Page 68 of Kitty Season
“I’m scared by this too, Brady,” Quinn says, her voice threadbare at the touch of Troye sliding an arm around each of our waists. “I don’t understand it. But I can’t deny it anymore.”
Troye says nothing, just leans in and kisses me. It’s hard, fast, dirty, and mostly involves my top lip. It’s also over as quick as it began, because he twists and does the same to Quinn. There’s no twinge of jealousy this time. Just want. So much want I could come just watching them.
With that, coming, in mind, it’s me that moves first, nudging them towards the bed that Troye’s standing closest to, it’s the back of his legs that hit the mattress first. His body, all long limbs and lean muscle, that latches on and takes us down with him.
Hands never not touching, lips only parting in search of another, our clothing is discarded with appropriate haste, because there’s no hesitation between us this time. No talking either. Meaning before I know it I’m naked, my hard cock is weeping against my stomach, an equally naked Troye’s hips rut against me, his dick sliding through our combined mess. Quinn is by my side, knees by my shoulders, one of her lovely peaked nipples in my mouth, hers glued to Troye’s.
“Fuck, yes. This is happening.” He enthuses when the inconvenient need for air forces them apart. “Kitty, I want you on your back, legs spread. And Skip, on your knees behind me. Enough of this pussy-footing around. I’m fucking Quinn, and you’re fucking me. Go.”
I’m in heaven. Or hell. Who’s to judge?
I’m on my back beneath Quinn who’s prepping me with her fingers, taking the sting out of it by sucking my cock to the back of her throat, while Brady’s at my side. I’m sucking his, gazing up over his golden fuzzed chest as he loses his freaking mind.
Our positions are a simplified version of what I demanded, ‘cause I remembered Skip has no clue what he’s doing. While I have no issues fucking around with a virgin—actually it’s got me harder than ever—I do with wasting time. I need to get him inside me, and me inside Quinn.
Yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday, I don’t know what the hell happened to Skip between then, practice and now, but whatever or whoever it is, I’m dedicating a shrine to it. He looks debauched, eyes rolling back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, hands tugging at my hair as I bring him to the edge then tear him back. Then there’s the noises, grunts, moans, whining. I can’t deny it. I’m fucking obsessed. I’m also fairly certain Quinn and her magic fingers have me looking equally disheveled.
The familiar squelch of lube, followed by the feel of a third finger breaching my hole, snaps me from my Brady induced trance. “Fuck.” Arching my back, I let Skip’s dick fall from mymouth so I can push out my ass, impaling myself on her fingers like the needy slut I am. “I’m ready, Kitty. Fuck, please, I need this. I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?” she purrs, fingers stroking over my prostate. “Tell us what you’re ready for. Who you want.”
“You. Please. You and Brady-Skip.” I’m fully aware of how utterly pathetic I sound. And that I called him Brady—a rare occurrence. But I can’t seem to care ‘cause he’s leaning over to watch her fingers ease out from inside me, hand gently stroking my back
“Are you ready, Brady?” Quinn says, reaching to her bedside table for condoms.
“I, I think so. Yeah.”
Now on my knees, I grasp the back of his neck, and shake my head. “I think so isn’t good enough, Skip. You either want it, or you don’t. The choice is always yours, no matter who you’re with, nothing should happen unless you’re 100% into it.”
Surprise crosses his face, and it’s almost insulting. I mean, I know I’m a dick but sex without consent. That’s not me.
“I’m sure. I want this. I want it a lot.”
“Excellent.” Sliding my hand from his neck I give him a nice firm slap on the cheek. “Let’s do this.” Quinn releases a giddy little squeal and hands me one of the condoms, I think she means it to be for me, but Brady’s thick dick is right there, pointing me in the face. I nod to it and toss Quinn a wink. “How about I do Skip, and you do me, Kitty? What is it your old man says? Teamwork makes the dream work, or some shit.”
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Quinn shuffles closer and rolls her eyes. “Ugh, can we please not talk about my dad right now?”
“I second that,” Brady says. “And as for the condom, I’m quite capable of doing it myself.”
“I’m sure you are, big fella. But the thing is, I want to do it. I like watching you quiver when I touch you.”
“I don’t …quiver,” he says, all prickly and cute. Fuck I love winding him up. But I bet bringing him undone will be even more satisfying.
“Oh, but you do. And if you let me, I’ll show you just how much.” Biting his lip, he glances between Quinn and me. I’m keyed up for another argument, and am slightly disappointed when it fails to eventuate.
“I thought I was … you know. Topping.” He blushes. “Shouldn’t I be the quiverer deliverer?”
Quinn and I break into chuckles which only serve to intensify Brady’s blush. I’m not mad about it. But I do have to force myself not to reach out and trace it with my finger. “You are.” Looking between us, Quinn runs her hands down our chests, then lets her back fall against the mattress. “But there’s no rules against you receiving as well as giving, and no one loves to give more than Troye.”
His eyes widen as he nods, dislodging a sweat-dampened lock that hangs into his eye. Like he did with my bare minimum request for consent, he seems shocked that Quinn would label me a giver. Which I am, sexually at least. Nothing turns me on more than satisfying her needs. Again, sexually at least. Emotional giving is not what I’m built for. “Okay, then, Becker,” he says once he’s come to grips with whatever he’s been processing. “Wrap me up and let me loose. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The worst that could happen is me giving into my budding obsession. I know this, yet I ignore every red flag, alarm and flashing light telling me to stop at all costs and scoot closer, licking my lips in an attempt to conceal the drool, and take hold of his cock.
“Oh, God.” Shivers. He shivers, trembling like he’s standing in the snow, in an open field, in his current attire which is nonexistent. The urge to remind him of his determined,I don’t quiverstance is strong, but the heavy dick, pink, glistening and throbbing in my palm takes precedence to petty ‘I told you so’s.’
For now, anyway.
