Shifters with Secrets (An MMF Bisexual Threesome)(13)

Gavin let out a tiny moan, and Thomas could just see the other man’s hands, one against he SUV’s back window and the other clutching the back of the seat, his knuckles going white with the pressure.

“Don’t stop,” Gavin hissed. “I need it harder, faster. Until I’m screaming.”

“Better not scream,” murmured Thomas. “We don’t need visitors.”

“Fuck them,” said Gavin, his voice a half-moan as he tilted his head back, eyes closed in ecstasy.

Thomas kept on pumping himself into Gavin, harder and harder. He knew that he was rocking the SUVs on its wheels, making the big car bounce back and forth, but he felt like his body was no longer under his control — he could only act on pure, animal instinct, and what the animal wanted was to f*ck Gavin as hard as humanly possible.

“Come on,” Gavin growled, his rock-hard arms now braced against the window. “Fuck yes that feels good.”

“I’m gonna cum soon,” panted Thomas. “God, I’m so close.”

Gavin just nodded.

“Give it to me as hard and deep as you can,” he said, his voice a low growl, Thomas’s hand wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping in time with the cock in his ass.

“I’m gonna cum,” said Gavin, his voice getting louder, not giving a damn who heard or saw them at that moment. “Don’t stop, just f*ck me, yeah—“

A door in the wall opened, and Thomas froze, balls-deep inside Gavin, both men sweating and breathing like they’d run a marathon.

The bartender from before stepped out, a full trash bag in one hand.

“Oh god,” moaned Gavin.

Thomas clapped a hand around Gavin’s mouth, holding the other man’s back against his front, his cock pulsating inside him. He could practically feel Gavin’s cock swell in his hand, like he was just about to cum all over everything.

Not seeming to notice anything, the bartender walked to the dumpster, right next to the SUV where the two men were f*cking.

Gavin’s cock pulsed again.

“Don’t cum,” whispered Thomas in his ear, all too aware that Gavin wouldn’t be able to control himself when he did. “Don’t cum, don’t cum.”

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut, and Thomas could feel his jaw clench below his hand.

The bartender opened the dumpster and tossed the bag of trash inside it, wiping her hands against each other when she was done.

Gavin twitched a little and Thomas felt himself slide just a millimeter further into him and he bit Gavin’s shoulder to keep himself from crying out.

Gavin made a tiny noise, a strangled moan, beneath Thomas’s hand as the bartender began walking back to the door she’d come through.

At the sound, she cast a quick glance at the SUV, and Thomas felt the blood run cold through his veins, his cock nearly exploding.

Then she half-shrugged to herself and walked back through the door.

Thomas let Gavin’s mouth go and gave one last, thrust, slamming himself into the other man as a moan exploded out of his chest.

Gavin growled, words completely failing him, and Thomas could feel him clench around his cock, the muscles in his ass working rhythmically on Thomas even as Thomas pumped hard at his cock.


Long, sticky ropes of semen jetted from Gavin’s cock, getting on the door handle and a little on the window, and then, gritting his teeth, Thomas lost control of himself and let the pure pleasure take him over, thrusting into Gavin again and again until he was utterly, completely spent.

For a few long moments, he leaned against Gavin, his softening cock still inside the other man, their sweaty bodies stuck together from knee to shoulder. Gavin leaned his forehead against he window, his shoulders and arms going slack with total relaxation.

“We made a mess,” he said, his voice back to normal.

“Again,” said Thomas.

Then he pulled out, grabbed a tissues, and handed the rest to Gavin.

“I’ve got upholstery cleaner at my place,” he said.

Gavin sat next to him, and Thomas could see beads of sweat still making their way down between his thick pectorals, onto his washboard abs.

“Someday, they’ll notice,” he said.

“Not today,” said Thomas.

“No,” said Gavin.





Chapter Eight





Sofia didn’t want to open her eyes the next morning. She could tell, even while still half asleep, that she was still on the couch with the TV on.

She could also tell that opening her eyes was not going to be pleasant. Even with her eyelids shut, the light hurt her head, but her neck was at a terrible, awkward angle, and she knew she hadn’t brushed her teeth the night before.

One deep breath, and she forced her eyes open.

She’d been right. It was terrible.

The TV was showing one of those morning shoes, with a couple of too-perky hosts on a white couch, one of whom was enthusiastically explaining something involving a big pitcher of water to the others.

Sofia hated her instantly.

On the coffee table, about a foot from her face, was an almost-empty bottle of wine and her cell phone. She sat up slowly, her joints protesting after being curled into a ball for hours. The underwire in her bra dug into her right boob, where she’d been lying awkwardly, and it felt like her underpants had migrated all the way up her ass.