The Knock
The late afternoon sun slanted through the bedroom window, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled duvet. My hands felt thick and clumsy. The small, mother-of-pearl buttons on my crisp white dress shirt seemed to evade my fingers, slipping away like minnows every time I tried to thread them through the slit. Damn it. I fumbled again, a low growl of frustration escaping my lips.
“Here, let me.”
Chris’s voice was soft, amused. He crossed the room, barefoot and shirtless, the fading light catching the defined lines of his swimmer’s torso. He’d already stepped into his jeans—a pair of dark, worn-in denim that hugged his hips and thighs like a second skin, the fabric straining just enough across his perfect ass to make my mouth go dry. He was a study in casual, devastating beauty.
I dropped my hands, letting him take over. His fingers, deft and sure from years of tying swim caps and adjusting goggles, made quick work of the buttons, starting from the middle of my chest and working down. I was in just my briefs, my own dress pants still hanging over the chair. The contrast was intimate, vulnerable—me nearly naked, him half-dressed, the purpose of our attire hanging unspoken between us. A “special date night,” he’d called it. A surprise.
His knuckles brushed my stomach as he fastened the next button. A jolt, sharp and electric, went straight to my cock. I heard his breath catch, a tiny, sharp inhale. His eyes flicked up to mine, his piercing blue gaze darkening with a familiar heat. The air between us thickened, charged with the memory of every whispered fantasy, every raw, Max-fueled encounter we’d shared.
He didn’t say a word. His fingers stilled on the last button, just above my waistband. Then, slowly, deliberately, he let his palm flatten against my abdomen, feeling the tight muscle there, the rapid rise and fall of my breath. His other hand came up, tracing the line of my collarbone through the fine cotton of the shirt.
“You look good,” he murmured, his voice rough. “All dressed up.”
“You’re not dressed at all,” I managed, my own voice tight.
A smile played on his lips. “Not yet.”
His hand drifted lower, fingertips dipping just below the waistband of my briefs, teasing the line of hair that led downward. My cock, already half-hard, twitched eagerly against the confining fabric. A soft groan escaped me. This wasn’t the plan. We had reservations. A surprise.
Chris read the conflict on my face. His smile turned wicked, knowing. “We have time,” he whispered, as if convincing himself as much as me. His fingers hooked into the elastic of my briefs and tugged them down, just enough to free me. My erection sprang out, already leaking at the tip.
The sight of me, shirt half-buttoned, pants missing, cock hard and exposed, seemed to decide something for him. His eyes darkened further, filled with a hungry intent I knew all too well. Without breaking eye contact, he sank to his knees on the plush carpet.
“Chris…” My protest was weak, swallowed by the wave of desire that crashed over me.
“Shhh,” he said, his breath warm against the head of my cock. “Just a little one. To take the edge off before we go.”
His tongue darted out, a hot, wet stripe from my base to the tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum. The sensation was so sudden, so intense, my knees nearly buckled. I braced a hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle there. He looked up at me, his lips glistening, and then took me into his mouth.
Oh, god.
The heat was incredible. Wet, silken pressure enveloped me, his mouth a perfect, sucking heaven. He started slow, worshipful, using his tongue to circle the rim of my head before sinking down, taking me deeper. His hands came up to grip my hips, holding me steady as he began to move. He was good at this. So damn good. He knew how I liked it—a firm, steady rhythm, just the right amount of pressure, his throat relaxing to take me deeper with each bob of his head.
My fingers tangled in his short, dark blond hair. “Fuck, baby,” I breathed, my head falling back. The dress shirt felt absurd now, a formal wrapper for the primal act happening below. I could feel the tension of the upcoming date, the mysterious surprise, all melting away under the expert suction of his mouth. This was us. This was real.
He picked up the pace, his enthusiasm growing. Soft, wet sounds filled the quiet room. I glanced down, watching him work. The sight was obscenely beautiful: his strong shoulders flexing, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes closed in concentration. He was lost in it, in the taste and feel of me. My hips began to push forward minutely, meeting his movements. Pleasure coiled tight and hot in my gut.
“Just like that,” I grunted. “Don’t stop.”
He hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight up my spine. His hand left my hip and cupped my balls, rolling them gently in his palm. The dual sensation was overwhelming. I was hurtling toward the edge, the pre-date blowjob turning into something more urgent, more necessary. My grip tightened in his hair. My breath came in ragged pants.
