Page 112 of Forgiving Utah

Who the fuck decided that cleaning graffiti off park benches for community service needed to happen before dawn? I flop back down, determined to get another thirty minutes of sleep, when someone knocks on the bedroom door.

“If you guys are up, I made some oatmeal,” Logan calls out.

Christian snorts at that. “Who the fuck eats oatmeal?”

“Logan and Owen, obviously.”

“Fucking nerds.” He gets up with a yawn and smirks when he glances at my hard-on. “Need some help with that?”

Reaching down to squeeze it, I run my gaze over his inked chest and arms. “I won’t say no if you wanna suck it.”

“Maybe if you ask me nicely.”

Logan knocks again. “Oatmeal’s getting cold!”

“Fucking hell.” I heave a sigh and roll off the bed to pull on my jeans. “Let’s just go eat his dumb oatmeal and then maybe we can fuck in the shower before I leave.”

“You’re such a romantic, pastelito.”

“Fuck off.”

When we finally exit the room, we find our roommates sitting on the couch with bowls on their laps.

“Yours are on the counter,” Logan says, angling his head.

Christian’s the first to stomp into the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath about coffee. I grunt in response and grab my bowl, glaring down at the goopy substance within. The oatmeal looks… healthy. Which immediately pisses me off because I’m still sleepy, still horny, and hungry for some actual food.

“There are bananas if you want some,” Owen smiles from the couch.

“Hard pass.” I plop onto the cushions next to him and dig into my sad breakfast when another alarm lights up my phone screen.

COMMUNITY SERVICE—7:30 A.M.

Fuck, this sucks. I have to do six months of this shit. Park maintenance, snow shoveling, trash cleanup. Whatever else the judge decides to torture me with.

Christian steps in front of me to nudge my foot, a large mug in his hand. “You want a ride?”

Well, I wanna ride something.

I shake my head, losing my appetite at the sight of the oatmeal dripping off my spoon. “Owen’s dropping me off on his way home.”

“Cool.” He takes a sip of coffee, not moving from his spot. When I glance up, the bulge in the crotch of his sweats catches my attention. His half-hard dick is basically at eye level, causing me to salivate. Hell, his cum would make a better breakfast than this slop Logan’s trying to kill us with.

That thought gives me a super fucked up idea.

“This oatmeal sucks,” I mutter, my eyes still on Christian’s cock.

Logan makes a wounded noise. “It does not suck. It’s good for you. Just put some sugar in it.”

“Nah. I can think of something better.” Setting my bowl on the coffee table, I grab Christian’s hips and tug him closer. His brows jump high, but he doesn’t resist when I tug down the waistband of his sweatpants to release his length.

“Uh… what are you doing, dude?” he asks, watching me stroke his dick. Logan and Owen go still.

“Preparing breakfast,” I snicker, meeting his gaze as I lean in to swallow him down.

His pupils blow wide before he grabs my hair, shoving me down. “Fuck, baby. Jesus.”

From the corner of my eye, I spot Owen slowly set his bowl aside and get to his feet. Both he and Logan watch us with heated gazes. I gag on Christian’s cock hard enough to cover my snort when he sips his coffee casually, thrusting into my mouth like getting his dick sucked in front of his roommates is no big deal.