**A month slid by**, unnoticed. The turquoise monstrosity had become my dirty little secret, tucked beneath sweatpants during lazy afternoons when the house emptied. It wasn’t desperation, just routine: lube warming between my fingers, thighs splaying wider as I arched into the stretch, imagining Zac’s smirk if he knew how often I moaned around his discovery. But he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Football season had him bolting at dawn, returning smelling like grass and arrogance, tossing his duffel by the door like a challenge I refused to acknowledge.
--**Henry’s stupid grin** got *stupider*—Becky stayed over around twice a week now, all doe-eyed giggles and lingering touches that made my teeth ache. At first, I'd catch myself glaring at their intertwined fingers on the couch, but by week three? Meh. Not like they were fucking on every surface—hell, I hadn’t heard a single suspicious creak from his room. Some *girlfriend* she was if she wasn’t even riding that thick cock nightly. My own grip tightened around the turquoise toy that night, thrusting harder as if to prove a point: *See? Someone knows how to use a cock.*
Then came Dad’s grill party—steak smoke curling into twilight air, his buddies clapping him on the back as he flipped burgers with that easy charm. When the night chilled, I ducked inside alone, flopping onto the couch with a huff. To my surprise, Becky followed, her flowy dress brushing my knees as she settled beside me. "So," she blurted, tucking a honey-blonde strand behind her ear, "you’re, like, really good at cooking." I blinked. Had we *ever* spoken outside obligatory "pass the salt"? Yet there we were—her detailing Henry’s sweet idiocy ("He forgot my birthday but showed up with *two* cakes the next day!"), me nodding along like I hadn’t once had those thick fingers knuckle-deep in me.
Her laugh turned conspiratorial. "God, and the *sex*—" My pulse spiked. "Mm?" I prompted, feigning casual interest as I snatched a pretzel from the bowl. "It’s just…" She bit her lip, cheeks flushing. "He’s *big*. Like, *ow*." I nearly choked. "*Really*?" Playing dumb was an art—one I mastered as she leaned in, oblivious to my sudden interest. "The first time? I bit my lip so hard it bled." My grin was razor-thin. "Sounds rough."
She waved her hands. "Sorry—TMI! I forget you’re his *brother*." I snorted, tossing a pillow onto my lap. "Honey, I’m gay. This is premium drama." Her relieved exhale sent honey-blonde strands fluttering. Right back into detail, slowly but surely—how Henry was to big for her to feel pleasure and not just stretched, how often they didn't have sex because of it. My grip tightened around my wineglass. Good. She didn’t deserve to milk that thick cock dry the way I used to.
"Oh, but *god*—" Becky’s eyes glazed over, fingers tracing her collarbone. "The way he *looks* shirtless? Like a damn romance novel." My teeth ground. *I know*. The memory of his sweat-slicked chest hovering over me flashed hot behind my eyelids. "Sounds like you’re dating a trophy," I quipped, reaching for my drink to hide my smirk. "I *need* sex," I added pointedly. "Couldn’t do it." She chewed her nail. "I wanna give it time…" My stomach twisted. "Just don’t fuck with his heart," I warned lightly, raising my thumbs in mock cheer. "Henry’s sweet. Like a golden retriever with abs."
Outside, laughter erupted—Zac’s booming voice, Dad’s baritone chuckle. Becky glanced toward the sound, but I stayed frozen, her confession simmering under my skin. Henry’s cock—*mine* first—wasted on her little cunt. If she wasn’t going to appreciate him properly… well. Maybe with some time, she’d realize she needed someone her own size—and I’d be right there to scoop him back up. The thought alone made me feel lighter, my smirk widening as I wiped my palms on my thighs.
And just in that moment, when I had all the informaiton i needed, Zac entered the room—like clockwork, like fate. I winked at Becky, already pushing off the couch. "One sec," I said, voice dripping with false sweetness, "gotta talk with this idiot." Zac's brow arched, but he caught my look—that silent *play along* flicker—and smirked. "Yeah, yeah," he drawled, jerking his chin toward the stairs. "Come whine at me in private."