“Chris, I’m gonna…”
A loud, thunderous knock shattered the moment.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
It wasn’t a polite tap. It was a commanding, impatient hammering on our front door, so forceful the wall seemed to vibrate.
Chris froze, my cock still deep in his mouth. His eyes flew open, wide with surprise and a flicker of something else… anticipation? He pulled off me with a soft, wet pop, both of us staring toward the bedroom door, down the hall toward the entryway.
The knocking came again, even louder. A loud, aggressive, jarring BANG BANG BANG on the front door that vibrated through the floorboards. It was the kind of knock that didn’t ask for entry; it demanded it.
Neither one of us said a word, but we both knew who it was.
I hitched up briefs, stuffed my now half-hard cock inside them, and, then moved past Chris into the living room. A prickle of irrational, possessive anxiety traced my spine. The knock came a third time, a violent, insistent rhythm that set my teeth on edge.
“I’m coming!” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, a terse greeting already on my lips. It died instantly.
He filled the doorway.
Max.
He was wearing a simple black henley that strained across his massive chest and shoulders, and a pair of jeans that did nothing to hide the powerful curve of his thighs. His dark, predatory eyes scanned me in one swift, dismissive glance, from my half-done shirt to my bare feet, before looking past me, into the apartment. His trim beard framed a smirk that was all arrogant certainty.
My mouth went dry.
“Jason,” he said, my name a low, mocking rumble in his chest. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He simply stepped forward, forcing me to take a stumbling step back as he crossed the threshold into our home. The air shifted, charged and heavy with his presence. He smelled like cool night air and expensive cologne.
“Max?” Chris’s voice came from behind me, a mixture of hesitation and something like breathless anticipation.
Max’s eyes locked onto him, and his smirk widened into a wolfish grin. “There he is.” His gaze raked over Chris’s half-naked form, and I saw his own arousal, thick and unmistakable, press against the front of his jeans. “Got your text.”
My head whipped around to look at Chris. His hand was covering his mouth, his eyes huge. He looked… guilty. Aroused. Terrified. Ecstatic.
Max took another step into the living room, his presence dominating the space. He turned that dark, commanding gaze back to me. “Your boy here’s been thinking about me. A lot.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing the screen to life before holding it up for me to see.
It was a text message thread. At the top, Chris’s name. The last message, sent 11 days ago, glowed on the screen.
I can’t stop thinking about your cock.
The world tilted. Heat—a vicious, jealous, impossibly turned-on heat—flooded my system. I stared at the words, then at Chris, who looked like he wanted to sink through the floor and vanish.
Max pocketed the phone. “Seems he misses it.” He took another step toward Chris, completely ignoring me now. “That it, swimmer? You miss it?”
Chris could only nod, a tiny, jerky motion, his gaze fixed on Max like a rabbit caught in headlights.
Max closed the final distance between them. He was so much bigger, towering over Chris. He didn’t touch him. Not yet. He just looked down, his voice dropping to an intimate, commanding growl. “You wanna taste it again?”
A desperate, broken little moan escaped Chris’s lips. He nodded again, more fervently this time.
“Then follow me,” Max commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “And we'll show your boyfriend what you’ve been dreaming about.”
My heart was hammering, a wild, frantic drum against my ribs. I should have been angry. I should have thrown him out. But I was rooted to the spot, my blood pumping hot and thick as Max’s dark eyes locked onto Chris with unrelenting intensity. Without a word, Max turned and strode toward the large glass doors that led to our apartment’s balcony. The night air seeped in as he slid the door open, the city lights twinkling beyond like distant, judgmental stars.
“Out here,” Max growled, his voice low and commanding, brooking no argument.
Chris hesitated for only a second, his wide blue eyes flicking to me, a flicker of guilt and hunger warring in them. Then, without a word, he followed Max out into the cool night air. My feet moved on their own, trailing behind them like a ghost caught in a storm of emotions.
Max positioned Chris just beyond the railing, where the glow of our apartment spilled out into the semi-darkness. The hum of the city below—a faint, constant murmur—felt like an audience to this intimate betrayal. Max’s massive frame loomed over Chris, his shadow swallowing him whole.
“Knees,” Max commanded, his voice a deep growl that seemed to vibrate through the air.
