Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. If you are offended by this subject matter, if you are a minor, or if you are in a place where it is illegal to read this type of literature, stop reading now. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author's Note: Check out the official Twitter/X @mharding1985, where illustrations will be posted periodically. Feedback can also be emailed to [email protected].
Author's Note (12/9/25): Honored to have been listed in the Top 3 of Best Stories of all time with 100+ votes. Also, so proud to have broken 10,000+ views (11/25/25)... and 20,000+ views! (5/19/26). Thanks to all, and enjoy!
Prologue
MATT
April 2025
Dad stood at the edge of a cliff, looking out over a frothy, white-capped ocean. His baseball cap was drawn low. Resting against his chest was that old silver whistle, though he hadn’t worn it in years. He flashed a brilliant smile at me, the corners of his cool gray eyes crinkling in the sun.
“How about it, sport?” he said. “Gonna jump?”
Then he seized my hand and I looked down, only it wasn’t my hand at all. That simple gold class ring… it was my brother Justin’s.
* * *
My eyes fluttered open before the alarm went off. A thin blade of sunshine had pierced the room between the curtains. For a few seconds, I forgot where I was. I stretched across the plush mattress, and there was my suitcase at the foot of the bed.
Oh. Right.
Back in Austin. My hometown.
I’d flown in the night before and posted up at the Four Seasons instead of staying with my dad. Dad had offered to host me. Sort of.
“Audrey and I can make space,” he’d said on the phone – which I knew was different from “We have the space.”
I told him I’d just stay near the airport after such a late flight, which he accepted with a cheerful, “Whatever works, champ.” The truth was, I wanted one clean night between my world and his.
I rolled over and reached for my phone. Steven had texted sometime after midnight.
“Try not to manage the trip to death. Have fun. Love you.”
My husband had a way of getting right to the point. I smiled, wrote back that I loved him too, then opened the itinerary again.
Paris. Amsterdam. Munich. Prague. Rome.
The cities looked innocent in a list, like a string of postcards. A late-life father-son trip. The kind of thing people found touching when you told them about it over dinner.
“That’s wonderful,” they’d say. “Just the two of you?”
Just the two of us.
I scrolled down to the final hotel confirmation in Rome. Top floor. Terrace. View of the Villa Borghese. It was too much, obviously, which was partly the point. Dad had never let himself want luxury in any serious way. He admired it in other people, would joke about it, call it “fancy pants stuff,” then look charmed when a server handed him a real linen napkin.
I switched to a messaging app, where I reread a confirmation in Italian. I’d read it so many times that the words started to detach from meaning.
It’s all set, I thought. For the last night of the trip.
My thumb hovered over the screen. I locked the phone and sat up.
As usual, I took care of my morning wood in the shower, nice and quick, wiping my cum off the marble floor with my foot.
Then I was in the lobby within the hour. Dressed in a navy travel blazer and jeans that Steven liked to call my travel uniform, I checked out, handed my bags to the valet, and stepped into the dry heat.
The drive to Dad’s place took me north, out of the polished downtown and into the wider, flatter world I had spent most of my adolescence trying to escape. Strip malls and large oaks lined the sidewalks. A church sign promised forgiveness. A high school stadium rose behind a chain-link fence, absurdly large and shimmering in the Texas sun.
I slowed at the light beside it.
For a second, I remembered Dad the way everyone else used to see him: Coach Harding. A solid presence in a sun visor. Thick hairy calves planted wide on the sideline. He wasn’t a man of many words but had a voice that carried without strain.
Mothers leaned over the bleachers and pretended not to ogle him. Meanwhile Justin – two years older, blond, and born with easy confidence – looked good standing next to him as the team’s star player.
I usually sat higher up with a book or a CD player tucked under my hoodie, pretending I had been dragged there against my will. That was only half true.
The other half was that I liked watching Dad be admired. In the roar of the crowd, I liked seeing him run the world and seeing proof that the world understood him, even if he didn’t always understand me.
He tried though. That was the part I had to learn not to forget. He cheered the loudest after my band played terrible covers at the spring fair. He came to my debate tournaments when he could.
Once, after I won some regional art prize, he slapped the certificate onto the wall and told everyone at football practice that his younger boy was “the smart, creative one.”
Not exactly wrong, but not exactly enough.