Becky watched us go, her fingers twisting in her lap like she wasn't sure if she'd been ditched or spared. I didn't care. The moment we hit the stairwell, Zac's hand clamped on my shoulder, steering me upward with unnecessary force. "So?" he muttered, but I just grinned, tossing a glance over my shoulder—Becky was still sitting there, abandoned, nibbling her lip like a confused kitten. Perfect.
Upstairs I went into his room first. The scent of his gym bag hit me—leather, stale sweat, that stupidly expensive cologne. "We *don't* need to talk," I said, flopping onto his bed like I owned it. His grin was all teeth. "No shit." He said, closing the door behind him and staying put next to it, arms crossed in front of him. I took a quick look at his form—training had held him kept in shape, shoulders broad under his tight shirt, forearms thick where they pressed against his chest. "So," he drawled, "got a bit daring downstairs, huh?" His eyebrow cocked up, smirk deepening.
I laughed softly, letting my head fall back against his bedding, stretching deliberately. "Didn't." It wasn't a lie—Becky's chirpy confession had grated like nails on chalkboard—but Zac's raised eyebrow and the way his thick arms flexed against his chest suddenly made the air between us thick with something else entirely. "Just needed an escape from Becky's verbal diarrhea," I added, but my voice came out lower than intended, my hips shifting slightly on his rumpled comforter. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly at the movement.
He didn't budge from the door, but his posture shifted—less defensive, more predatory. "Bullshit." The word rumbled from his chest as he uncrossed his arms, thumbs hooking into his belt loops. The denim stretched taut over his thighs.
I rolled onto my side, propping my head up with one hand while the other traced idle circles on his comforter. "Really? I think you need to work on your perception skills, meathead," I mused, letting my gaze drag pointedly down his body—over the strained cotton across his pecs, the way his belt buckle sat heavy at his hips. "Or was all that testosterone supposed to make me *dizzy* with lust?" His smirk didn't waver, but I caught the minute twitch of his fingers against his belt loops—the telltale tension in his forearms.
"Funny," he rumbled, finally pushing off the doorframe with deliberate slowness. Three steps brought him to the edge of the bed, close enough that his scent—leather and salt and that damn cologne—wrapped around me like a taunt. "Last I checked, *you're* the one leaking through your sweatpants every time I bench-press you outta my space." His knuckle grazed my knee, rough and fleeting, but the contact sent a jolt up my thigh.
"Oh *please*," I scoffed, kicking lightly at his hip—not hard enough to push him away, just enough to make his abs flex as he caught my ankle. "Like you don't get off on that shit. "
His grip tightened, scraping my skin as he yanked me forward—not enough to pull me off the bed, just enough to make my breath hitch. "Funny," he drawled, voice dropping into that rough timbre that coiled low in my gut. "All that brattin’…" His thumb pressed into the hollow of my ankle, dragging upward with deliberate slowness. "But I bet you'd whimper real pretty if I shoved those sassy lips around my cock right now." The audacity should’ve pissed me off—should’ve made me knee him in the ribs—but the heat pooling in my belly betrayed me.
I tilted my chin up, forcing a scoff even as my pulse hammered against his fingers. "Dream on, Hercules." My free foot nudged his thigh, playful but defiant. "As if I would ever—" His grip on my ankle tightened abruptly, dragging me another inch closer until the heat of his body seared through my clothes. "Keep lying," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement as his other hand slid up my calf, fingers pressing just hard enough to leave fleeting bruises. "Bet you’re already imagining it—spread out on my sheets, choking on me while Dad’s downstairs clueless as fuck." His thumb dug into the tender spot behind my knee, wringing a sharp gasp from me before I could bite it back.