Chris obeyed instantly, sinking to his knees on the cold concrete of the balcony floor, his hands resting awkwardly at his sides. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow and uneven. Max stepped closer, his thick thighs bracketing Chris’s body, and unfastened his jeans with deliberate slowness. My cock throbbed painfully in my slacks as I watched, torn between outrage and raw, undeniable arousal.
The moment Max freed himself, Chris’s eyes widened, his lips parting in a silent gasp. Max’s cock was already hard and thick, jutting out with arrogant pride. He placed a heavy hand on the back of Chris’s head, his fingers tangling in the soft blonde strands as he guided him closer.
“Worship it,” Max ordered, his voice a dark, possessive rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
Chris didn’t hesitate. His hands came up to grasp Max’s thighs for balance as he leaned in, his tongue darting out to trace the length of him with almost reverent slowness. A low groan escaped Max’s lips, his head tipping back slightly as he relished the sensation. Chris’s cheeks hollowed as he took more of him into his mouth, his movements eager and desperate.
I stood there, frozen in the doorway, my stomach churning with a volatile mix of jealousy, lust, and something darker—something I couldn’t quite name. The sight of my boyfriend on his knees in the semi-public space, completely consumed by the man who had already claimed him once before, was both devastating and intoxicating. The city lights reflected in the glass doors, casting fractured shadows over the scene, making it feel surreal and electric all at once.
Max’s eyes opened, meeting mine over Chris’s head. There was a smug, triumphant gleam in them, as if he knew exactly how much this was tearing me apart—and how much it was turning me on. He smirked, his hand tightening in Chris’s hair as he thrust deeper into his mouth.
“That’s it,” Max murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Show your boyfriend how much you love this.”
Chris moaned around him, the sound muffled but unmistakably wanton. My fists clenched at my sides, my own arousal pressing painfully against the fabric of my slacks. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to. This wasn’t just about Max taking Chris again—it was about me watching it happen, about the three of us intertwined in this twisted, electric dynamic.
And as much as it hurt, I couldn’t deny the truth: I was hooked.
Max’s head tilts back, a low grunt of pleasure rumbling in his chest. His hand tangles in Chris’s blond hair, fisting it, holding him right where he wants him. “That’s it. Get it wet for me. Get it nice and ready for that hungry ass of yours.”
The vulgarity, the sheer ownership in his tone, makes me ache. My hand moves to my own cock, stroking it slowly, my touch feeling worthless.
After a minute of Chris’s earnest, sloppy work, Max pulls him off by his hair. A string of saliva connects Chris’s lips to the glistening tip of Max’s cock. “Enough,” Max growls, his voice thick with command.Max suddenly broke away from their heated kissing, gripping Chris’s wrists as he pulled him roughly to his feet. Chris stumbled slightly, his body still trembling from the intensity of Max’s touch. Before he could regain his balance, Max’s hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks with a surprising tenderness that contradicted the raw dominance he had just displayed.
Their lips crashed together again, this time with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation. Max’s kiss was all-consuming, a claiming that went beyond physical possession. His tongue swept into Chris’s mouth, exploring, dominating, and Chris melted into him, his hands fisting in the fabric of Max’s henley like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling in hot, frantic bursts. Chris moaned into Max’s mouth, the sound muffled but desperate. Max’s hands roamed down Chris’s body, gripping his hips firmly, pulling him closer until there was no space between them. The hard line of Max’s cock pressed against Chris’s stomach, a relentless reminder of what was to come.
“You’re mine,” Max growled against his lips, his voice low and guttural, a primal declaration that sent shivers down Chris’s spine. “Say it.”
Chris whimpered, his mind fogged with lust. “I’m yours,” he breathed, the words barely audible but laced with submission. Max kissed him again, slower this time, almost tenderly, as if savoring the moment.
“Good boy,” Max murmured, his lips brushing against Chris’s as he spoke. He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Chris’s with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. “Now let’s show him what you really need.”
Chris nodded, his gaze flicking toward me briefly before returning to Max. His expression was a mix of guilt, desire, and something else—something that made my stomach twist. Max smirked, a knowing, predatory curve of his lips, and turned Chris around, positioning him against the railing once more.
The night air felt colder now, the city lights below seeming to watch in silent judgment as Max leaned in close, his breath hot against Chris’s ear. “Don’t hold back,” he whispered. “Let him hear how much you want it.”