The light changed. Someone honked behind me, and I drove on.
Dad had just retired last spring. He said it was time. He said he’d devoted enough Friday nights to other people’s sons. But on the phone, I heard something new and reflective in the spaces between his jokes. Maybe it was loneliness. Or boredom.
So, I invited him to Europe.
That was the simple version of the story, anyway. The version I gave Steven, and Justin, and anyone else who asked. I wanted to reconnect. I wanted to do something generous. I wanted my father to travel before we got too old.
All true. But not the whole truth.
The houses got farther apart as I turned into Dad and Audrey’s neighborhood. Their place sat at the end of a quiet street shaded by live oaks. Tan brick, trimmed lawn, two potted plants by the door. Sensible. Comfortable.
I parked behind Dad’s truck and sat there for a breath. With both hands on the wheel, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror: hazel eyes, copper-brown brows, and that old flicker of doubt.
I could get us across an ocean. I could get us through customs, into museums, onto trains, up elevators, around language barriers, and seated at restaurants Dad would never have chosen for himself. I had arranged the whole thing down to the hour.
And still, walking into my father’s house made me feel like the second son again.
It was Audrey who opened the door. I stepped into the cool foyer, and she gave me a tight hug. Over her shoulder, the old state championship photo still hung beside the stairs: Dad’s arm around Justin, Justin holding up the trophy, both beaming.
I turned to face the hallway and heard footsteps approaching.
“Hey Dad!” I called out, a bit too brightly. “Hope you’re done packing!”
Chapter 1: What Happens In Rome...
MATT
April 2025
It had been years since I visited my father's home.
After my parents divorced, a frosty distance set in between Dad and me, which hardened when I left for college. Over time though, we mended fences from a distance -- and now, we were about to embark on the trip he had always wanted. How could he know it was going to change us forever?
I turned to my stepmom, who had just closed the door.
"What's he up to now, Audrey?" I smiled.
"I'm here, I'm here," Dad announced, thundering in from the kitchen, dragging a massive suitcase behind him.
Richard Harding looked as fit as ever in a snug, navy polo slightly open at the collar, a tuft of dirty blond chest hair peeking through. His new beard -- mostly brown but sprinkled with white -- made him seem more distinguished yet laidback too. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his polo and his chest looked fuller than usual.
"Matty!" He gave me a tight bear hug. His arms were firmer than I remembered.
"Wow, Dad. You been working out?" I joked, slapping a deltoid the size of a cantaloupe.
"Gotta do something in retirement," he retorted. "Can't sit on the couch every day, eh?" he added, leaning toward Audrey.
"Mhmm." She smirked, rubbing his shoulder.
"All right, all right," I teased.
After a round of goodbyes and a smooth walk through the airport, we were high above the Atlantic in adjoining center seats, en route to Paris. Dad delighted in sitting in business class for the first time in his life, taking pictures on his phone of every little detail--his champagne glass, the linen tablecloth, selfies with me behind him.
He loved charming the flight attendants too, which was no surprise. Catching attention was never hard for him.
Now, twenty years later, Dad was in some new prime of his life, retired and restless and ordering another flute of champagne. I was happy to help.
Three hours into the flight, Dad turned to me, removing his horn-rimmed glasses to rub his eyes.
"All right, champ. I'm going to try to get some sleep here. See you in Par-ee."
As he slept, I let myself look at him. He had a bit more gray in the temples, a touch of burnished steel in his dark bronze hair. Deeper lines around the eyes too, and that new beard softened his square jaw.
His collar was still comfortably open, and his prominent nipples pointed straight at attention beneath the dark blue cotton. It was cold in the plane as usual.
Before I knew it, I woke up with a start as we touched down in Paris. After that, the trip became a blur in the best possible way. Dad took a chance on new cuisine. I splurged for us both in some shops. Dad recited facts from guidebooks while I pretended not to already know them.
Paris's gardens. Amsterdam's canals. Munich with its beer halls. Prague with its cobblestones.
"You've really done all right for yourself, Matty," Dad said to me one week in, squeezing my shoulder as we strolled down a quiet alley after dinner. "Proud of you."
I shrugged but took the compliment with a smile.
Dad loosened as we went. So did I, a little. Still, every city felt like one more door opening toward Rome.