He laughed then—low and victorious—twisting my leg just enough to expose the tented fabric between my thighs. "Pathetic," he taunted, but the rasp in his voice betrayed him. "Unfortunately, I must say...,"—his fingers dragged up my calf, slow and proprietary—"you look *real* good swallowing your pride along with my cock." The exaggeration was ridiculous, the way he drawled it like some cheesy porno line, but god if it didn't make my breath hitch. "Fuck *off*," I snarled, bucking my hips up instinctively.
Zac's smirk widened, his grip shifting to my thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Been a while," he added. "You're good at what you do, little bro." The praise sent heat licking up my spine despite myself, my cock twitching against the confines of my sweats. Asshole knew exactly what he was doing—deploying compliments like tactical strikes, each one landing with brutal precision.
"Could make it regular," he continued, leaning down until his breath ghosted over my lips—close enough to kiss, close enough to bite. "House empties out around night. Dad's snoring by then." His teeth flashed, predatory, as his free hand palmed himself through his jeans, the thick outline unmistakable. "Think you can wait that long? Or you gonna splatter those sheets before I even get my belt off?" The taunt was crude, but the underlying promise—the *certainty*—had me on my elnows.
I scoffed, standing up and brushing off my pants with exaggerated nonchalance. "Wow, someone's desperate tonight," I shot back, arching an eyebrow at him. "What, no football groupies lined up this weekend?" Zac just grinned—that infuriating, knowing smirk that said we both understood he'd never been lacking in that department. His fingers flexed against his belt buckle, the leather creaking as he shifted his weight. "Nah," he drawled, eyes flicking down my body with deliberate slowness, "just figured we might be thirsty after all that time."
My lips curled as I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. "Maybe," I conceded, tilting my head in faux consideration. "But if I *do* decide to let you have me later, we’re clear it’s because *I* want it, right?" My fingers traced idle circles on his chest through his shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my palm. "You’re just a tool for *my* needs, big brother. Don’t get it twisted." Zac’s smile widened, sharp and amused, his hands settling heavy on my hips.
"Funny," he murmured, dragging me flush against him until I could feel every hard inch of him through our clothes. "Brothers with the same talent in bed," he added, voice rough with approval. "Good thing you’re a bottom through and through—means we’re *supplementary*." His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shudder down my spine. "Perfect fucking fit."
I shoved him back halfheartedly, but the effect was ruined by the way my breath hitched. "Whatever," I muttered, backing toward the door before my resolve crumbled completely. "Don’t wait up." Zac just leaned against the bedpost, watching me go with that smug, *knowing* look.
**The evening dragged**—Becky giggling in the kitchen, Henry’s dumbass chatter echoing through the house, Dad humming off-key while scrubbing pans. I bailed early, claiming a headache, but my fingers drummed impatiently against my thigh as I lay in bed. The wait was torture, every creak of the floorboards downstairs sending my pulse skittering. *Finally*, the front door clicked shut—Becky’s high-pitched goodbye, Henry’s dopey laugh trailing into the night. Dad’s heavy footsteps thudded toward his bedroom, the telltale groan of his mattress signaling his surrender to exhaustion. Five minutes. Ten. The house settled into silence, thick and expectant.
The creak of my door was barely audible, but my body reacted like a gunshot—heart hammering, cock already straining against my sweats. Zac filled the doorway, backlit by the hall light, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that swallowed me whole. He didn’t speak, just stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him. The *snick* of the lock was obscenely loud in the hush.
"Finally," I drawled, rolling my eyes with exaggerated impatience as I clicked on the bedside lamp. The soft amber glow spilled over Zac’s approaching frame—his broad shoulders casting a looming silhouette, the oversized t-shirt stretching across his pectorals with each step. His grin was all teeth, predatory and unapologetic as he prowled closer, the thick outline of his cock straining against his sweatpants with obscene clarity. "Quit the hard-to-get bullshit," he rumbled, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his shirt to yank it over his head. "Hope you're naked under there."
