Removing his fingers, Oliver pulled on a condom and coated it with lubrication. Then he guided the head of his dick to Gavin’s anus.
“It’s been so long,” he mused aloud.
“Too long,” Gavin agreed.
“Please,” Erin whispered.
That lone word was the final nail in all their coffins. After that, speech deserted them, the only sounds in the room, those of three lovers drowning in pleasure and desire.
Oliver slid into Gavin’s ass, groaning at how tightly it gripped him. Gavin mimicked his slow motion, thrusting into Erin at the same pace. After half a dozen passes, Oliver closed his eyes and gave in to his primal side, slamming in and out of Gavin’s ass, his rough thrusts driving Gavin deeper and harder into Erin.
Erin’s back arched as she came. If Oliver could have found the breath, he would have chastised her for her lack of control. As it was, it felt as if every speck of air in the room had evaporated as he continued to fuck Gavin’s ass, rutting like a wild beast.
Gavin was the next to fall over, his climax sparking another in Erin—or perhaps prolonging her first. Both his lovers cried out loudly, but Oliver couldn’t stop, couldn’t give way. Not for a goddamn second.
He doubled down, slamming in harder, even as Gavin’s strength gave way and he collapsed onto Erin. If she was being crushed, she didn’t complain—or even seem to notice.
Oliver thrust in once, twice, three times more before he exploded, splintered into a thousand pieces. Like Gavin, he found it hard to remain upright. He bent over his lovers, resting his forehead on Gavin’s slick back.
“Jesus.” That one word felt like it was ripped from his chest as he fought for breath.
Neither Erin nor Gavin spoke, and he could hear their gasping breaths as well. Gavin was the first to move, lifting slightly to shrug Oliver off.
“I’m crushing our girl.”
Oliver locked his knees and forced himself upright, groaning as his cock slid out of Gavin’s ass. He disposed of the condom while Gavin shifted enough to drop down next to Erin before placing a soft kiss on her shoulder.
Erin lay lifeless, her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell.
Oliver claimed her other side, he and Gavin reaching across her, linking hands on her stomach.
“I would ask to do that every single night too, but I think we’d be dead within a week if we tried it,” Erin said, smiling widely even though she was staring at the ceiling. “That was incredible.”
“Next time, I’m fucking your ass, Ollie.”
Oliver grinned, even as he shook his head. “Not so sure about that.”
Gavin laughed as Erin patted Oliver’s cheek. “Aw. You’re so adorable. It would seem you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes and pointed at Gavin’s cock. “Have you seen the size of that monster?”
Erin giggled. “You’re not exactly a slouch yourself, and Gavin took it like a man.”
“That’s it,” Oliver said, as he sat up and began to tickle her as punishment. Erin squirmed, trying to escape, even as she laughed.
Gavin shook his head at the two of them but didn’t join in. “Where the hell do you two find the energy?” he asked. “I can barely move.”
“Come on.” Oliver stood, then reached down a hand to both of his lovers. They each accepted as he pulled them up. “Let’s take a shower together. I’m a sweaty mess.”
“A shower sounds good,” Erin said.
Gavin groaned, but he still followed them to the bathroom.
Once the water was hot, they climbed in, each jostling for space under the showerhead.
“Think your landlord would lose his shit if I put in a second showerhead on the other side?” Gavin asked.
“Probably,” Erin said. “But it would be worth losing my security deposit over.”
“Or…” Oliver started, taking the bottle of shampoo from Erin, squeezing a dollop onto his palm, and putting it back on the shelf before twisting her back to him so he could wash her hair. He massaged her scalp as she moaned with pleasure.
“God, that feels good,” she said.
“Or?” Gavin prompted.
“Or…we rebuild the apartment above the pub to suit our needs. And we move in there when it’s ready.”
Gavin grinned. “I like that idea.”
“You think your family would care?” Erin asked.
Oliver shook his head. “No. No one wants the apartment. Everyone is happily shacked up in their own places. I love it there,” he admitted.
“So do I,” Gavin said.
Erin nodded, smiling. “It’s awesome and big. We could do some pretty cool things with it.”
It was on the tip of Oliver’s tongue to point out the space was big enough to raise a family, one with seven kids, but he held back. The last time he’d spouted off his wild dreams, Gavin dug in his heels and walked away. And while he didn’t think—God, he hoped—he wouldn’t do the same this time, he recalled Gavin telling him all those years ago that he had no interest in bringing a kid into this world.
Oliver prayed he and Erin could change Gavin’s mind. Because Oliver didn’t just dream wild. He dreamed big.
14
Gavin studied his reflection in the mirror and grimaced, debating if he should change. He’d put on a light blue button-up shirt, with a new pair of jeans. Of course, everything he owned these days was new.
For the past week, he and his mother had begun texting daily, and he’d even stopped by the halfway house where she was staying a few times—carefully picking times when he knew she would be at work—to drop things off for her. He’d taken her a new pillow when she mentioned the one in her room was uncomfortable, and he’d loaned her an old hammer when she dropped into the conversation that she’d tripped over a loose floorboard. Two days ago, he’d picked up her prescriptions at her request. He felt slightly guilty because he’d snuck a peek at the medicine bottles and written down the drug names to ask Erin. Apparently his mother was on quite a cocktail of prescription meds, all meant to keep her depression and antisocial disorder under control.
Typically, their texts consisted of little more than quick check-ins. She would ask about his day, he would reply it was fine, and then returned the courtesy of inquiring about hers. Her texts were always longer, including the dropped hints about things she needed. Picking up the prescriptions was the first thing she’d asked him outright to do for her, and he suspected she’d done it as a way of proving she was taking her illness seriously. While he wouldn’t say she was exactly happy with her life, she didn’t complain as much nowadays as she had when he was younger.
As a kid, he’d grown accustomed to her coming home from work exhausted, dropping down on their threadbare couch, bitching about her aching feet and back and the low tips she’d earned that day. She’d always remained on the couch until bedtime, never moving to pitch in around the apartment, while he brought her dinner and fetched drinks for her.
She’d taken his servitude as her due, treating it as something he owed her, never once thanking him, something he’d never realized was actually a thing until he’d gone to live with the Collinses. His foster parents were forever thanking him for stuff, and he could remember thinking there was something wrong with them when he’d first moved in. He’d actually resented it when they’d said thank-you because he’d thought the words were fake, their attempts at trying to steal him away from his mother.