I wanted us to go out with a bang. For these last few days, I got us a suite at a five-star hotel overlooking the old city. After several days of sleeping on adjacent beds, I knew Dad would relish having separate bedrooms -- at least at first.
The suite looked just as I pictured it: a spacious lounge with an amber-lit terrace at the far end and two lavish bedrooms, one on either side of the lounge and graced with ornate French doors.
Dad and I sat on the couch in our pajamas. We recounted the events of the day, with the TV on as background noise and strong, emptied nightcaps in front of us. I double-checked a message on my phone for the confirmation.
It was go time.
"So, Dad, I was thinking..." I trailed off, picking at the cream upholstery.
"Yeah?"
"While we're away, this is a good chance for me to... play around a bit." I added a pause. "So, I invited someone to come over."
What Dad didn't know was that I'd seen Sofia a few times before on previous trips to Rome. She was always a lot of fun, with a devilish streak for satisfying every kink. That's why I knew she'd be game to play along with the plan.
Dad looked at me stunned.
"It's OK," I said, seeing the gears turning in his mind. "Steven and I have an arrangement. If one of us is traveling, then we can... well, we can have our own fun."
Dad still stared at me silently, maybe wishing he had such an arrangement of his own with Audrey.
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I am. So... you might want to head to bed early," I continued unfazed, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.
"You mean someone's coming here now?"
"She'll be here in ten minutes."
"Wait, 'she'?"
"Yeah," I said, enjoying the look of confusion in his eyes. "I did tell you when I came out that I was bi, remember?"
Silence.
"I do remember that..." he replied slowly. "I guess I always assumed that, since you were with Steven, that you kind of made a decision..."
"No, Dad," I replied, feigning annoyance. "I still fuck pussy on the side."
Dad was dumbfounded, again surprised by the blunt talk, though I noticed his mouth twitch into a half-smirk.
"All right," he said, still incredulous, slowly rising from the couch. "Well, have fun."
Once he ambled over to the doorway of his bedroom, I added, "Don't worry. I'll try to keep the noise down."
With his hand on the doorway and his back to me, he shook his head, stifling a chuckle. Then he turned in for the night, clicking the door gently behind him.
After a few minutes, I heard a knock on the front door.
"Ciao, Sofia," I murmured, as I let her in. Sofia looked just the same as when I met her six years ago -- petite with wavy, dark brown hair and almond-shaped, green eyes.
"Ciao, caro," she whispered, planting a kiss on each cheek. "We have fun tonight, si?"
In the weeks leading up to this trip, I had been messaging with Sofia, giving her a taste of how tonight might go down. Like I said, she was always game for anything.
And one night years ago, she let slip that she'd always wanted a taste of something special: father and son cock.
The night of that revelation, as Sofia snored lightly beside me, the satin sheets twisted between our legs, my mind started racing. I thought back to moments that hadn't crossed my mind in years -- memories from my adolescence when I started becoming conscious of my own dick size, around the time my dick and balls got big enough that they grazed the toilet seat.
Memories like starting to notice the outline of Dad's own bulge as he walked around in briefs after a steamy shower. Or swiping a pair of his briefs from the laundry to see how his dad meat stretched out the fabric, leaving a firm pouch in the front. Daring to put that pouch on my face. To take a whiff. To try a lick. To think about how I was growing a man's cock myself. I shook those thoughts from my mind and dozed off. But the memories kept coming back.
Then after one drunken conversation with my uncle Patrick two years ago, I learned the last bit about Dad that I needed to put this plan into action.
Sofia and I were now in my bedroom, and I shut the door firmly enough for Dad to register the click, for him to know that his son was about to get his dick wet yards away from him. Sofia and I kissed gently until I lowered myself onto the foot of the bed. Rubbing my hands along the inside of her thighs and up her white skirt, I could feel the lace on her pussy was soaked. I rubbed her clit through the fabric and felt my cock stirring to attention.
"So here's what we're going to do," I whispered in Italian. "We'll pretend to have a little bit of fun here to get him in the mood, right? And get loud, Sofi. I bet that turns him the fuck on. Then you'll go out there and do your thing."
"I've been waiting for weeks," she murmured, lifting her silk top off, her full breasts lifted by a black lace brassiere. She straddled my lap and started moaning and whimpering -- an impressive performance to her credit. Thrusting her hips against mine, she knew just where to grind her crotch.