The fabric hit the floor, and my breath stalled. Moonlight caught the ripple of his abs, the deep V of his hips leading down to that *maddening* trail of sparse hair—just enough to make my fingers itch to follow it. His biceps flexed as he palmed himself through his sweats, the thick length unmistakable even under the fabric. *Fuck*. Every inch of him was carved arrogance—the kind of body that made you *ache* to be manhandled by it. My smirk widened, heartbeat thundering as I swung the covers aside in one dramatic motion, revealing the jockstrap I’d chosen *specifically* for this—black straps digging into my thighs, the pouch straining with my own desperate erection.
Zac’s nostrils flared, his gaze raking over me like I was a meal he’d been starved for. "Now *that’s* what I call a peace offering," he growled, palming himself some more through his sweats. The primal part of my brain short-circuited—*mine, mine, mine*—but I forced myself to lounge back, biting my lip as I gestured lazily at him. "Your turn, big guy. Let me look my fill first."
He stepped closer, the mattress dipping under his weight as he went down on the edge of the bed, hands lazily tracing up his own abs—slow, deliberate, like he *knew* how I’d watch every inch of skin revealed. *"Hot, huh?"* Zac mused, voice rough with amusement, fingers pausing just above the waistband of his sweats. *"Knowing you’re sitting there, drooling like some groupie desperate to please."* My breath hitched, fingers twitching against the sheets as I nodded—no point in denying it when he could *see* the way my gaze clung to his every flex. *"Exactly,"* I breathed, swallowing hard. *"That’s why we both love it—you get to preen like the egotistical fuck you are, and I get to *look*."*
Zac’s smirk deepened, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my hips as he leaned over me, his torso blocking out the light—a wall of muscle looming, close enough that his scent filled my lungs. His arms flexed as he braced them on either side of my head, the thick curve of his biceps casting shadows across my face. *"Enjoying the show?"* he taunted, rolling his shoulders just to watch my eyes dart downward, tracking the way his pecs strained with the movement. My lips parted on instinct, tongue darting out to wet them. *"Yeah,"* I admitted, voice thready. His grin turned wolfish. *"Knew you’d like it."*
His weight shifted, the mattress dipping as he eased back slightly—just enough to let cool air rush between us, breaking the suffocating heat of his proximity. A calloused thumb brushed my lower lip, dragging it down to expose the slick inside of my mouth. "Satisfied with the view?" Zac rumbled, his voice thick with amusement. I let my tongue dart out, catching the tip of his thumb in silent answer, and felt his approving groan vibrate through my ribs before he withdrew. "Open up," he commanded, and I obeyed instantly, lips parting on instinct—years of buried fantasies twisting into reality as he hovered above me, watching my breath hitch.
Saliva pooled in his mouth, glistening under the lamplight before he let it spill into mine with deliberate slowness, a single thick strand connecting us until it snapped against my tongue. The taste of him—something irrevocably *Zac*—flooded my senses as I swallowed, my throat working around the submission. His grin widened, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head back further. "Good boy," he murmured, the praise curling hot in my gut. "Usually I'd bend you over," he continued, "watching your round ass bounce while you sob into my sheets—" His thumb traced my bottom lip again, smearing wetness. "But tonight? I wanna see you squirm under me. Watch those pretty lips go slack when I wreck that tight hole."
The command sent a shiver down my spine, my cock twitching against the jockstrap’s restraint. Zac shifted his weight, slowly standing up on the bed, his sweatpants unable to hide his thick shaft—already half-hard and swaying lazily against his thigh. My breath hitched as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, sliding them down in one smooth motion, exposing himself fully. No underwear—just those heavy, swinging balls, full and tight against his thighs, his cock already thickening under my hungry gaze. He palmed himself deliberately, fingers wrapping around the base, squeezing just to watch his own veins pulse under the skin.