Max had Chris pinned against the railing, his large body caging him in. They were already kissing, and it wasn’t the gentle, loving kind I gave him. This was all teeth and possession, Max’s hand tangled in Chris’s hair, angling his head back, devouring him. Chris’s hands were clenched on Max’s biceps, not pushing him away, but holding on for dear life.
A low moan ripped from Chris’s throat, swallowed by Max’s mouth. The sound went straight to my cock, a traitorous response that shamed and excited me in equal measure.
Max broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “Missed this mouth,” he growled, his voice rough. His hands went to the waistband of Chris’s jeans, popping the button with practiced ease. “Let’s see what else you’ve got for me.”
He didn’t undress him. He just yanked Chris’s jeans and briefs down to his thighs in one brutal, efficient motion. The cool night air hit Chris’s exposed skin, and he shuddered. He was already fully erect, his cock straining against his stomach.
“Fuck, look at you,” Max breathed, his own hands working to free his monstrous length from his pants. It sprang free, thick and intimidating even in the dim light. “All ready for me. Even out here. You’re fucking shameless.”
He spat into his hand, slicking himself roughly before positioning himself at Chris’s entrance. Chris’s eyes were squeezed shut, his knuckles white where he gripped the cold metal railing behind him.
“Look at him,” Max commanded, his head snapping toward my shadowy corner. His eyes found me instantly. He’d known I was there the whole time. “Look at your boyfriend. Watch how he takes me.”
Chris’s eyes flew open, wide with a mixture of shock and raw arousal at being caught, at being watched. Our eyes met across the balcony. In his gaze, I saw an apology, a plea, and an ecstasy so profound it stole my breath.
Max didn’t wait. He pushed forward.
Chris cried out—a sharp, guttural sound that was ripped from the core of him—as Max filled him in one relentless, shocking thrust. There was no gentle preparation, no slow build. This was a claiming. Chris’s body bowed, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he was impaled against the balcony rail.
“Oh god… Max…” he choked out, his voice broken.
Max began to move, a brutal, piston-like rhythm that rocked Chris’s entire body. The metal railing creaked in protest. Each drive was a punctuation mark in the humid night air. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I was frozen, my hand pressed against my own aching cock through my briefs, watching my world fracture and reform. Chris’s face was a masterpiece of agony and bliss. Tears welled in his eyes from the sheer, overwhelming stretch, but a delirious smile played on his swollen lips.
“You feel that, Jason?” Max grunted, never breaking his rhythm, his eyes drilling into mine from across the darkness. “You feel how deep I am in him? He’s never this tight for you, is he? Never this fucking loud.”
He punctuated the question with a particularly vicious thrust that made Chris shriek, a high, desperate sound that was instantly swallowed by the distant thump of the party’s music.
“Answer me,” Max snarled.
I could barely form words, my own need a frantic pulse between my legs. “N-no,” I stammered, the admission a humiliation and a thrill. “Never.”
Chris’s eyes rolled back in his head. Hearing me admit it, hearing my voice confess his betrayal, sent him spiraling higher. His hand fumbled between his own body and Max’s, stroking his own cock in a frantic, sloppy rhythm.
“That’s right,” Max groaned, his own climax clearly building, his powerful thighs driving him deeper, faster. “He’s mine right now. All mine. And you get to watch.”
The slap of skin on skin was obscenely loud in our private arena. Chris was babbling, a stream of broken pleas and worship. “Yes… oh god, yes… right there, Max, please… don’t stop…”
I was powerless, captured, completely enthralled. My jealousy was a cold knot in my stomach, but it was outmatched by the white-hot fire of my arousal. This was the fantasy, made manifest in the most raw, public, and devastating way possible.
Max’s pace became frantic, erratic. He was close. He grabbed Chris’s hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, holding him in place as a final, deep thrust buried him to the hilt. A guttural roar was torn from Max’s throat, a sound of pure, animal triumph.
Chris followed him over the edge instantly, his own cry muffled as he came in thick, hot stripes across his own stomach and chest, his body convulsing around Max’s.
They stayed like that for a long moment, locked together, panting, a tableau of blissful violation.
Slowly, Max pulled out. Chris slumped against the railing, boneless and spent.
Max tucked himself back into his jeans, not even bothering to do up the button. He looked over at me, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. He ran a hand through his dark hair and smirked, the expression dripping with condescending victory.
More to cum . . .