"Oh fuck baby," I cried out dramatically. "I missed this pussy. Get it wet for me. That's it, rub my cock with that clit."
I thought about Dad hearing his big boy getting some action. Imagining him getting a bit horny himself spurred me even further. Minutes passed with waves of filthy talk ringing across the suite. Sofia pulled out all the stops. I said the dirtiest things with abandon, knowing it was pumping my father's cock right up.
"Ah Matteo, si si si," she cried out.
"Yeah, I'll fuck you good," I said, stifling a laugh, still with my sweatpants on. "Hold it inside there. I want to feel it all, baby."
Then we knew it was time. It took one nod from me. Sofia got off my lap gingerly with a killer smile and shuffled out. I walked over to the French doors and watched Sofia, fully naked, tiptoe across the sitting area to Dad's bedroom. She opened his door and slipped inside.
I heard Dad exclaim quietly.
Sofia's soothing voice calmed his surprise. "Ciao, Riccardo," I heard her say. "I'm Sofia, friend of Matteo. He said you like company." She laughed. "Allora, it looks like you awake down there already, yes?"
Sofia spent the next few minutes working her magic, convincing Dad that I had already paid her for the night and that she thought he might like to have some fun. Moments of silence were punctuated with the sound of kissing. Or sucking. I gathered that Sofia sealed the deal.
I tiptoed out into the sitting area once I calculated Dad would be well occupied. I could hear the unmistakable sounds of cocksucking even louder. Slurps and whimpers and low moans that sounded foreign in my father's voice.
Mindful of each step across the rug, I crept to the double doors of his room, shielded by gossamer, beige curtains behind the panes of glass.
The single bedside lamp across the room cast shadows of Dad and Sofia against the curtains. No clear silhouettes, but faint shadows danced as my father and my bait writhed into each other. I heard giggles. Whispers.
Inching the door open, with barely a squeak, I peeked in.
I only saw Dad's left profile as he lay halfway down the bed, Sofia's shoulders above his, her hair swaying in his face. She had just stopped sucking my father's cock, I figured, and was now lowering herself onto his lap.
Peering further around the door's edge, I saw Dad's broad chest, blanketed with hair from pit to pit. I pushed the door further. There were his dark pink nipples, followed by Sofia's legs as she straddled him.
I took a moment to stare at my dad's naked hips, a part that I so rarely see, even on our boys' trips out camping. I felt my cock stirring, watching Sofia slam her ass down onto his crotch, her large natural breasts swaying with their weight. A few more moments.
Then — bang — I swung the door open.
Dad bolted upright, eyes frozen wide in fear. He clenched Sofia's arms, stunned silent, while Sofia roared with laughter.
"Matteo, are you feeling jealous?" she feigned.
"Matt, I--, she--" Dad stammered.
"It's ok, Dad," I reassured him. "What happens in Rome stays in Rome, right?"
"I... I just..."
"Mm?"
"Don't-- don't bring this up to Audrey. We've been dealing with hard times and..."
"Dad, relax. I don't care. I told you that Steven and I have our own fun, right?" I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed. "Besides, Sofia's great. I don't blame you for wanting a piece of that ass too."
Dad's grip on Sofia's arms loosened as he calmed down. He must have thought that I intruded so I could snag him for fucking behind Audrey's back. I realized that was it. That was the last bit of leverage I needed.
I walked inside.
"You know, I haven't busted a nut in two weeks, Dad. Sharing a room and all... I might want Sofia back for round two tonight."
I was lying. I hadn't cum yet with Sofia tonight. I was saving my load for this moment. But Dad didn't have to know.
I continued: "Actually, she's looking pretty fucking hot right now."
Positioning myself behind Sofia as she straddled Dad, I nuzzled her neck. We both looked down at my father. My cheek against hers, I squeezed her tits to show them off to my father, flicking and twisting her smooth brown nipples.
"Audrey won't have to hear about this," I continued.
I peeked at Dad on the bed. His eyes were closed. Maybe he was wondering if this was all a dream, his mind fuzzy with horniness, while his dadcock throbbed inside a new Italian pussy.
Dad's hands were now behind his head, showing off the twin thick bushes in his pits, fully untrimmed and golden-brown. My mind flashed back to the manly scent he'd emit after his long days coaching on the football field -- and my visits to his laundry hamper right after on game nights.