From below, the view was obscene—his cock rising steadily, flushed and leaking, while his balls hung heavy beneath, shifting with every slight adjustment of his stance. His free hand raked through his hair, tousling it as he smirked down at me, watching me watch him. "It's good to finally know how to mute you." he taunted, giving himself a lazy stroke, his thumb brushing over the swollen head just to make me whimper. I bit my lip, nodding mutely, thighs trembling under the weight of his gaze. He chuckled, low and knowing, his grip tightening as he pumped himself fully hard, his balls drawing up tighter against his body.
"Lube?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the nightstand. I scrambled to grab it, fingers fumbling against the drawer—I was exited, skin buzzing with anticipation. The slick liquid pooled in my palm as I squeezed too much, but Zac didn’t hesitate. He snatched the bottle with a smirk, pouring it over his cock without ceremony. The sight of his thick fingers gliding over his shaft—slow, deliberate, twisting just under the head—sent a shudder through me.
"Fuck," he exhaled, voice rough as he watched me watch him. "Can't lie—I'm more into this than I thought." My breath hitched at the admission, thighs pressing together instinctively. "Good," I managed, licking my lips. "Because I'm starving for it."
Mirroring him, I decided it might be better to lube up aswell. I inched a bit down on the bed and lifted my hips from the mattress, legs spreading as I tried to find a comfortable angle—knees bent over my torso, thighs trembling with the effort of holding myself open. The cool air ghosted over my exposed hole, already twitching in anticipation, as I slicked myself up. Above me, Zac’s breath hitched, his strokes slowing to a torturous drag as he watched me work myself open—his gaze locked on the way my fingers disappeared inside, my hole glistening under the lamplight. The obscene wet sounds filled the room, mingling with his low groans, and I couldn’t help but moan as I curled my fingers just right, my back arching off the bed.
Zac didn’t wait long before taking charge, his patience evaporating in the face of my desperation. "Need some help?" he rumbled, though it wasn’t really a question—his hands were already closing around my ankles, yanking them back toward my shoulders with effortless strength.
From my pinned position, the view was *everything*—his cock swaying inches above my belly, thick and flushed, twitching visibly as he watched me squirm beneath him. Every flex of his biceps sent veins popping under golden skin, his pecs tightening with each ragged breath he took. The sharp ridges of his abs clenched as he shifted his weight, hovering over me like a predator.
His smirk deepened as he caught me staring—eyes locked on the way his cock jerked when I whimpered, or how his balls tightened when he let out a rough groan. "You fucking love this view!" he taunted, rolling his shoulders just to watch my gaze dart greedily over the flex of his delts. The *audacity* of him—posing like some fucking statue carved just to torment me—should’ve pissed me off, but all I could do was nod dumbly, tongue darting out to wet my lips.
Zac’s laugh was dark with satisfaction. "Pathetic," he murmured, but the way his hips jerked forward betrayed his own hunger. His cockhead brushed my belly, leaving a slick trail of precum as he finally—*finally*—eased himself behind me and lined himself up. "Ready or not, baby bro."
His hands clamped around my ankles, pressing them down toward my head with effortless strength, forcing my ass to tilt higher—a perfect angle for his cock to push in. He wasn’t careful, but he wasn’t rough either; just impatient, his breath huffing as he simply *took* what he wanted. "Damn, that’s nice," he groaned, voice thick with approval, hips flush against me in one smooth slide.
The stretch was immediate, delicious—his thick girth parting me effortlessly, just like he’d promised. The toy I had used the past month had done its job well, leaving me pliant and eager, and I made sure to whimper just for him, arching my back to take him deeper. "Fuck," he groaned, his fingers digging into my hips as he bottomed out in one slow, relentless push. "God, you’re *made* for this. Like a toy—already open, already *begging*." His breath hitched as he pulled back slightly, just to watch my hole cling to him.
I let my eyes roam greedily over him—the way his abs clenched with each shallow thrust, the thick veins in his forearms standing out as he held me in place. His cock twitched inside me, buried to the hilt, and when I glanced up, his expression was *perfect*: lips parted, eyes half-lidded, like he couldn’t decide whether to savor the moment or ruin me faster.
