He Saw Me With Another Man. Ten Minutes Later, His Cock Was In My Mouth
All characters in this story are 18+
All acts are fully consensual
Last night, I hooked up with a French guy named Elliot; soft, sweet, romantic. He walked me home at sunrise, kissed me goodbye like we were something real. What I didn’t know? Dylan, my best friend's older brother, saw everything from across the street. And now he’s at my door. Pissed. Possessive. Ready to remind me who trained my throat in the first place.
___________________
I had barely dropped Elliot’s hoodie over the chair when the knock came: three sharp pounds that rattled the doorframe.
I opened it and Dylan was already pushing his way in. He looked like he’d just come back from hell, still in his workout gear, chest rising fast, sweat clinging to the curve of his throat. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me. Looked at the hoodie. His eyes followed the shape of me; bare legs, morning hair, the smug little glow I must’ve still been wearing from last night.
He shut the door behind him without breaking eye contact. “Who the fuck was that?” he asked.
My throat tightened. “What?”
He took a step in,. “Outside. Curly-haired French guy."
“He’s Elliot” I said quietly.
“Oh, really?” Dylan laughed. “Did Elliot fuck you good, Troy?”
I blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer. “Is that where you were last night? With him?”
My breath caught. “Yeah, I spent the night.”
“Did. He. Fuck. You?” Dylan asked again, biting each word like it tasted bitter.
I swallowed. “No.”
He tilted his head. “No?”
“We… kissed. Cuddled.” My voice dropped.
Dylan laughed, then immediately sobered. “So you’re dating him now?”
I hesitated. “No. Not exactly. We’re taking it slow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Taking it slow, huh?”
He stepped closer. My back hit the wall. “So that mouth’s still unclaimed?”
I flushed. “Dylan...”
“Then that hole still belongs to me.”
"You’re gonna blow me in his hoodie," he muttered. "Might even shoot my load on it. Bet he’d love that.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. The moment was already spiraling into something else.
His hand found the back of my neck, steady and firm, pulling me into him like he couldn’t wait any longer. His mouth met mine in a hungry kiss; all heat and tension.. like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t with words. His body pressed against mine, warm and solid, and for a second, it felt like nothing else existed but the pull between us.
He kissed me like he was mad at me. Like he’d missed me. Like he hated himself for both. No words. Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. The sting of his stubble against my jaw. The hiss in his breath when I reached down and found him already hard in his gym shorts.
I dropped to my knees before I even thought about it.
His cock was heavy in my hand. Thick and swollen, veins pressing to the surface. He was already leaking when I licked the head, slow and teasing, just to hear him curse under his breath.
I opened my mouth and took him in....inch by inch until the back of my throat gave way. Until I felt my eyes water. Until he was pushing deeper than I remembered, deeper than I’d ever taken anyone.
Above me, he groaned. A guttural, aching sound.
“Fuck, Troy,” he exhaled, voice raw. “Your mouth… fuck.”
He started moving...slow thrusts at first, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me like he had all the time in the world to ruin me. I gagged once, twice, but he didn’t stop. He just growled and kept going, praising me with moans and broken gasps.
"You were struggling yesterday," he murmured. “Could barely take half of my cock in your mouth... Look at you now....taking me like it’s your job. Guess your throat is getting used to my cock now...”
His hips jerked forward suddenly, hitting the back of my throat. I gagged again, harder, eyes streaming now. But I didn’t pull away. I let him use me, let him rut against my face like he owned it.
He did.
He pulled out with a wet pop and gripped himself, breathing hard. A string of spit and precum still connected us. His cock twitched in his fist.
“We are not done.”
He pulled me up and spun me around. Bent me over the couch with one hand on my back, the other yanking down my sweats. He dropped to his knees again behind me. I felt his breath; hot and fast against my ass and then his tongue. Slick. Hungry. Sloppy.
The way he ate me out wasn’t gentle. It was messy. Loud. Dominant. Like he was trying to mark his territory.
Glawk.
Glawk.
Glawk.
Wet, greedy slurps echoed in the room... spit dripping, tongue working, filthier by the second. It didn’t sound like kissing. It sounded like consumption. Like worship. Like he was devouring something he believed belonged to him.
He spread me open, shoved his face in, and let out this low, guttural growl when I arched back into it. “Mmm, yeah,” he breathed. “This hole’s still mine.”
His fingers joined his mouth, working my hole open, two fingers then three, scissoring inside me as I moaned, face buried into the cushions, gripping the armrest like I was about to break it in two. He stood again, stroking his cock behind me, wet head slapping against my hole, teasing the rim but never pushing in. “You want this, Spaghetti Noodle?” he asked.
I was breathless. Shaking. “Y-Yess. I do, Dylan.”
“You want my cock inside you while you wear his hoodie?”
"Yes, please. I do.. " I nodded frantically.
He circled the head of his cock around my hole, just barely nudging against it...teasing, threatening. My breath hitched. I felt him twitch. Then, just as quickly, he pulled back.
“Whose hole is this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with control.
“Yours, Dylan,” I panted, already trembling. “It’s yours.”
He pressed forward again, the heat of him slick and leaking, barely kissing my entrance before pulling away once more.
“I didn’t hear you.” His tone was sharper now. “Do you want this?”
“Please, Dylan,” I whimpered, hips arching toward him. “I want you so fucking bad.”
And just when I thought he was about to give in, finally push inside me...I remembered.
“Dylan...fuck...wait. My sister. She might be back any second.”
He didn’t stop. Just hovered there, his cock hard and heavy, smearing pre-cum right where I needed him most.
“I locked the latch from inside,” he murmured, bending lower, his mouth near my ear. “She won’t walk in. Not unless you want her to.”
My head dropped back. My hole clenched.
He laughed under his breath and tapped his cock against me, slow, deliberate slaps that made me flinch with want.
“You were gagging on it yesterday,” he whispered. “Struggling. But I’m gonna train that throat. Just like I’m gonna ruin this hole.”
His cock slapped against me again...slow, heavy, rhythmic.
Thwack.
“Look how this hole twitches.”
Thwack.
“You think Elliot could fuck you like this?”
Thwack.
“No. He probably kisses you on the cheek and asks how your day was.”
Thwack.
“I am gonna fuck you so good you are going to forget his name.”
He slapped the tip of his cock against my entrance again. Circling. Coaxing.
I moaned into the couch, desperate. Barely able to hold still.
And just when he lined up to push in....
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Troy? "
Knock.
Knock.
"Troy...My keys aren't working”, said Becca.
I froze.
My sister Becca was home. Her voice was right outside the door.
And Dylan’s cock was still nudging against my hole... leaking, twitching, ready to ruin me. One more second and everything...everything...was about to explode
This scene is from my ongoing series My Best Friend's Brother Dylan. It’s a messy fuck triangle between Troy, his best friend’s possessive older brother Dylan, and a sweet French photographer named Elliot.
If you have been liking the story so far, consider checking out my Patreon for early access to future parts, bonus scenes and much more. Next 8 parts are already posted on there.