Then I placed my hands on Sofia's shoulders, gave a squeeze, and slowly spun her around to face me. She giggled, swinging her legs over Dad's knees, rotating her tight pussy around Dad's throbbing cock as he winced. Now facing me, her legs dangling over the foot of the bed, she continued riding on Dad's lap.
"Oh fuck," Dad cried out, squeezing an ass cheek in each of his hands.
"That's right, Sofia," I cooed. "Keep riding my old man." I got closer to Sofia and put my hand in her hair and cradled her head to hold her balance.
"Your papa is big like you," she said teasingly.
"I think you mean I'm big like papa," I replied, more so for my father to hear.
"Geez, Louise," Dad muttered.
"What's that, Dad? You're surprised I got my fat cock from you?" I said, egging him on.
After a pause, he muttered, "I figured you must have, Matt."
"Guess I never thanked you for it," I laughed.
Turning my attention back to Sofia, I ran my hands down the sides of her hourglass waist as she pulled my loose sweatpants down slowly. My dick was already rock hard and bounced to attention when the waistband dropped.
"Stroke it," I whispered to her.
I fixed my gaze on Dad's ballsack down below, full, smooth and bouncing as he fucked away.
So there it was. I could see the shape of each of my father's balls dancing inside that velvety sack. When he stopped thrusting for a second at a time, they hung so low that they rested on the white bedspread.
A crazy thought came to mind. While Sofia kept stroking my cock, now slick with gobs of precum, I looked into her eyes and put my finger to my lips.
Then I slowly reached for Dad's sack and bluffed, "Damn Sofia, you really like balls don't you?" loud enough for Dad to hear.
Then I made contact, cupping my dad's nuts while he thrusted away.
Sofia just giggled and said "Mhmm."
Dad exclaimed, "Oh baby, that feels good." He thrust faster. The balls that made me slapped harder into my hand. "Play with them, Sofia," he panted to her.
"Yeah, Sofia," I smirked, looking down at my hand. "Play with my daddy's balls."
I ran my fingertips upward from the bottom of Dad's sack, up the bottom of his shaft, and over Sofia's wet clit. My father moaned again. I put one hand in Sofia's hair and moved the other from my dad's balls to her mouth, palm down. She got the hint and opened up.
Smirking, I rubbed my dad's man-musk on her tongue. She stuck her tongue out further for a second round.
I massaged Dad's balls again, from taint to shaft, and swiped my hand on her tongue, this time flat across. I did that a few more times, feeding ballsack musk to tongue as Sofia kept playing with my cockhead and Dad trained his eyes on the ceiling.
After one more rub down below, I couldn't help it: I brushed my fingertips across my own lips too.
Salty.
I stepped up to the foot of the bed, putting one foot on either side of Sofia's legs until my cock was eye level with her. She licked the underside of my throbbing dick and put the flared head inside her mouth, looking up at me. I glanced at Dad right below me -- a bird's eye view as I saw him squirming underneath Sofia's ass.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
His eyes popped wide now, silently watching my Italian friend bobbing her head right underneath my trimmed bush. We were now sharing the same girl, I thought.
Dad and son, one in each hole.
I pulled Sofia's head closer into me and felt my thick member go down her gullet as she gagged.
"Funny," I thought. "Here Dad and I are sharing Sofia and we haven't even fully seen each other's dicks. That makes it OK, right?"
Dad's gaze was fixated on the back of Sofia's head, probably imagining the cock that her head was blocking. Meanwhile, I scanned down Dad's body and got a closer look at what this former athlete was working with now.
His chest was still built and broad, two massive pecs with quarter-sized nipples the shade of dusky pink.
A full blanket of trimmed golden chest hair and a hairy trail down his firm abdomen. He didn't have the sharp six-pack that I recalled from long days at the beach from decades ago, but you could tell this was the torso of a well-built man.
I craned my head a bit further and saw his dark, natural, untrimmed dad bush inside the cleft of Sofia's asscheeks. Another burst of precum shot down my dick.
At that moment, I saw Dad grimace and his breath quickened. "I'm close," he muttered softly, almost to himself.
I leapt off the bed and stood in front of Sofia again, as my Dad pummeled her pussy even harder. Sofia leaned forward into me and we held each other's arms as she let Dad have his way with her.