I smirked up at him, even as my thighs trembled. "Maybe I *used* the toy," I teased, biting my lip. "You know, the one you showed me?" Zac froze for a second, then barked out a laugh so loud I flinched—half expecting Dad to come barging in. "Oh, *fuck*," he wheezed, hips stuttering as he struggled to keep thrusting through his amusement. "You—*shit*—you really did, do you?"
"Why?" I snapped, squirming beneath him, suprised by his reaction to my teasing. But he just grinned down at me, his biceps flexing as he pinned me harder to the mattress. "Found it with Dad in the attic," he admitted, voice rough with laughter. "Told me it was a replica. Of *his* cock. Back when Mom was into that kinda thing." My brain short-circuited. "*What?*" I choked out, but Zac was already rolling his hips again, slow and deep, his smirk widening at my stunned expression. "Guess you’ve had Dad inside you all along, huh?" he taunted. "Fucking *poetic*."
I glowered, but my traitorous hips arched up anyway, meeting his next lazy thrust—his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside me, stretching me *just* enough to make my toes curl. Zac’s chest gleamed under the lamp, his pecs tightening with each measured roll of his hips. My fingers dug into his shoulders—all hard angles and warm skin. "You’re such an asshole," I hissed, but my voice cracked when he bottomed out again, his thighs pressing flush against mine.
"You already knew that..." Zac growled, letting my legs drop so he could pin my wrists above my head instead—his massive frame caging me completely as his thrusts turned punishing. The new angle sent sparks up my spine, every snap of his hips driving the breath from my lungs.
I kicked at him weakly, but he caught my ankle—again—pinning it against his shoulder as he fucked into me harder, the new angle wrenching a moan from my throat. "Fuck you," I gasped, but my hips lifted greedily, chasing his cock. Zac’s grin turned feral, his free hand gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Nah, baby bro," he purred. "*Fuck you.*" His hips snapped forward—once, twice—and I shattered, back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through me, untouched and brutal.
The aftershocks hadn’t even faded before Zac flipped me onto my belly with effortless strength, as he yanked my hips up. "Round two," he growled, spitting into his palm before slicking himself again—the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. His cockhead pressed against my sore entrance, and I whimpered, clenching around nothing as he pushed in slow, savoring every inch. "*Christ*," he groaned, hands gripping my waist hard enough to bruise. "Still so fucking tight—like you’re milking me dry."
I buried my face in the sheets, muffling my moans as he set a punishing pace, each thrust jolting me forward. His sweat dripped onto my back, hot and slick, while his fingers dug into my hips, steering me like a toy. "Bet you wish Dad fucked you like this," he taunted, voice ragged.
"He already did," I blurted out, the words tumbling free with the same reckless defiance that always got me into trouble—bratty, in-your-face, like poking a sleeping bear just to watch it rage. Zac's thrusts faltered, his hips stuttering against mine as surprise flickered across his sweat-slicked face, but the confession came too late—his orgasm already hit him like a freight train the second the words left my lips. A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep inside me, flooding me with heat while his body pinned me mercilessly into the mattress. The moment stretched, strangely electric—his shock warring with the pleasure wracking his frame, his muscles trembling as he rode out the waves, my name a ragged whisper against my shoulder.
I didn't regret it. Not even when Zac's weight crushed me into the mattress, his breath hot and ragged against my neck as his hips twitched in aftershocks, still buried deep. The stretch of him inside me—pulsing, filling—felt like victory despite the stupidity of my confession. His silence stretched too, thick with something between shock and reluctant admiration, until he finally huffed a laugh against my shoulderblade. "The *fuck* did you just say?" he finally managed, voice hoarse with exertion, but there was no real anger in it—just a breathless kind of awe, like he couldn't believe I'd had the audacity.
