He moaned into my mouth, his body arching into mine, and fuck, I felt him pulse in my hand.Still not done.Still so hard.
He started to reach up toward his forehead, instinctively.
“Don’t you fucking touch that!”Laura barked from behind the camera.“Hands down!No wiping it off—continuity!”
Bradley groaned in protest, but dropped his hand.
And then the real onslaught began.
One by one, the performers stepped forward, closing in like a slow-motion, glossy tidal wave.Their expressions ranged from serious to ecstatic to vaguely constipated.They jerked harder, faster, all aiming toward the same target—my target.
The second guy moaned and painted Bradley’s collarbone.The third sprayed across his chest in thick white ropes, leaving trails that glistened against his flushed skin.Another shot across his cheek.Another across his stomach.
And I just kept stroking him, my palm slick with pre-cum and lube, every touch dragging a whimper from his throat.His body jerked in my lap, trembling like a live wire.
I should’ve been disgusted.Or at least detached.But I was hard as fucking granite.My cock throbbed against Bradley’s back with every groan that left his lips.
Because he was falling apart in my arms.Surrounded by strangers, getting covered in all of them, but it was me who held him.Me who touched him.Me, who made him moan like this.
I whispered to him between shots.
“That one didn’t even aim.”
“He’s not even looking at you.What a waste.”
“Tell me when you want me to knock someone out.Just say the word.”
Bradley was gasping, panting, his head lolling back on my shoulder as the final few men stepped forward and let loose—thick, hot spurts coating his cheeks, his chest, the side of his neck.
He was drenched.
Glazed, actually.Like a very specific kind of donut.
And I was shaking with how much I wanted him.
The last guy—fucking Evan—took his sweet time.Stroked theatrically, huffed like he was lifting weights, and finally finished with an exaggerated groan and a dramatic arc that splattered across Bradley’s face like it was the Mona Lisa.
I saw red again.
But before I could move, before I could tear into him or spit some insult, Bradley whimpered, and suddenly, he was coming in my hand.
His whole body went rigid, chest heaving, and his cock throbbed against my fingers as he came, hot and messy, across his own stomach.
The sound he made—God.That soft, strangled moan.That tiny twitch of his thighs.That desperate clutch of his fingers against my wrist.
I almost lost it right there.
I wanted to kiss him again—hard, deep—but his face was a disaster.His lips, his cheeks, his forehead.All of it.
Not now.Not like this.
So I stood.
I peeled myself up from the floor, my dick aching, leaking, my entire body humming with the need to claim him, and I stepped forward.
Laura’s voice cracked through the air: “Nico.Finish strong.”
I stared down at Bradley.He was still on his knees, covered, flushed, panting.His eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