"Si si si, papa," she squealed. "Give me your babies," she added in Italian.
"Arghh!" Dad roared, his hands like a vise around Sofia's hips. "Arghhh!"
The steely-gray eyes behind his spectacles locked into mine for a moment. Resignation washed over him. Then he flopped his head back onto the pillow, riding the waves with eyes shut. His pace abated once he finished his fifth squirt or so.
Once he was spent, I gently pushed Sofia backwards until her back was on Dad's torso, her feet higher in the air. l looked down at her well-spent pussy. My dad's bulging cock was still stuffed deep inside, throbbing out the last drops of dadcum.
Dad's heavy sack was now tight against the base of his cock. As I lifted Sofia's legs even higher, his cock pulled out of Sofia's slick hole slowly, lubed up with his own cum -- surely mixed with my leftover saliva from my earlier fingering.
I estimated each inch of Dad's penis as it slid out of her pussy. "Two inches. Four inches. Six inches," I thought. "Damn, Dad. Seven inches--" until Sofia's pussy lips reached my father's swollen and bulbous cockhead. To my surprise, a ringed foreskin circled just around the rim of his mushroom.
His semi popped out with an obscene queef, flopped forward, and swung heavily in front of his quivering balls.
With each second, his foreskin crawled back down his pulsating glans.
Sofia and Dad were panting on the bed, with Dad's arms wrapped around Sofia's abdomen, holding her close to him as he caught his breath. This whole time, my dick was throbbing wildly, put on the edge by Sofia's incredible blowjob -- until I saw gobs of Dad's thick, heavy, white load dripping out of her pussy, running down the length of his cock, and painting the plush carpet underneath.
That image alone made me ready to bust. I pinned Sofia's legs further back near her head. Dad held her around the waist but quietly.
I rubbed my cockhead around her creampied pussy twice, picking up all of Dad's sticky leftovers.
I slid my cock deep inside in one fluid motion, using my father's still-hot cum as my lube.
"Oh fuck, Sofia!" I cried out. "Fuck, Dad! I'm fuckin' her, Dad! Fuck yeah!"
"Si, si!" Sofia yelled unrestrained, her nails indenting into my back.
I slammed myself forward, and her moans reached a fever pitch, as the three of us -- dad, bait, and son -- were pounded into the mattress by my hips.
"Fuuuuck! FUCK!" My vision blacked out for a second. Stars danced in front of my eyes and my balls seized tight, as I shot my most powerful cumshot in a quarter-century.
Three, four, five jets from my cock, far up Sofia's insides, coated the sticky remnants of Dad's cumload.
I fell onto their tangled bodies, shaking as my knees collapsed.
Then silence. The heat radiated off our bodies.
I lifted myself off Sofia and left the room swiftly to avoid any awkward post-coital talk with my father. As Sofia and I had planned, it was her job to smooth that out.
She told me later that Dad was quiet for the next several minutes, still awake and contemplative. She told me he stared at the ceiling, taking deep breaths. She told me he gently urged her to leave.
Sofia ignored his entreaty and, helping herself to a bathrobe, sidled up next to Dad and said she enjoyed the experience like none other. That she'd always wanted to please a father and son at the same time. Of course, she left out that she and I had been talking about this for months.
By the time the sun rose, Dad seemed resolved to sweep the experience out of his memory. But I wasn't too worried. As I knew well from Uncle Patrick's revelation two years ago, this wasn't Dad's first time sharing a woman with another man.
* * *
When I woke up the next morning, Sofia had already left and Dad was brewing coffee in the sitting area of our suite.
"Good morning," I yawned, as I walked into the lounge in the late morning, wearing a matching bathrobe.
Dad acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
I flopped onto the couch, letting the robe slide over my thigh with the sunlight streaming in through the terrace doors. We chitchatted about how we should spend our last day in Rome. "Maybe lunch in Trastevere?" I suggested.
"That works for me," Dad said.
The room stood still, as Dad stirred his coffee absentmindedly at the counter. He cleared his throat.
"So Matty, how did you meet Sofia anyway?" he asked casually, with his back to me. "Did you just find her on one of those -- um, escort apps?"
I smiled.
"No," I confessed. "I fucked her brother."
--To Be Continued--
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