Chapter 88 Aslan
Chapter 88
Aslan
The tiles were cold against my back, but Aitor’s mouth was a scorching brand of heat. He had me pinned against the open shower stall, his body a solid wall of clothed muscle against my naked one. My heart was still pumping with the adrenaline of what had just happened. The stall was warm, and the air was thick with steam and the metallic scent of the locker room. His kiss was demanding, a hungry, desperate thing that stole the air from my lungs. He broke away, panting, his dark eyes wild.
“God, Aslan,” he breathed, and then he dropped to his knees.
I gasped as his lips traced a path down my chest, his tongue flicking over my nipples, his teeth grazing my stomach. He worshipped every inch of me, his hands gripping my hips, his hair brushing against my thighs. It was worship, it was devotion, and my head was spinning from it. When his mouth finally closed over my cock, I cried out, my hands fisting in his hair.
He took me deep, his movements sure and practiced, and I lost myself to the sensation, to the wet heat and the rhythmic pressure. That’s when I heard it.
A soft squeak. The creak of a locker door opening down the row, muffled by the sound of the water.
My heart hammered against my ribs. We were about to get caught. But Aitor didn’t seem to notice at all, lost in his task, his head bobbing in a steady, intoxicating rhythm. And if he did, as he'd said before, he didn't care. So, to hell with it. Neither did I.
I closed my eyes, moaning when Aitor’s tongue ran along my thick nerve.
The slobbery, erotic sounds coming from his mouth eclipsed all others, yet a presence hovered. Was I becoming paranoid?
Moaning, I leaned slightly to the side, just enough to peer past the edge of the stall.
And there he was. My eternal stalker, my ghost.
Garrett.
What was he doing here?
He was standing by the bank of lockers, half-hidden by the metal doors, his face in the shadows. My blood ran cold. A wave of fear and something else, something sick and hot, flooded my stomach.
He'd caught us, but why the hell wasn’t he leaving? He should've just turned around and walked away.
Instead, he smiled. Watching me, watching us. His hand dropped to his groin, and he slowly unzipped.
You've got to be fucking kidding me...
Was he...? My heart began to hammer inside my chest, my breathing uneven, with that morbid fascination that comes from seeing something forbidden, something you shouldn’t be watching, yet can’t tear your eyes away from.
I jerked back, standing straight, my mind screaming.
Say something.
And then I saw him move again.
Garrett stepped into the narrow gap between the lockers and the wall, centering himself so I could see him from head to toe, a secret strip of a show just for me. His hand slid down his abdomen and disappeared into his jeans.
My cheeks flushed. My breath hitched. And my dick, which was already hard in Aitor’s mouth, got impossibly harder. It was a betrayal, a sick, twisted reaction, and I hated myself for it.
I watched, mesmerized, as Garrett pulled himself out. He was already hard, thick, and heavy in his grip. He started to stroke himself, his eyes locked on us, on me. On Aitor’s mouth moving on my cock.
Expose him. Stop this.
But the words wouldn’t come. If I exposed him, Aitor would be devastated. His best friend creeping on me... On us.
He’d ask why I didn’t say anything right away, why I let it continue. I couldn't really go there because I didn't have an answer for that.
Maybe I just didn't want to…
A low hum of arousal vibrated through my veins, dangerous and potent. Jesus, what was happening? I wasn’t questioning it anymore.
Aitor grunted below me, taking me deeper, and the sound seemed to spur Garrett on. His hips thrust into his hand, a slow, deliberate rhythm. I should have been disgusted. I should have pushed Aitor away and ended this.
Instead, I put on a show.
My hands tightened in Aitor’s hair, and I started to thrust. Harder. Deeper. I was no longer a passive recipient; I was taking, using, dominating. With every thrust, my eyes were on Garrett.
See this? This is mine. You lost me. Look what you’re missing.
I was sending him a message, but my body was sending me one of its own. I wasn’t sure if I was harder than ever because of the rough, dominant way I was fucking Aitor’s mouth or because of the dark, forbidden eyes watching us from the shadows.
“That's it… Yeah. Suck my cock, babe.” The words came out half command, half plea.
Garrett’s neck flushed, a blush of lust climbing up his jaw. He bit his lower lip, his hand moving faster on his cock.
Below me, Aitor reached inside his pants, fisting his own cock and stroking himself furiously.
I could tell he was close, too.
Oh, fuck. I was going to come. To this. To them both.
“Fuck, Ai… I'm gonna—” The electricity shot through me, my balls tingling, drawing up tight. With a guttural grunt, Aitor shuddered between us, swallowing me deeper.
My back arched, a groan tearing from my chest as I came down Aitor’s throat, my eyes going back to Garrett’s. I saw him tremble, his own release dripping onto the cold cement floor, not giving a shit about leaving his evidence behind.
My knees wanted to give out. I didn’t think I’d ever come that hard before.
Aitor pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at me with a dazed, happy smile. “Damn, that was good. I didn't know you had that dominant side. Holy shit, angel…”
He had no idea.
The sense of guilt and unease killed the post-orgasm high, but I gave him a weak “yeah,” pulling him up and into a deep, possessive kiss as I let myself be lost in his warmth. Over his shoulder, I saw Garrett slip back into the shadows and disappear.