them as Danger emptied his sack, coming harder than he had in years.

Pope sat Roan on the couch before he could crumple to the carpet, spent and exhausted after his climax, and did something the rest of them were forbidden to do. He climbed up onto the coffee table, straddled Ocean, and started stroking himself off while Danger slumped against the chair, half off, one butt cheek dangling over the floor. Every ragged inhale threatening to upset his precarious position, and yet he didn’t move to correct himself. He was too busy watching Pope as he came, cum mingling with Roan and Danger’s on Ocean’s body, with the final spurt landing on Ocean’s cheek.

It slid along Ocean’s jawline, close enough that Ocean tried to reach it with his tongue but couldn’t quite reach it.

“Filthy boy,” Pope growled as he tapped Ocean on the nose. “You leave that for Roan to clean up.”

Dutiful boy that he was, Roan crawled up on the table with Ocean the moment Pope climbed down, while Pope didn’t bother going for the couch this time and flopped down on the floor beside Danger.

“We’re never gonna be able to keep up with them,” Pope whispered. “Never gonna come close to wearing them out, either.”