His cock pulsed inside me, hot and sudden, his entire body locking up as his orgasm ripped through him. I felt it—the way his hips jerked erratically, the thick flood of cum painting my insides, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks. His groan was ragged, almost pained, his forehead dropping between my shoulder blades as he rode it out, his body trembling against mine.
The weight of him was suffocating in the best way—his massive frame pinning me down, his sweat-slick chest pressing against my back, his breath hot and uneven against my nape. I could feel his pulse hammering where his wrist pressed against mine, his grip still tight even as he came down from the high. For a long moment, neither of us moved, the only sound our ragged breathing and the slow drip of lube from where our bodies were still joined. Then Zac exhaled sharply, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “You little *liar*,” he accused, but there was no heat in it—just a dazed sort of awe.
He didn't pull out. Just stayed there, his softening cock still snug inside me, one forearm braced beside my head while his other hand slid possessively up my spine. I could feel his heartbeat where our bodies pressed together—wild and slowing, like mine. "Knew you were trouble," he murmured, lips brushing my nape, "but *Christ*, Dyl..." His voice trailed off into something almost awed, fingers tightening in my hair. "Dad, huh?" The way he said it—low, rough—sent a fresh shiver down my spine. Not disgust. *Interest.*
I squirmed, suddenly self-conscious, but Zac's grip tightened, keeping me pinned. "Relax," he ordered, nipping my earlobe. "Already came in you—no takebacks." His hips shifted lazily, dragging a whimper from me as his spend leaked between my thighs. "Besides," he added, voice dropping to a whisper, "kinda hot knowing we both got off on the same filthy secret." His tongue traced the shell of my ear, smug and insistent. "Bet you're loving it—two big guys losing their heads over you."
He rolled off me with a grunt, his thick spend seeping out between my thighs as soon as his cock slipped free—hot and messy, just like he’d promised. Zac propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand on his stomach. "Look at you," he mused, voice rough with amusement, "wrecked and leaking—like a good little brother should be." I swatted at his second hand, but he caught my wrist effortlessly, pinning it to the mattress with that infuriating smirk. "So," he said suddenly, all playfulness gone, replaced by something sharper—curiosity bordering on hunger. "I only need to know three things: Are you two still doing it? How'd it happen? And where did you two do it?"
My pulse kicked up—not from fear, but from the thrill of having his full, undivided attention like this. "Once," I admitted, watching his pupils dilate. "Downstairs" Zac's grip tightened imperceptibly, his jaw clenching. "He was drunk," I continued, deliberately slow, delighting in the way his breath hitched, "Fucked me good," I breathed. "Hard. Like he *meant* it." Zac’s nostrils flared, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "Still a beast in bed," I added, grinning at the way his jaw twitched.
To my surprise, Zac didn’t mock me—just exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my sticky skin. "Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "Guess the apple doesn’t fall far."
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension, until Zac abruptly rolled off the bed with a grunt, his movements fluid despite the mess dripping from his thighs. "Damn," he muttered, swiping a hand through his hair as he stretched—biceps flexing, abs tightening—before grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping himself down with casual indifference. His cock was already stirring again, half-hard against his thigh as he tugged his briefs back on, the fabric straining over his thick frame. "Definitely doing that again," he announced, like it was a fucking grocery list reminder, while I lay there wrecked and sticky.
I propped myself up on my elbows, glaring at his retreating back as he scooped up his sweats. "You better not fucking mention this to Dad," I snapped, voice still hoarse from being railed into the mattress. Zac paused mid-step, turning just enough to flash me that infuriating smirk—the one that always meant trouble. "We'll see," he drawled, dragging the words out like a threat, his fingers tapping absently against his zipper. My stomach dropped. That wasn't a no.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the cooling mess between my thighs and the weight of my own stupidity. I flopped back onto the bed, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. *Fuck.* Of course Zac would dangle this over me—of course he’d savor the power trip. The floorboards creaked under his heavy footsteps, each one a taunt. I could practically *hear* him grinning.
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